Girl on the Net

Today’s guest blog was dictated by Bev (who is in her 70s) to her son (in his 40s), and I’ve tried to only very lightly edit the story as she told it to him. As you all know, I am constantly thirsty for guest blogs from older people about the sex they have and want, because we don’t get to see nearly enough of their stories in popular culture. If you took the lead from films and TV, you could be tricked into thinking that there’s an expiry date on sexual pleasure. You and I know that is not the case, and that it’s important (not to mention horny) to read and share experiences from people who don’t often get sexual representation in mainstream TV and film. To this end, please give a really warm welcome to Bev, and join me in sending her tonnes of love and best wishes for a speedy recovery so she can enjoy her post-chemo hook-up…

My post-chemo hook-up promise

The thing with chemotherapy is not that your hair falls out entirely. Instead it comes away in random clumps. I’d thought that I would go bald and wear a headscarf and be like one of the women in the adverts, smiling while chatting to a Macmillan nurse over a cup of tea, my hair gone but sensitively covered. But it comes away in random clumps, which need managing. I thought I’d never have to go to the hairdresser again, but I’ve ended up going more often to reshape what’s left around what’s been lost and – worse – what has weirdly regrown between chemo sessions.

There are hairdressers that specialise in dealing with chemo-hair, but they seem to be very earnest and there’s a lot of handholding and ‘poor you’ and offers of M&S biscuits. I’ve stayed with the same salon I’ve been using for 20 years and there’s none of that nonsense.

With my chemo paused due to the possibility of an operation that would remove what had been thought to be terminal secondary cancer, my hairless clumps have regrown in an assortment of lengths and colours in the past six months. My hairdresser, Kirsty, has admitted to enjoying trying to make something of it.

The salon was busy for my appointment, all with women of my age (70+) being dealt with by staff of my son’s generation (40+). And as always – I think most men would be shocked to know this – the conversation was all about sex. Whose husband can still do it? Do the ‘girls’ doing the hair have plans for when their partners’ ardour fades? Favourite toys if that happens? Who are we collectively crushing on at the moment and why is it Loki?

“You know what,” I said. “What I would really like right about now is a bloke who would come over, I’d make him a cup of tea, he’d have his way with me, and then he’d leave and that’d be that. I don’t have time for a relationship.”

“Oh god yes,” said Kirsty. “I’m with you there. Nothing special, no bells and whistles. Come in, take off your trousers, do me, leave. That’d be great!”

“Yes please!” added Betty in the chair next to me. “I might be 81, but I could use a bit of stuff every now and again. Nothing permanent or anything. I’m not wanting to replace my husband. Just his thingy.”

“Ha! That’s the exact opposite of how things are for me and my friends,” said Sofia, the young trainee. “We want a solid boyfriend. It’s the boys who want to have anything in a skirt that moves.”

I told her I think that’s how it is for young people – that’s how it was when I was young. I think young women want a permanent boyfriend, and young men want to have as many girls as they can. But that changes when you get old.

I told Sofia we’re done with relationships at our age. Kirsty and Betty nodded sagely. “Men at our age often want someone to look after them and nurse them and be a companion. So many of us have had that – they died or left us for a younger model or whatever. So many of them want relationships now, just at the point that I really need meaningless sex.”

“Meaningless sex? I’d love a bit of meaningless sex!” interjected Jane from the chair on the other side of me. “I’ve had men come sniffing since Bill died, but they just want someone to look after them. I looked after Bill for 10 years after his stroke – more! He needed looking after before then too!”

“Meaningless sex would do for me too,” said Sheila, two chairs down. “I mean, not through a hole in the wall or anything, but… well… do me, we’ll have fun, and that’s that.”

“I had that with Ted,” I told her. “After my husband died, I did the mourning thing and then there was Ted and it was great. We actually had the full relationship thing eventually, but it was based on the sex. We’d have it, and then go home to our own houses. I miss him every day – not just for the sex, but that’s a big part of it. I think I miss him now he’s dead more than I missed my husband.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Jane. “Yes, I could go for what you had with Ted. He was very handsome too, so that helps.”

“Ted was 20 years older than me, which suited me, but I’m 70 now,” I said. “I’m not sure I’d get involved with a 90-year-old unless he was really good at it.”

Everybody laughed, including Sofia, who also went red. She’ll get used to how things are.

The conversation moved on, as did the haircuts.

As I was leaving, Kirsty took me to one side. In a quiet voice she asked – would I really be up for a bit of meaningless sex? I told her hell yes.

“If I survive the next operation, then I’ve been given a reprieve from a death sentence. A good fucking -” (she laughed awkwardly) “- would be a great way to celebrate!”

With a few umms and aaahs and ‘you know’s, she told me that she knew this guy. He’s into older women and he might be up for it if I wanted to meet him. Tempting.

“How much is he into older women?” I asked. “Because him being 25 and me being 70 is just creepy.”

“I thought you said your son’s husband was 25 years older than him?” Kirsty asked.

“Yeah, because we go for older men in our family. All of us, including the gay ones. Me too.”

“So him being 55 would be a deal breaker?”

“Oh, no, 55 is fine. Odd, but fine.”

“Well, once you’ve had the operation and the chemo after… could I introduce you two?”

“And he won’t mind my stomach being a mess of operation scars?”

“I think he’d like that. Is that weird? That’s weird. But, yeah, he’d be fine.”

“And he wouldn’t want anything more? I just want a fuck -” (Kirsty laughed again) “- and for him to leave. I might text him later for another fuck, or I might not. It would just be a hook-up – like my son has with guys on Grindr on his phone. They come over, they do him, they leave, and a rematch is possible but not expected.”

“I think he’ll be well up for that. He’s into older women but likes to, uh, not get involved. And he’s very, very good at it.”

Kirsty went red. I appreciated the recommendation, and I told her as much.

“If I survive all this cancer nonsense, then… yes. Set us up. But I’m not paying a finder’s fee next time I come here.”

“Of course not! But I want to hear all about it…”

As I say, please do join me in wishing Bev all the best with her treatment (and subsequent seeing-to). She is very determined that older people (especially women) are represented in sexual media and I would absolutely love to host more stories like this too. If you’re 70+, and you have a fun/hot/interesting/cool sex story to share, please do get in touch…