I was sexually “conservative.” Back when I was single, I let myself go a few times, but my head was mostly filled with phrases like “a nice, Jewish girl doesn’t enjoy sex.” That was about to change.
After my husband died, I went for 15 years without sex. (We were married for 15 years). And our sex hadn’t been great when we had it, thanks to, among other reasons, my repression and a medication I was taking. So, at age 70, I was practically a virgin. I asked my doctor to change my medication to something else, and he did. Now I wanted mad, passionate, down-and-dirty sex. But how?
Orgasms had never come easily to me, but I had never thought of mentioning it to a doctor or therapist to see whether there was something available to help me. Finally, I did. My urologist, a woman, suggested I get a vibrator and some porn.
Thirty years ago, a married cousin mentioned she used a vibrator and suggested it for me. “Interesting,” I said, while scoffing at the idea. I couldn’t imagine myself stooping that low. And I didn’t have a high regard for porn, either, labeling it as disgusting. I thought people who watched porn were either deviant, desperate or both. Now, those judgments flew out the window. I was ready to stoop.
I drove to a specialty shop in West Hollywood. The name alone gave me heart palpitations: Pleasure Chest. But I was quite surprised when I got there. The products were laid out nicely. The salesgirl was helpful and easygoing. I almost felt comfortable.
There were so many items to choose from! I decided on something called Budding Bliss. I bought a porn DVD. Why not? If I was going to stoop, why not stoop all the way?
Much to my surprise, I began having orgasms. It became my new hobby. Orgasm in the daytime (“afternoon delight” is what a friend called it), and orgasm in the evening. This went on, incredibly, for two weeks. And then the orgasms stopped. I seemed to need greater or different stimuli to be able to climax.
I mentioned the problem to my therapist. I told him I couldn’t spend endless money on porn DVDs. He told me there was free Internet porn. My horizons were expanding.
I found some hot stuff on the Internet. I watched couples getting each other off, as they say, or rather the woman getting the man off. It was very one-sided, but it was still titillating. I especially liked to hear a man sigh or moan. The more I heard male voices, the more I could use that in my head when I wanted to climax later. Why didn’t I masturbate while watching the porn? Sitting at my desktop computer didn’t lend itself to that. I needed to lie down and get comfortable.
On the free porn site, I stumbled across a clip that I watched many times. The way the man moaned and sighed affected me immensely. I discovered I loved watching a man cum and hearing his expression of release so much so that I wanted to get inside the video myself. I wanted to be the woman pleasuring him.
And then came the video, the one I would take notes on, the one I would recite to each new man after which I’d be told I was amazing. You don’t see the man’s face. You only see his hard cock and a woman, nude, sitting on the bed, stroking it with both hands. What made it so erotic was what she said. She didn’t lick it, suck it, or fuck it. She just talked.
The woman evidently prepped him ahead of time that there would be a fantasy woman involved in addition to her. And then she began.
“Do you want the head of your cock inside her pussy?” she asked.
“Yeah, baby,” he responded.
“That feel good?”
And it went on from there. His deep voice was not loud but you could tell he was already under her seductive powers. It was hot!
One day, after I had seen this scene for the umpteenth time, I clicked a section on the porn site called “Meet and Fuck.” It took me to a website that very quickly asked me to sign up and pay money. There was no way in hell I was going to sign my name to anything. Didn’t you get jailed for this sort of thing? I told my therapist about it, and he assured me you only get arrested for child porn. And then he mentioned that there were free dating sex websites. File this under: potentially useful information. That night I searched the Web and sure enough I found two.
Each time I took a new step in my sexual exploration I became fearful. What was I getting myself into? Was I going to get into trouble? Yet, despite my fears, I convinced myself to keep going. To utter these forbidden words — cock, pussy, cum, fuck — was liberating. No, exhilarating! Walls broke down. No longer would I be constricted by what I was supposed to think, supposed to do, supposed to feel.
Signing up for the free sex site was simple. It asked for you to fill out a profile, including sexual likes and dislikes, your age, where you lived, and a moniker (your screen name). Unlike regular dating sites, it did not ask for your profession, how much money you make, what are the six things you could never live without. I signed up as Sensualnights16 and listed my age as 63 (I was then 69), rationalizing that the further away from 70 I was, the more men I would interest. This was the only thing I lied about. Many men did not post a picture. (I don’t know about women, as I never looked them up.) I did post a picture, but not wanting my face shown on a sex site, I posted one in which a hat was pulled down over my eyes. All it showed were my lips, chin and breasts underneath a T-shirt.
The first person to contact me was a guy I’ll call Bill. According to his photo (who knows if it was real), Bill was a very attractive young man. Thirty-three years old (or so he said). I immediately discounted him because of our huge age difference, but he wanted to chat. After hearing stories from a female friend about her young men, I decided to give it a try.
“Would you like to chat?” he wrote.
“Don’t you want someone closer to your age?” I wrote back.
“I’ve tried. They’re mostly scams.”
“What do you mean?”
“Women who want money.”
I thought about this. What was I going to do next, if anything?
“Are you horny?” he wrote.
I looked at his picture again. He had a day-old scruff, full lips and a sexy smile. What is the worst that could happen? A bad question to ask, because you can always think of something worse.
“Yes,” I answered.
“What do you like?”
“Naughty chat,” I wrote.
“Would you want to meet in person sometime?”
“Maybe,” I answered, never ever intending to meet him or anyone from this site.
I pulled out my notes from my favorite porn clip to see if I could get Bill under my spell the way the porn actress had gotten her male counterpart under her spell.
“What are you wearing?” Bill wrote.
“See-through nightie.” I was actually wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but my goal was to arouse him.
“I want to give you a soft and sensual kiss.” My bedroom was starting to feel warm.
“Are you stroking yourself?” I asked a perfect stranger.
“Yes,” Bill answered.
“Are you hard?” I wrote. My face felt hot. My body felt hot. What on earth was I doing?
Referring to my notes, I then wrote, “Would you like me to take the tip of your cock inside my mouth and suck on it?”
“Yes, baby,” he answered.
I continued to read from my porn notes without which I would have been lost. My heart was racing. I was embarrassed! Excited! Writing word for word, question after question what the woman in the video said, I was breaking with all propriety, everything I learned from my parents on how to be a nice Jewish girl.
A short time later, Bill had what he described as a powerful orgasm, and he thanked me repeatedly. Should I be thanked for such a thing?Regardless of the questions racing through my mind, I was aware of one thing: I had enjoyed myself!
Over the next several days I thought about Bill a lot, picturing us meeting for a drink, having sex for real. And then I imagined a relationship with Bill — meeting his friends and, wait a minute, was I completely out of my mind? I reminded myself that I had a 60-year-old body — all right, almost a 70-year-old body — and he claimed to have a 33-year-old body. I could fantasize a meet-and-greet all I wanted, but that’s all it would ever be, a fantasy.
It was all a fantasy. I had no idea if the person on the other end was young, old, male, female, incarcerated, or free. At moments I became concerned that I was interacting with an underage child, but I pushed those doubts from my mind and focused on my exploration and pleasure.
I decided I needed to make more connections to avoid being focused on one man. Not having received many emails on the site, I joined another one. This time, I listed my age as 45. I wanted to see if the lowered age would make a difference and it did. I was flooded with requests to chat.
I didn’t like lying, particularly by stretching my age to this degree, but I wanted some attention, wanted to engage in online sex and believed I wouldn’t hurt anyone because I would never meet the person. So what was the harm? The men would be satisfied by my chat, and I would have some excitement.
I searched for the type of man I was interested in: intelligent, professional, sexy. I’d send a note if one aroused my curiosity. “Do you like naughty chat?” Most wrote back that they did. There was more than one face that looked like he could be a serial killer (stern expression, intense eyes, intimidating frown). It was one thing to act out my prurient desires on a website; it was another to open myself up to a potentially unstable person. I rejected all men who weren’t smiling.
There was something so satisfying about getting a man turned on and having him cum while chatting with me. Whatever else they might be lying about, I believed and trusted the fact that they were completely aroused. Somehow the men even managed to stroke themselves to orgasm and still type, up to and including, “I’m cummmmmming.”
I found a man who called himself R.C. – No. Carolina.
“What are you wearing?” he wrote.
I decided to tell the truth. “Sleeveless top and lightweight pants. It’s very hot here.”
“Home alone?” he asked.
“Then we’re overdressed.”
This one had a sense of humor. I liked that. He went about things slowly, and I liked that too. And despite the fact that this was on the Internet and not in person, it was still sexy.
He talked dirty to me — very dirty — and I learned how much I liked it. I had two glasses of wine before logging on, and as he said words to me that no one had ever said, I began to go off-script. I was finally getting the hang of this. Our conversations were raw. Graphic. Forbidden. Exciting.
I was on a wild ride, and I didn’t want to get off. I wanted to explore with R.C. and other men the dynamics of my sexuality. Was this just a momentary thrill? How far could I take this?
This was the beginning of my sexual awakening. Over the course of the next year, I would go further than I imagined on the site. My communication online helped me to be more sexually explicit in my interaction with lovers, both in and out of bed. I began writing erotic short stories. I never would have guessed this is how my sexual awakening would take place. But at 70 years old, I was finally free.
Lynn Brown Rosenberg has written an unpublished memoir called “What’s a Nice Jewish Girl … doing on a website like this (and what led me here),” from which this is excerpted. She has written many screenplays, two of which are currently optioned for feature films, a thriller, and several short stories. She wrote a short film called “Solo,” which was honored with a Golden Eagle.