My Midlife Desire is Raw and Incapacitating

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Feb 14, 2025

Last night, on the eve of Valentine’s Day, I sat on the couch next to my kids as we watched their favorite television show. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t think. I was fully consumed by the deep, gnawing physical experience of desire. It burned inside me, deep in my womb, a creature starving and desperate to escape.

My desire took root because of a date I had on Tuesday. It was a coffee date with a guy I met on Feeld and at first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about him or the date. I was guarded. He was guarded. Still, we sat there talking for an hour and 40 minutes. I had to pee, but I didn’t budge.

Afterwards, I told my friends I wasn’t sure if I wanted a second date — and yet I noticed I kept bringing him up. I kept thinking about his grey eyes, his tattoos, his deep interest in me, how much he looked like Jason Statham. And then, as I tried to fall asleep on Tuesday night, he was everywhere, and I had a fitful sleep that ended in a dream about him. I remember the overall vibe but little else. He was inside an abandoned building, and I was just outside. I wanted him — needed him — but couldn’t get inside. I woke up flushed and frustrated.

I texted him mid-morning, and instead of continuing our polite pleasantries — how’s your morning? What did you do last night? — I told him about the raw longing in my dream. The floodgates opened, and he told me that he found our date electrifying and couldn’t stop thinking about me. We’re meeting again on Sunday, and I can't wait for him to touch me. For that initial, exhilarating shudder as he puts my hands and lips on my body.

This new desire of mine was first fully ignited about 18 months ago. That’s when I started having fantasies — fantasies so intense I had to crawl under my desk at work to touch myself and change my underwear multiple times a day. I’d never felt anything like it before. Not even close. It’s hard to describe the sensation, but it’s like a deep fluttering itch. It takes my breath away, but in a tingly, thrilling way. When I read All Fours, I felt seen, but more than that, a deep relief to know I wasn’t alone.

There is a peculiar, exquisite agony in this middle-aged yearning. It is sharper and more complex than the careless and carefree hunger of my youth, gripping me tightly and zapping my every nerve. I feel it in my fingertips, in my toes, in the hollow of my throat, in a tender spot below my belly. It yanks me from whatever I’m doing and unapologetically takes over.

And yet, it is a gift. I love it so goddamn much. For most of my 30s and 40s, I felt physically numb. There was a dark emptiness that didn’t seem to recognize that it needed to be filled. An oblivious emptiness. Until my body woke me up and told me enough was enough, and I got out of my marriage. Those feelings, that awakening, saved me.

Today, my desire is my body’s way of telling me it’s still paying attention, still taking care of me, still ready to speak up. I might be single on this Valentine’s Day, but for the first time in a long time, I do not feel alone.