Ever since last January, when my husband walked out on me the morning after initiating very passionate sex with me and then telling me sleepily how much he loved me and how beautiful I was, I have been messed up about the sexing. For many months, the libido simply died completely. I viewed sex as something that would cause me profound agony and soul-destroying misery. I connected his leaving me for another woman — I guess he was dreaming I was her that night, I still don’t really know — with the act of sex.

 Well my libido has slowly returned, but it’s still skittish. And it is finding itself titillated only by men who are utterly unavailable — in other words married men, gay men or elderly men.

 1. The married men. There are a number of them. One is a famous actor up here who I just assumed was a pretty-boy dumbass but is actually supremely smart, profane, snide, hilarious and smoking fucking hot. Has been married happily for 20 years. Off limits. Another in this ilk? A famous writer, blond and sort of boxer handsome (think Daniel Craig), funny, charming, urbane, flirtatious, engaging, witty … and again, married happily for 20 years. Off limits. And yet I am desperately turned on by both these men.

 2. Gay men. In fairness to me, the gay man I lust over was once a lady-lover. He actually went out with one of my closest girlfriends for two years before he came out. She said that except for his love of fashion, she had no clue — he was all man in the sack. The first night I met him he was owning a 1970s Burt Reynolds look, sort of Marlboro Man-ish, and he had every gay man and every woman in the place drooling, and every straight man wishing he could carry it off. He is hot. And he always, always flirts with me. Last summer he hugged me while I was wearing a sundress and went on and on about how soft my skin was — yes, that old heterosexual saw. Yet every time I’ve seen him since, he rolls up my sleeve and caresses the inside of my arm, waxing once again — in a very ungay way — about my “satiny” skin. I am turned ON.

 3. The elderly. He’ll be 78 in July. Yet he has all the charm, swagger and balls of a man half his age, plus he’s one of the funniest men I’ve ever known. And he is a silver fox, very handsome. We are going out on our first date this week. The question is not whether I can eventually have sex with him, it’s if I could ever even kiss him. Could any of you neck with a 77-year-old man, no matter how drunk you were? And without necking, can you do the sexing? No. So I don’t think I can go there.

My shrink sees a pattern in all this — the unavailable. I am attracted to the unavailable because by virtue of them being unavailable, they cannot hurt me. It’s the ones who are free and open and available who truly terrify me. And she’s right.

But it’s not just because they’re available that they scare me. They’re also out there dating and boning women — women I don’t feel I can compete with. Women, for example, who likely wax their entire beavers and have fake tits and teeth and all the rest.

Married men likely wouldn’t care about these things — there’s no way their wives are getting regular bikini waxes. Gay men — well, they’re not ever going to sleep with me. Elderly men? They aren’t even aware that women are waxing their poons bare, and they would think it was peculiar.

 I think maybe it’s just better I stick to Internet pornography.

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