Post divorce sex doesn't have to be a scary world of terrible dates and urban legends of lonely old crones in caves. There are, unfortunately, a lot of unexplained social taboos placed on divorcees, in particular women. Discover the revolution of communication and what your sex life can be after a divorce.


Not every woman who gets divorced was having bad sex or no sex, and not everyone is interested in or ready for a sexual revolution once their divorce papers arrive. But some of us knew we weren’t having decent sex and while divorce is the death of a relationship, it’s also a chance to be reborn and recreate yourself into the person you most want to be. For some of us, it’s about the kinky, freaky sex - and for others, it’s learning how to have sex with the lights on.
Sexual revolutions for divorced women aren’t all that uncommon. For me, it was a journey from fear and denial to bad sex and then deciding I wanted and deserved something better. Along the way, I found that I wasn’t the only woman who went through her own post-divorce sexual revolution.

The early years

My journey through my own sexuality begins not unlike a lot of women in my generation. We learned certain basics in school - as a Gen-X’er, I’m very familiar with the seriousness of STDs and specifically HIV and AIDS, (thanks to school-age “health and sex ed” classes) - but the mechanics of sex wasn’t exactly a topic for discussion. When I asked my mother about sex, in general, nothing even remotely specific, she shut me down. This wasn’t something we were going to talk about.

So I learned about sex the way any self-respecting bookish child would. I stole my mother’s romance novels. At age eight, I was devouring stories about Vikings plundering creamy white loins and Highlanders plowing love channels. I didn’t know what loins were, but it didn’t take long for me to figure out what a love channel was. All I knew is that I was mesmerized by these ravished women and all that desire.
To those who think it gave me a misguided picture of what sex is, I would have agreed with you a few years ago, but now I know that plundering and plowing can definitely take place. Back then it never occurred to me to touch myself or find out why those stories made me feel so squishy inside. I wasn’t incurious, but I was afraid of being “bad” even if I didn’t know or understand why that kind of pleasure was bad.

 

Before marriage

Somewhere along the way, although I wasn’t raised to be religious, go to church, or really believe in anything, I decided that my virginity was sacred. If I gave it away to a boy, I would be a bad person. Of course, there was also that very realistic fear of pregnancy and disease, and the potential wrath of my parents. Letting a boy touch anything other than my breasts was the epitome of torture (for both of us) and terrifying for me. Who knew what might happen next?

Was that desire I felt? Oh no! We’re both going to hell!
The summer before I left for college, I went rogue. In an act of drunken rebellion (to prove to myself I was finally an adult) I had forgettable and regrettable sex with a boy who, while he knew the mechanics of intercourse, understood little about a woman’s body. Unfortunately, I understood very little, too, and when he was done, I wasn’t sure we’d even had sex, but I was too embarrassed to ask.
Once that happened, I figured I’d already gone over the cliff so I should go for broke and just do what felt good, even if I was going to hell for it. I embraced the idea that sex could be fun, and soon learned that guys would pay more attention to you when you were willing to fuck them. I spent the rest of the summer fucking a new boyfriend, and twice fucking his well-hung best friend. After I went away to college, I gave guys I was dating blowjobs, found a nice boy who wanted to remain a virgin and corrupted him with my wanton ways, and finally met the man I would ultimately marry and divorce.

Those pre-marriage years, even with him, were filled with sex. Lots of sex. I wore protection most of the time, and then I didn’t, relying on my birth control to keep me safe. I was one of the lucky ones who didn’t have any unpleasant surprises. What I ultimately discovered during those sex-fueled years was that sex was power, and sometimes, it was mine to wield. In what was a foretelling of my marriage, I, through some influence I still don’t understand, became consumed once more about all the sex I was having, even with my steady boyfriend-turned-fiance. Just like that, I cut him off. No fucking, no blowjobs, no handjobs, nothing. In one cold conversation with a man who was naked underneath me, I shut my libido off as if I were turning off a faucet. It was the precursor to what we could both expect in our marriage.

 

Before the divorce

Look at most failed marriages, especially with kids, and sex is somewhere in the mix of problems. Maybe your libido died once you had kids hanging on your ankle. Maybe one of you cheated because you weren’t getting something at home or the thrill was gone. Everyone will have a different reason, but somewhere in there is usually an issue with sex. For me, sex was power - and we both abused it.
The first time I had sex again with my husband was about a year before we were married - we were engaged for three years. It was okay, but I was always too tired and stressed to really get into it. I was a full-time college student working two or three jobs at a time and taking care of our home. He was a jobless guy who played video games all the time. Our wedding night wasn’t a passionate evening, either. If I recall, we bickered over something stupid.

Over the years, sex was used as a bargaining chip between us. On his birthdays, I might give him a blowjob but he couldn’t come in my mouth. If I fucked him, he’d wash the dishes or fold the laundry. Handjobs were mostly okay, as long as he didn’t come on me. I never wanted him to go down on me.
Those were our issues. Of course, kids, work, and financial stress killed what little bit of libido I had. My growing lack of trust and respect for this man I’d chosen didn’t help either. Eventually, we perfected the art of the quickie. Every couple who gets the hang of this one will do it a little differently. Some know the exact moment a child falls asleep and get busy. Others know the one room no one ever goes in, so that’s where you’ll find them.

Us? Well, about a year before our divorce, I discovered erotica, and I soon learned reading these stories gave me a nice warm feeling. I would ask for 15 minutes to read a story, and then he could come in the bedroom. Once I put my book away, we’d have sex - in the dark, with the lights turned out. Sad but true. When my youngest was almost two years old, and just after I turned 31, I told him I wanted a divorce.

 

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The post divorce sex revolution

No matter who wants the divorce or your reasons for getting one, it’s never easy. My divorce had nothing to do with sex, at least not on a conscious level. I’d been unhappy for years. I’d waited for him to change. I was no longer my best self anymore, which means I didn’t help our marriage at all. It was a miserable lot in life, and my new philosophy was “I can do bad by myself, I don’t need any help.”

I struck out on my own - with two small children. New life, new outlook, new me. In the six months between asking for the divorce and receiving the final papers - and yes, I know how rare a quick divorce is - I didn’t date or even talk to anyone. I wasn’t interested, and I was too busy figuring out who I was in this new world.
But I didn’t stop reading my erotic fiction that I’d grown to love. I discovered sex blogs at about the same time - stories of married couples having kinky sex, stories of divorced women dating every man that appealed to them, stories of masturbation. So many stories, so much sex. The girl who’d been ashamed of her sexuality so many years before saw these tales of amazing sex through mature eyes.
While I wasn’t convinced I could have sex like that, I no longer thought there was anything wrong with it. Think about it - over the course of 20 years, society had accepted the idea that Murphy Brown could have a baby without being married, that Ellen Degeneres was gay, that Will and Grace could totally live together. Sexuality, in a variety of forms, wasn’t quite as taboo as it had been when I was a kid.

Oh, I know, there is still plenty of work to be done, and not every part of the globe has the same freedoms as others, but sexuality was (and is) now less a matter of shame and more a matter of fact (it’s not great but it’s so much better than it used to be). Hell, my mother became a widow when I was 22, by the time I was 25, she was remarried. In that time in between, I found her condom stash. I hadn’t matured yet so it freaked me out, but even my mother had figured out sex is supposed to be fun and a natural part of living.

Post divorce sex discovery: It’s not just me

As I began to explore my desires and meet men, I discovered other women like me. The late Bobbie Morgan of a Good Woman’s Dirty Mind was divorced in her 30s as well and soon discovered her love of sex, and her desire to teach others what she knew. Erica Jagger of A Woman of a Certain Age divorced later in life and learned to navigate her sexual desires. All three of us, at some point or another, used erotic writings as an outlet and shared what we’d learned about our own sexuality to help others.

For me, it began with reclaiming my sexuality. I masturbated. I finally had an orgasm - at the ripe old age of 32. Through my explorations, I discovered BDSM and Dominance and submission. I entered into my first D/s relationship - with heartbreak as a result, and finally met the man who made me believe in love again. Oh, I believed in sex and desire before I met him - I was self-taught by then - but love couldn’t possibly be real since so many of us are getting divorced.
From trashy romance novels to guilt, from sexual abandon through defiance to sexual abandon for pure pleasure, my personal sexual revolution may have more twists and turns and kink than some (not everyone who discovers their sexuality writes about it for a living, after all), but I don’t think I’m unique. A quick search for “divorce and sex” shows you how much women are talking about how to handle post divorce sex in this world. DivorcedMoms.com, a site I frequent, may spend plenty of time talking about raising kids or dealing with asshole exes, but they talk about sex quite a lot. Hell, there’s even an app for that: Divorced Dating.

Is that we were all repressed and are now throwing off invisible shackles? Or that we’re making the same strange journey the rest of society is - an acceptance of our sexual selves? Does it even matter? Ultimately, rediscovering your sexuality after divorce can be empowering and liberating, leading to adventures you never imagined and a life you thought only other people had.

 

Kayla Lords is a freelance writer, sex blogger, and a masochistic babygirl living the 24/7 D/s life. Follow her on her website or on Twitter @Kaylalords.


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