Sexuality at 90: My Lust and Desires Are Still Alive

• Read more expert advice on sex, relationships, dating and love I plan to recite my poem again at the other parties, including two lines I think are absolutely harmless: “I will forever be trying to find my specs/ And forget totally what it was like to have sex.” Well, at the family party, my children went potty. Told me never to mention that word again. You know which word. A similar thing happened a year ago at the Tottenham Hotspur Stadium in front of 61,000. I was being interviewed in the middle of the pitch at half-time as it was 50 years since I wrote a book about a year living with the team, The Glory Game. I was going on about how I used to amuse the team on long journeys by asking questions about their fellow players. Who is the only one who voted Labour at the last election? (The answer was Steve Perryman.) Who has just bought a fish and chip shop? (Cyril Knowles.) Who has the biggest willy? (Terry Naylor.) The interviewer, Spurs’ resident DJ, practically had a heart attack. He put his hand over his mouth and looked nervously towards the directors’ box: “You’ll get me sacked now.” What I had not realised was that the interview was being beamed all round the stadium on giant screens — and lots of fans had got out their mobile phones to record it. When I got home, my two daughters came round to shout at me. Friends of theirs at the game had sent them copies and put it on social media. They were absolutely livid. At my age, talking about such things. I don’t know what it is about sex. It seems to be the last taboo, especially if it’s about the old. You are not allowed to mention it, reminisce — not if you are old. Children particularly hate the thought of their parents having any sexual activity. We are told that young people are not having sex any more. But pornography is rife. They don’t want children and would prefer to sleep with their yappy slobbering poodles than a yappy slavering bloke. • Do you crave middle-aged sexual attention? I started very late. In my teenage years during the Fifties, I tried hard all the time to get my hand up a jumper, but they wore such heavy pullies in those days. A kiss against a hedge was your best bet. I did have lots of girl friends. Girls from middle-class homes — ie with a front bell and a garage — often came to call for me at our council house. I would hide behind the sofa and tell me mam to open it and say I was not in. I was so embarrassed. The girls would be inviting me to a party at their house. And in the dark, I often did manage to negotiate a few jumpers. No sex before marriage was the norm I began going out with the girl I married, Margaret Forster, when she was still at school — she was 17, I was 19. We had two years’ courting, a bit of heavy petting, a few scares — not that we had done anything to be scared of. I hated the idea of a condom. Anyway, none of the couples I knew slept together. God would not have liked it, or your parents. Each year one girl did get pregnant. She disappeared, sent away to have the baby, who was then adopted. No sex before marriage was the norm. I am sure we were typical for the Fifties, especially in the north. Yet when I met two lads from Liverpool in 1966 with the same social and school background as me, and they each told me they had their first sexual experience aged 15, I could not believe it — Paul McCartney with a babysitter and John Lennon with a girl in a park. “It was horrible,” John said. “It was like trying to get into a mouse’s earhole.” When Margaret went to Oxford University, a friend who had been at boarding school told her about the diaphragm that she had fitted in order to sleep with one of her teachers. Margaret visited an address in Harley Street and off we went on a sailing holiday to Friesland in the Netherlands, all sorted. There were four other couples, friends of mine from Durham, each in a little dinghy in which we slept under an awning. So romantic, ahhh. Alas, we crashed our boat and had to split up and each move in with another couple, thus ruining their sex life as well as ours. We were married for 55 happy years, apart from the fact that Margaret had a double mastectomy in her thirties. But we carried on. Forty years later, cancer came back. She died in February 2016. I remember in her last week in the Marie Curie hospice moaning about how lonely I was at home on my own, doing my own cooking, which I had never done all our married life. “You will be fine,” she said with a tired but knowing smile. I think she knew me better than I knew myself. Five dates in a week! Same bistro, same table, same meal For a year, I was busy with probate and selling our Lakeland holiday home, then I began to miss having a companion to do things with. A female friend, of course. It was a case of lust and loneliness. One of my daughters bought me a subscription to Saga’s dating service for my 80th birthday. Slow responses at first, as it was the Christmas season, then suddenly I got five dates in a week. I took each of them to the same local bistro, had the same table and meal, and watched the waitress’s eyes roll as I charmed a new lady. Two said the same thing when they sat down: “I have a confession.” Oh no, I thought, they are married. “I am not 64,” each said, “I am 74.” I just laughed. They were all educated, professional. One was a GP in Islington. Perfect, I thought, she will look after me. Another was a retired headmistress who had gone to Margaret’s college. I did go on to have relations with two of them — one at a time, I’m not that bad. But they petered out. • Think it’s all over? Elderly enjoy better sex than middle-aged Then a woman wrote saying we had worked together some years ago, would I fancy a drink? I could not remember her. She looked nice in the photo she sent, so I agreed to meet and I went out with her for two years. I thought we were having a good time, fitted well together, then she suddenly seemed to lose all affection for me. I told one of my daughters about it and she said don’t be daft, that doesn’t matter at your age; you still get on OK. But I missed the physical side so much. So we parted. At a university event, I met a medical academic I had known vaguely for some years, distinguished, loads of degrees, but I had always thought of her as bluestocking, rather cold. As she was leaving, she said to me, “I would like to f*** you.” I just laughed, thinking she’d had too much to drink. Was I notch on her bedpost? I sent her an email the next day, asking if she had been drunk or joking. Two days later, she came to see me. We went to bed just once and that was it. Not seen her since. Was I a notch on her bedpost? Or a rotten performer? That is one of the things I’ve discovered these past ten years. Women can be just as keen as men. In fact, I have twice been out with married women whose husbands knew about me. I assumed they did not see me as a threat, at my age — look at the way he groans when he stands up, he must be past it, or so they probably thought. The thing about love and sex in old age, for men and for women, is that desire and lust do not necessarily fade or disappear. A recent study has revealed men’s sexual desire does not peak in youth, as has always been assumed, but in their forties, and continues through middle age. Adapt. And take your time With time of course it changes. Men and women have to adapt, change their expectations, style, your position, your wants, your pleasures. And take your time. Lots of surveys show that at least half of folk in their sixties and seventies are still having regular sex, often once a week — almost all say it is the most enjoyable and satisfying in their whole lives. Sex is good for your health, for men and for women, both mental and physical. It lowers blood pressure, raises heartbeat, increases oestrogen and testosterone levels, decreases stress, helps you sleep, is excellent exercise — no wonder doctors recommend it. Oh yes they do. For all ages. • My 70th birthday treat? I hired a male escort With age, women can’t get pregnant. Men no longer see it as a test, a challenge, a competition. If either says, sorry darling, I am too tired or my back is killing me, then there is no bitterness or resentment, no feeling of being hurt and rejected. You roll over and think, thank God, I will get a good sleep tonight. Sex in old age is common these days because most of us are fitter and healthier than our own parents — we live longer, are more active and adventurous, we have more money, take care of ourselves, try to look half-decent. We are able and fit enough to enjoy more leisure, go on cruises, try out new things and new places. OK, there’s no hanging from chandeliers now And if our marriage fails, or we lose our partner, we don’t necessarily think that’s it, life is over, my soulmate has gone. No more companionship, no more kisses. You must believe and hope that there is someone out there who will offer most of those things, a new chum to do things with, show you that your life is not all over. Any sexual activity — and it is not mandatory, though always a pleasurable plus — will be different from what you experienced in the past. Intercourse as you once knew it will be different: there will be no hanging from the chandeliers. Possibly little penetration. No banging away or frantic activity from either side. What most people greatly enjoy in old age is Outercourse, as opposed to Intercourse. Lying together, holding, cuddling, kissing, caressing, fondling, touching — all those nice verbs that in years gone by, when it was all mad passionate lurve, you probably did not have time for. Yes, there are problems brought about by old age. Women lose interest, their desires, their sensitivities; men lose their erections, their orgasms, their capabilities. There are health problems, medications and operations that complicate coupling. My eighties have been fab But in old age, both men and woman still want emotional closeness, affection, kindness, companionship, pleasure and, of course, love. A relationship at any age is not much good without love. But a love relationship that also includes physical intimacy has a chance of really lasting. John Betjeman is supposed to have said on his deathbed his only regret in life was not having enough sex. I still regret those two early teenage years with Margaret, madly in love, mad for it, yet not sleeping together. What a waste. I like to think I have made up for it a bit in the past ten years. My eighties have been fab. Even with my triple heart bypass and arthritis, I have almost always during this time had a woman in my life, for comfort and care and company, to make me feel alive and human. The feel of another body is one of the best experiences in life. My poor body aches so much now When I hear the foxes in my back garden going at it all night long, I think lucky sods, I can’t manage that. But just keep the noise down a bit, please. I do have a partner, whom I love dearly, a babe who will be 80 in April. We have had a brilliant time together these past four yeas. But now, alas, at 90 I am suddenly beginning to feel my active days are over. It has only recently happened. My memory and spirit are intact, my energy and desire to work the same as ever, and I have two new books commissioned and loads of things on. But my poor body aches so much. It is hell putting on my socks and shoes, pulling my trousers up and, worst of all, turning over in bed. It is all such an effort. And yet, surprisingly, my mind seems to be accepting this physical change. I don’t fret or get bitter, which I assumed I would. The mind does seem able to adjust itself to what the body is saying. I just tell myself I have had a very good run. When I am in the middle of a story and forget names or dates, I don’t worry I might be wandering. I just laugh and tell myself I was like that at 19. But I fear that finally the old joke is coming true. Old woman to old man: “Let’s go upstairs and make love.” “Sorry, pet,” replies the old man. “I don’t think I can manage both.”