When HBO’s Sex in the City first aired in 1998, I watched with at a distance: Thank God, that’s not me anymore, I quipped. In my late teens and early twenties, I had been less like Carrie Bradshaw, the self-reflective columnist and seeker of long-term commitments, and more like Samantha, the publicist and avoider of emotional intimacy. Throughout undergrad I was boyfriendless by choice, and I loved every minute of my free agency status. But by the time I was twenty-four, I was tired of the sex games; I settled down with an average Joe and married him three years later.  A year later, I was watching “Sex in the City” and living vicariously, eagerly, and secretly through these characters.  .:read more:.

  Sex with the soon-to-be-hubby had never been great, but with marriage, sex had become sporadic and uneventful.  By the time our first daughter was born, our house had officially become a No Sex Zone. No, I was not suffering from post-partum depression or experiencing drops in my hormonal levels; actually, pregnancy had made me crave sex voraciously. I needed it, but now my husband saw me as the mother of his child. Miraculously, right before his eyes I morphed into a neo-Virgin Mother; I was now pristine and worthy of a pedestal. How could he do “that stuff” with me now? In all honesty, I imagine that witnessing your wife give birth to a ten-pound baby might mess up many brothers’ libidos. Moreover, every few hours or so, I was nursing our daughter; how do you stop seeing the breasts as asexual and, then, flip the switch and see the breasts as sexual? Whatever the case, I was none to happy about this inopportune drought. I will not say that a lack of sex caused my divorce, but I will say that a lack of sex made me unwilling to fight very hard to keep the marriage together. 

Now, fast forward to 2008.  Sex and the City, the movie, is playing in a theater near you. Ten years have passed, and I am still coveting the sex life of Samantha. (I can barely wait to see her latest conquests.) Everything has changed for me, yet nothing has changed. The drought continues. Now I cannot blame the husband; we have been divorced for more than five years. Now my obstacles to carnal pleasure come in the form of three children and a demanding career. I tell myself that I cannot date because I have to raise these children by myself, because my job requires so much of my time, because no man wants to date a woman with so many children. Whenever that desire consumes me, I quell it with the assertion that I need to get my body back together before I get back into the game. Or I say that what I really want is love- not sex. Besides, too many people have HIV; I cannot put my health in jeopardy. I even go so far as to say that dating is not in my budget: it costs too much to get my hair and nails done or to buy sexy outfits. Hence, I’m being fiscally responsible by not dating. I realize that these are false narratives I create to protect myself from potential disappointments. However, there’s a lot of truth in those statements. Having sex, as a fully conscious adult, is a daunting task. I know the risks and the consequences of sex, and I know just how much I have to lose. At twenty, I did not contemplate fully the what-ifs of my actions; now at almost forty, I am immobilized by every possible negative outcome.  Living in the moment is almost impossible because I know through experience what could go wrong. Nevertheless, I think constantly about the good old days when sex was easy and frequent. Never could I have imagined as a younger woman that I would go for extended periods without touch, without tenderness, without intimacy. How did this happen, and what the hell can I do to fix it?

 I usually have an answer when I ask these questions. However, this time I have no profound epiphany, no sage advice. I am just articulating my and, perhaps, other single women’s frustrations. I thought that at this age I would not have to worry about the dating scene. I thought that I would be having extraordinary sex with my significant other well into my golden years. I had mentally prepared myself for the possibility that I might have to juggle motherhood and my career. I had not considered the notion that I might be dating, too. Dating is a full-time job, and who has the time, energy, or inclination? I must make the time and the effort, I know. Clearly, I’m not going to meet anyone at the job when I work in an environment with mostly women and older men nearing retirement. Part of the answer must be to go out and mingle in spite of the risks and despite the corny rituals of getting to know new people. On some level, I know that the time is now or never for me. Can I really afford to waste another ten years having bad sex or, worse yet, no sex? An older woman friend of mine said to me, “If you think getting sex at forty is hard, just wait until you hit fifty.” Carpe diem, she said, seize the day. So here I go, out into the city with my high heels and fabulous hair, just looking for the opportunity to live in the moment.

Dr. Seretha D. Williams, PH.D

center stage magazine

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