A year ago, my husband Steve and I treated ourselves to a mini break in Mallorca. As someone who takes pride in my appearance – I go to the gym most days to maintain my figure – I had packed a carefully curated holiday wardrobe, including some new lacy lingerie.
I hadn’t quite banked on the extent of Steve’s enthusiasm for the latter. In defiance of his age – he’s 68 and I’m 63 – he scooped me up in his arms and an hour later we were still intertwined beneath the sheets.
His full-throttle enthusiasm for lovemaking was more athletic twentysomething than greying retiree.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it. But it was a distinct gear change compared to recent years; our once-vigorous love life had taken a bit of a nosedive in our 60s. When I joked that it was like being back in bed with the Steve of 25 years earlier, he was utterly delighted with himself. He certainly didn’t breathe a word about there being a secret reason for the about-turn.
In fact, I have only recently got to the bottom of it. Namely Steve’s secret stash of Viagra. The same erectile dysfunction drug that I’d joked, back when it first hit the shelves in 1998, would never be required in my marriage. Such was Steve’s libido and our mutual attraction.
How wrong I was…
You may well laugh, but the discovery came as a terrible shock.
A tsunami of feelings washed over me at the sight of those little blue pills. Hurt, betrayal, confusion and sadness.
As many as 55 per cent of men aged 40 to 70 use Viagra – and 17 per cent of men over 60 do so without telling their partners
It felt like something important had been lost – and not just trust because he’d kept it from me. In the moment that I saw the pills, my previously unshakeable belief that my husband still found me attractive, despite the effects of ageing, crumbled – and with it my self-confidence. Not to mention my confidence in our marriage.
Such was the hurt I felt that the discovery even led to me actively flirt with other men – yes, in front of Steve – to try to prove to myself that I still held some allure.
I know how selfish and vain this might make me sound, but how would you feel if you discovered your spouse was reliant on chemical assistance to make love to you? And that he didn’t even have the decency to tell you?
To make matters worse, I’d been genuinely thrilled by his renewed interest in me; it had been such an ego boost. So to discover it was synthetic, entirely fake, was really devastating. The sting still lingers.
I take some solace from the fact that we’re far from alone: apparently as many as 55 per cent of men aged 40 to 70 use Viagra – and 17 per cent of men over 60 do so without telling their partners.
Admittedly, some of my fellow sexagenarians might feel relieved when their husband’s libido abates with age. But I don’t fall into that tired old cliche; intimacy has always been important to me, and I’ll admit to having felt a bit smug when my friends confessed that their sex lives had long waned.
I was 18 when I lost my virginity to a devoted boyfriend, who was for ever telling me how attractive I was. I enjoyed the effect I had on him, the feeling of power.
When our relationship ended in my 20s, I was more than happy to use my sexual appeal to my advantage in day-to-day life, wearing figure-hugging dresses that showed off my body, particularly my long legs. I adored the cachet of seeing men look at me as I walked around the office. And I became confident that I knew how to satisfy a man in the bedroom.
Steve and I met through a mutual friend when I was 35 and he was 40. Both civil servants, we’d also both been married before. My first marriage was a classic case of getting tied down too young. We divorced after a decade, having grown in different directions.
Steve was a breath of fresh air. He’s a funny, self-deprecating kind of guy, happy to listen to me yap on. It helped that Steve was enthusiastic about my looks, especially as he was very good-looking himself.
Neither of us had or wanted children, so were able to give each other our undivided attention. We had equally matched libidos and matrimony did little to dampen our desire for one another.
Erectile dysfunction is still very much a taboo. Yes, we titter at the mention of Viagra, but do we ever really discuss what it’s like for the man who needs it, or a wife whose husband starts taking it, writes Elizabeth Smith (file image)
It wasn’t until the menopause arrived when I was 50 that our daily love-making began to falter. Suddenly my moods were all over the place: I’d be teary, overreacting at Steve not paying me enough attention or melting down over what to cook for dinner. Life felt overwhelming.
As for my body, my breasts swelled and the fat on my tummy and thighs appeared almost overnight. I wasn’t eating or drinking any differently and yet here I was transforming into a matronly woman I didn’t recognise. It was shattering to feel I was losing my looks and sexual allure which had previously been so important to me.
Sex went out the window. I felt fat, old and ugly, bulging out of my previously sexy lingerie. I turned myself off to be honest, so why would Steve want me? So for months, I avoided every chance of intimacy with him.
Thankfully, Steve was hugely understanding. He helped me change my diet and supported me in going to the gym and getting hormone replacement therapy. He was always encouraging and still cuddled me even when I didn’t want to have sex. When we went out together, he’d hold my hand and still seemed proud I was his wife.
Once I was post-menopausal in my late 50s, we decided to retire and enjoy life, opting to leave our well-paid jobs in the civil service.
Things got back to normal in the bedroom… until Steve was diagnosed with pre-diabetes and high cholesterol aged 65. Neither of us thought anything of him taking medication – all I cared about was his health. But I’ve since read that some experts believe statins can reduce testosterone, which in turn can lead to erectile dysfunction.
Our recently increased sex life waned and though we were still intimate, I admit that the times that Steve couldn’t get an erection were just awful. I’d always be understanding (if secretly frustrated) but he would become moody and insecure.
On those occasions we’d spend ages trying to get things going, but by then I was mentally compiling the weekly shopping list and he just looked bereft.
At this point we both felt our ages, mourning what once was. Was this the beginning of our slow decline to decrepitude? Then, after a few years of this, came the Mallorca holiday and Steve started behaving like a sex-obsessed man less than half his age.
I was thrilled at this turn of events. It felt like the old days when he’d pester me for sex all the time. While I’d sometimes bat him away, secretly I loved being wanted by him again and spent renewed hours in front of the mirror perfecting my hair, make-up and styles to fit the new, curvier me.
Yet Steve was still on the medication that had initially sparked his bedroom problems, so I did wonder what was going on. Particularly as I experienced some newfound discomfort.
Initially I blamed myself, putting my problems down to post-menopausal vaginal dryness.
We’ve never been shy about discussing intimate matters, so I mentioned this to Steve and he agreed that I should get some lubricant.
Looking back, this is what hurts most. He lied to my face when he could have explained it wasn’t me, it was him. That he was taking Viagra and that’s why sex felt so different. And yet he said nothing, leaving me to feel guilty for my changing body being the ‘problem’.
It was a couple of months later, when I was packing for a week away to Cornwall, that I got the shock of my life. There in his toiletry bag was the packet of Viagra.
It was like an arrow to the chest. He clearly didn’t find the sight of my 63-year-old body adequately arousing so he had to take a drug to kickstart things.
At my age, many women start to fear their husband doesn’t find them attractive any more. Now I had the cast-iron proof. It was devastating. That evening, when Steve returned home from a round of golf, I confronted him. I demanded to know why he’d lied; told him it was clear he didn’t fancy me any more. My emotions all over the place, I even shouted that he was rubbish in bed – pills or no pills. Then I broke down in heavy sobs.
Surely, I demanded, he wouldn’t have wanted me to go on medication without telling him; why did he hide it from me? On and on I ranted for hours. He kept saying ‘sorry’ over and over. He later told me he was terrified I was going to leave him right there and then.
For two days we slept apart. When we arrived in Cornwall I even insisted the hotel staff swap the double for twin beds. I was so angry with him I couldn’t talk to him, and if he attempted any sort of conversation I’d start shouting at him again.
It was only by the third day that I calmed down enough to listen. The truth was, he admitted, that he couldn’t keep up with me sexually. Since taking his medication, his struggles to maintain an erection had made him feel less of a man.
In witnessing this vulnerable side of him, the rational part of me could see it from his perspective – but my pride had taken a hit.
Desperate for validation, I flirted with every man I came into contact with that week in Cornwall. While Steve was horrified, I kept it to light banter only to see if I was still attractive, and – bingo! – I was.
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Steve repeated again and again that he had taken Viagra out of concern for me and our marriage. He said he knew perfectly well how much I enjoyed sex and he was fearful that if he couldn’t maintain things, where would that leave us?
I can see now that I was truly horrible to him. It took a week of my moody silences and his contrite explanations for us to find a way forward.
I didn’t want us to be that couple resorting to medical intervention. I couldn’t handle the idea of spending every time we had sex second-guessing whether his performance was in spite of me rather than because of me.
So we talked about other ways to sexually satisfy one another. And, in fairness to him, I do now understand why he resorted to medication. I accept he didn’t want to disappoint me. I hadn’t appreciated that his confidence had been dented by the whole experience too.
A year on, we’re much more open about our sex life now. We make love twice a week (if that), and that’s because it’s much more about quality as opposed to quantity these days.
Steve was reluctant to give up on the Viagra entirely, so I didn’t throw them away (but I do count them to monitor his use of them). I let him use it occasionally when we go on mini-breaks and holidays; times we’re supposed to be relaxing, so he doesn’t need any added pressure.
Meanwhile, I’ve kept all this under my hat. I’m normally very open with my friends but I know they would secretly assume Steve’s failure to maintain an erection is an attack on me and my looks. That I’m ‘less than’ because I can no longer arouse him – even if I now realise that these kinds are problems are purely physical.
As for Steve, I really don’t want anyone to feel pity for him or think any less of him either.
After all, erectile dysfunction is still very much a taboo. Yes, we titter at the mention of Viagra, but do we ever really discuss what it’s like for the man who needs it, or a wife whose husband 비닉스 사용법 starts taking it?
I want women my age to know that it isn’t a slight on them if their husband turns to pharmaceutical support.
Let’s be honest, most men over 60 struggle in this department – it’s this we should normalise, not the taking of medication. Covertly or otherwise.
Elizabeth Smith is a pseudonym. Names have been changed.
As told to: Samantha Brick