I Have Lost My Sexual Mojo and I'm Fine With It

After Jimmy came other mostly unrequited crushes — Matt, then Wil, then Chris and on and on until I met the man who would become my first husband. My girlfriends teased me that all I thought about was boys. Isabelle loved riding horses, Jenny loved writing stories, Andrea loved playing tennis. As for me, I loved having crushes.

I first met Nick when I was 16 and he was 20 at my older sister’s 21st birthday party. We got married when I was 25. I should have known the marriage was doomed when we were dating. Our hormonal appetites were very different. I once dumped a bowl of cookies and ice cream on his head because he refused to have sex with me. Sex was on my mind a lot.

When we went to couples’ counseling after 18 years of marriage, he complained that I used him for sex. I remember the counselor raising his eyebrows and saying, “Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

I met my second husband Jack through a mutual friend. We were both 52. I was elated. I had found my soulmate in every way, including the bedroom. Jack slid over to my side and stayed there all night. Even on the nights I was keener for sex than he was, he accepted the challenge.

And then at 60, my sex drive nosedived. No one was more surprised than I was.

I upped my testosterone prescription, googled Viagra for women, bought coconut oil. But the raw desire to get naked was replaced by a soft flannel nightgown, eye shades and ear plugs.

Where was the old Willa, the one who thought there was something wrong in the relationship if we didn’t have sex at least twice a week?

If my 23-year-old self could see my 63-year-old self, she would be horrified. But my 23-year-old self was an insecure young woman who needed a lot of positive feedback from a man.

I don’t need that reassurance now. I know Jack loves me and finds me hot. He tells me all the time. And I love him. I just don’t want him with a capital W the way I used to.

Turns out I am not alone. According to a report from Johns Hopkins Medicine, half of women in their 50s are having sex. By their 70s, only 27 percent are. The study attributes this decline to four culprits: desire, arousal, orgasm and pain. I have trouble with the first three — everything seems to take longer than it used to.

On the positive side, I am calmer and less needy. Rather than wanting to tear his clothes off at the end of the day, I am excited to cuddle up on the sofa by the fire. We still fall asleep entangled, but it’s a PG entanglement. And I do have sex with him, just not as often as he’d like.

Though I find my husband very attractive, I’m content to hold his hand. That’s the thing about aging that no one tells you. It comes with the peace of acceptance. I thought I’d be more upset to lose my libido. Instead, I find it’s okay.

Playing cards with girlfriends, we talked about how we had our mojo in our 50s. Then something changed when we turned 60. We wondered when cocktails turned to tea. When did we start wearing reading glasses to see if those were jacks or queens?

While the mojo has waned, our intimacy still runs deep. Jack and I take ballroom dance classes and go on long walks together. We’re comfortable talking about anything. Though, if someone offered me my mojo back without the hormonal angst, I’d take it.

In the meantime, I have learned that holding each other closely can be as fulfilling as a roll in the hay. And anyway, hay is itchy.