I first had sex on July 22, 1979—a sweaty, fumbling, hormone-driven encounter that lasted approximately thirty-seven seconds and left me convinced I’d discovered the meaning of life. I was twenty-one years old, full of Appalachian fire and Baptist guilt, with absolutely no idea what I was doing.

This morning, forty-six years later, I’m still a bit sweaty from having sex for the first time with a seventy-year-old woman. And let me tell you something that would have blown my young mind: sex at seventy beats the hell out of sex at twenty-one.

If someone had told my raging-hormone twenty-one-year-old self that the best sex of my life would happen in my seventies, I’d have laughed them out of the Tennessee hills. Yet here I am in Barcelona, living proof that getting older is criminally underrated.

Six Decades, Countless Revelations

I’ve now had sex through six decades: the Swinging Seventies, the Excessive Eighties, the Digital Nineties, the Naughty Aughts, the Turbulent Teens, and now the Post-Pandemic Twenties. That’s roughly 5,000 to 7,000 times. The truth probably falls somewhere between those numbers—not that anyone’s counting.

But here’s what the math doesn’t capture: the evolution from desperate fumbling to confident exploration, from guilt-ridden quickies to hours-long adventures in pleasure.

 The Beautiful Irony of Age

My young evangelical self thought sex was something you “got through” to make babies or keep your spouse happy. Now I understand it’s one of life’s greatest art forms—a canvas for creativity, vulnerability, and pure joy that only gets richer with experience.

We know our bodies now. We know how they feel, how they react, what makes them scream like Tarzan and what makes them purr like contented cats. We’ve tried all sixty-four positions of the Kama Sutra (yes, I counted), tied ourselves in pleasurable knots, and discovered that confidence is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

Gone is the ego-driven performance anxiety of youth. We’re not trying to prove anything or impress anyone. We play like grown children, laughing at mishaps, celebrating discoveries, and approaching each encounter with the curiosity of seasoned explorers in a familiar but ever-surprising landscape.

 From Prudish to Magnificent

The journey from my prudish Baptist upbringing to this morning’s Barcelona bliss has been nothing short of revolutionary. We’ve put aside shame in pursuit of magnificent, raucous pleasure. We’re honest about our fantasies—out loud and in whispered secrets. We’ve learned that vulnerability is foreplay and that the best sex happens when you’re completely, authentically yourself.

My first wife was seventeen when we married—barely out of high school and carrying as much sexual shame as I was. We spent thirty years in a sexual fog, believing that desire was dangerous and pleasure was suspect. 

But here’s the beautiful truth: I’ve now made love to women in their twenties, thirties, forties, fifties, sixties, and seventies. Each decade brought new discoveries, new depths of connection, new levels of freedom.

 The Outlander Fantasy

If I could use those mystical time-traveling stones from Outlander to transport my twenty-one-year-old Appalachian self to this morning in Barcelona, would I do it? In a heartbeat. Not just for the incredible sex, but to whisper in my ear: “Stop rushing. Stop worrying about performance. Stop carrying all that guilt. The best is yet to come—literally.” And since we are talking Outlander, what about a foursome with Jamie and Claire? One can dream, right?!

 What I Know Now

Sex with someone who is seventy is what dreams are made of. It’s unhurried and exploratory. It’s about connection rather than conquest. It’s laughter and tenderness mixed with wild abandon. It’s the integration of everything I’ve learned about pleasure, intimacy, and the sacred art of making love.

Never in my wildest adolescent fantasies, when my hormones were raging and my imagination was running wild, could I have dreamed of sex this good, this free, this fulfilling. The young man who thought he knew everything about desire knew absolutely nothing.

 The Ultimate Aphrodisiac

Here’s what no one tells you about aging: experience is the ultimate aphrodisiac. Knowing what you want, asking for it, giving it freely—these are the skills that take decades to develop. The confidence to be completely naked, not just physically but emotionally, spiritually, creatively.

So here’s to sex in the seventies—both the decade and the age. Here’s to the beautiful irony that the best sex of your life might be waiting for you in your golden years. Here’s to the revolutionary idea that pleasure improves with age, like fine wine or perfectly aged cheese.

Getting older? Bring it on. I’m just getting started. Sure, we know there will be challenges with aging, and we hope to face them with resilience, but we also know that in this present moment, seventy could not be better. Hmmm, I wonder what she´s doing this afternoon? 

P.S. To my younger readers wondering if it’s all downhill after thirty: trust me, you haven’t even climbed the mountain yet.

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