A Very Unmerry Widow

ID-100114354It’s been a long, cold and lonely winter.  Actually, it’s been two long, cold and lonely winters.  Translation: I have not had sex in sixteen, count’ em, sixteen long months.   That’s two winters without somebody pressing his cold lips against my forehead.  Two winters without somebody asking me if I have enough brandy in my egg nog. And for me, that’s two winters too long.

There’s a good reason for this abstinence and not one of them has to
do with religion, purity rings or the Jonas Brothers.  And no, it has nothing to do with me waiting for an infection to clear, the restraining order to be lifted or the vaginal rejuvenation to take effect.

I’ve been without The Sex because sixteen months ago I unexpectedly lost my husband.  And when I say unexpectedly, I mean that I never had the chance to say goodbye. He was an electrician.  He went to work and never came home.  That makes me a thirty-seven year old widow and mother of three.


Widow.  Ugh, just the word conjures up images of an old Italian woman with ankles as thick as her thighs, bent and shrouded in black,
draping wool blankets over reflective mirrors and shoving cannoli in
my mouth.  What’s worse is the term Young Widow.  Sounds like the
love-starved protagonist of some Lifetime movie; something my mother would watch in marathon-form on a Saturday afternoon.  I would be played by a perfect size four, with perfect tits and perfect fringe bangs. I’d seek guidance for my heartbroken condition from a therapist who possessed the sculpted looks only Zeus himself could have chiseled. He’d comfort me, and love me, and medicate me and we’d have passionate made-for-cable sex.  You know … the kind of sex that starts with doe-eyed come-hither looks and a glass of something bubbly and expensive that doesn’t come in a box with a spout.  Then he tilts my chin, kisses that pout I call a mouth and the next thing you know, it’s all mood lighting, missionary positions and flesh by firelight.

The next morning I’m wearing dirty panties, his wrinkled shirt and
drinking hazelnut coffee from the deck of his palatial home that
boasts a view of his vineyard.  My kids are happy, my heart is full
and my vagina’s writing me thank you cards.

Fucking beautiful.

Cut to commercial because my life is not a Lifetime movie. Not unless
you count the ones where Mommy may or may not drink too much and may or may not sprinkle Xanax in her granola.

I loved my husband and together we loved The Sex.  But he’s gone and I can’t live for yesterday.  And that leaves me alone with a small cache of sex toys and an armory of re-chargeable batteries.  Unfortunately, it’s just not enough anymore.  Plus, those re-chargeables are fucking expensive.


What are the modern day mourning rules?  Victorian women, in their
crape hatbands and veils, mourned for two and a half years. Husbands
only mourned their dearly departed wives for three months (bastards). The Ancient Greeks grieved for just forty days.  Forty days!  After forty days, I was still burying my face in his sweatshirt trying to remember what he smelled like.  I’m guessing there has to be something in the middle that won’t cause women to grab their pearls in horror at my desire to kiss a man on the mouth and for him to kiss me … well, not on the mouth.

Here’s the other twist to add to my already knotted knickers.  My
eighteen year old daughter prefers, no, expects me to close up shop
for eternity and kiss my clitoris goodbye.  Believe me, if I could
kiss my clitoris …

[insert sound of me never leaving my house]

And the cherry on top of this no-sex sundae is that I have absolutely
no desire to date.  Yes, I know this entire article is about me and my
vagina and Me-Want-Sex and all, but I’d rather set my hair on fire
while watching America’s Got Talent than to go on an actual date.
Does this mean that if left unsatisfied, I will be found unleashing
The Sex at truck stops nationwide with burly men who wear garter belts and want my panties, not my phone number?

Maybe.  Not really.  No.

I do, however, have a plan.  My entirely fallible solution to this
problem is to sleep with a friend.  Maybe even a former lover who is
still a good friend (I’m sure I have at least one).  A friend that
won’t mind a random game of slap ‘n tickle.  One that won’t mistake a
little lovin’ for a little love.

What could possibly go wrong, right?

Written by Gina Stratos

aka Miss Spoken of Miss Spoken’s All You Review

Free Digital Images. Photo by Tuomas_Lehtinen.



  1. Cassandra

    I’m a young widow. I was 26 when my husband passed away suddenly at 24. That was two years ago. I too dove into sex toys. After all. Historically dildos were referred to as ‘widows companions.’ But it didn’t take me too long to date agin and have sex again. He died. My libido didn’t. Although it can be make men run when they hear the word ‘widow.’

  2. klk

    A bit late, I know, but that has been my situation. I went without for two and a half years because, like you, I didn't want to date. I felt like wearing black for the rest of my life. Oh, I missed being kissed and held so much.

    Then, pushed by my 18 year old, I started dating again. I had three first dates with forgettable men, and the fourth was the right one. I slept with him on our second night and every night since (four months and counting).

    It WILL happen for you, I promise. Maybe it already has. I hope so.

  3. Jason

    Human beings are made for companionship, and sex is an important part of that. It is not good for man (or woman) to be alone.

    I don’t know what it’s like to lose a loved one like that, but I would echo the caution offered earlier in the thread. Matters of the heart are seldom uncomplicated, and remember that the other party (even if they are willing to engage in a no-ties relationship) may not be able to keep it at that. Sympathy is the key to the heart of a lot of men (at least the good ones).

  4. Mel

    @Miss Spoken – I think there is always a good reason to include a copius amount of tequilla, in every situation. 😉

    It sure would make pounding (too graphic?) out the ground rules much more comfortable to discuss for the first time.

    For the record, I may have crossed a similar bridge with a friend, with the small assistance of another good friend, Jack. Daniels. It didn’t last forever, but it isn’t wierd between us even after the benefits ended.

  5. Suun

    My aunt would love you daughter. >.>

    Your daughter may still be in mourning, herself. While I haven’t experienced anything like this myself, a very dear friend lost her dad almost ten years ago. She was still hurting and mourning when her mom saw a date in someone a couple years later and at the time… well she did not appreciate this change. Not to say it’s something you ever “get over,” but maybe yours is too? Like my friend did, yours will (should) comes to terms with and understand that you want to feel loved and be held, too (even if it is just for the night ~.^).

    They want you to be happy too, even your 18 y/o.

    Sorry for your loss, thank you for your strength in sharing.

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