BEL MOONEY: Why do my lovers fall out of lust with me? 

Dear Bel,

I’m in my early 30s. Last year I left my partner of seven years due to alcoholism, painkiller addiction, nastiness and refusal to work.

I did night shifts to pay the rent. Weirdly enough, despite him physically assaulting me in lockdown, what made me leave was the lack of intimacy. He wouldn’t initiate anything, from hugs to sex. He’d wipe his mouth if I kissed him. I never received any compliments, just criticism on what I said or what I chose to wear. He hated me showing cleavage.

I’m not ugly by any means, I may have put on a few lockdown pounds but I am not overweight. Eventually I left, but he was violent and would turn up at my mother’s with a weapon.

An old friend, Dave, offered me a place to stay — to be safe. I didn’t expect anything to happen between us. I am also five years older. He’s handsome, smart, with a secure job and ambitions . . . way out of my league.

We got on as friends and had so many things in common. I had no idea that he actually fancied me until I arrived and he confessed. So began an intense relationship.

At first I was sceptical. Wasn’t I too old? What if, in five years time, he wants children? (I don’t particularly.) I told him I wasn’t interested in being played around and we were putting our friendship at risk. He told me he’d liked me for a while and spending time with me only cemented how sure he was.

Dave’s been so affectionate from day one. He kisses freely, hugs me . . . he’s what I wanted and have needed for a long time. He’s supportive, although not vocal with compliments.

What’s the problem? He’s suddenly lost interest in sex. We still kiss, hold hands, cuddle, laugh and adore each other. I know he fancies me. So why the loss of interest?

He is very routine-oriented and only really likes to have sex at the weekend when we can sleep in, but the past two months have been different. I’ve tried initiating and being spontaneous. He doesn’t get annoyed, but says: ‘I’m tired, let’s just cuddle up.’

He’s in his late 20s, in good shape. History is beginning to repeat itself where a partner just won’t have sex with me. Am I the problem? I try not to make a big deal about it, as I know that can sometimes makes things worse and I’m lucky enough to have the other forms of intimacy, but I just want to be lusted after occasionally. Why can’t he tell me what the matter is?

JADE

Perhaps your boyfriend can’t, or won’t, talk to you about this because he doesn’t think you will understand that for him the sexual act (rather messy and ludicrous as it is — although we’re not supposed to say that) is not as important as conversation and cuddles.

Many people will think it surprising that a man in his late 20s could possibly feel this way, but I don’t. Nobody should be taken in by the widespread propaganda in this sex-mad society that everybody’s at it like bunnies all the time.

About 20 years ago, I watched a young friend marry the man who had adored her since their schooldays and been broken-hearted when she married somebody else. When that marriage ended it was his chance and he took it — and they are still together today.

But at the time she confided in me ruefully that he was ‘pretty lazy’ in bed. It must have come to be unimportant.

Of course it’s wonderful to be desired. But you are right to describe it as ‘weird’ that you can list the appalling failings of the man you lived with for seven years then admit that your chief concern was that he didn’t initiate sex or pay you compliments.

Lord, I’d want to disinfect myself head to toe if a guy like that laid a leery finger on me! (I should mention to readers that there was a lot more detail in your longer uncut email).

So now you are with Dave and the most interesting thing is that you praise him as ‘way out of my league’.

The way you describe it, you spent seven years with a man some uncharitable people (like me) might describe as a ‘low life’, a yobbish person who lived off you. Now you have escaped to a better life with a thoroughly decent man who seems to be everything the other one was not. Yet you are still upset by the lack of sex.

The subject line of your email was ‘Am I repulsive?’ which reveals much.

It’s as if your self-esteem is so low that you believe the only thing you can offer is sexual performance, and as a result you’re desperate to prove yourself in that department.

Of course, some people are more highly sexed than others and if that’s the case maybe find other interesting, self-sufficient ways of gaining satisfaction.

Is the disparity in desire enough to end a love affair? Sometimes, but not necessarily.

But look. You have years ahead. Whether or not the relationship with Dave lasts you need to think about who you are, what you want to do with your life, how you can make it better.

Why not work on making yourself the kind of person you will judge as ‘way out of the league’ of the person you once were? Conversations, cuddles and more confidence could be the way forward.

I’m so upset about my thinning hair 

Dear Bel,

After reading your last column, as I do each week, I wrote this. It’s about one problem I’m afraid you cannot help with:

I stand at the mirror and look at my hair

But have to admit there isn’t much there.

Since I caught Covid it gets thinner each day

And each time I brush it more hairs come away.

I can cope with being old, with wrinkles and pain,

But not with the loss of my once-curly mane.

I am 91 and live alone but I can fill my days writing little poems. I suspect there must be many people who can relate to the one I share here. Do you think it’s trivial to worry about such things when you are old?

Susan

Ah, nothing is trivial that afflicts the human heart, small though the issue might seem.

Why should any of us feel ashamed to admit that we hate thinning hair (I’m with you on that one — and so are many chaps) or those sags around the chin or the way once-cute love handles have become post-menopausal rolls?

It’s all very well to pretend that wrinkles are the proud signs of a life well-lived and all that — but I slather on the moisturiser in the vain (and that’s the right word) hope that time can be kept at bay for just a bit longer.

It can’t, of course. But your rueful poem will chime with many people, because that nostalgia for lost youth and beauty is something which has affected human beings for centuries.

It’s why artists used to remind people of mortality by showing a beautiful young girl next to a wrinkled old woman. Even more brutally, they used the symbol of the skull to remind us all of what lies ahead.

Those thoughts can be depressing and that’s why it’s vital to flip them over and shout: ‘Hey, I’m still alive and kicking!’ Important to remember that there are older people who have not lost their spark, their humour, their zest for life. Captain Tom was one, and you sound like another.

Your poem reminds me that while we might have to accept loss of hair as well as vigour, it’s still important to try. Not to give up. Not to indulge in self-pity. At the moment I have tendonitis in my left heel and a dodgy right hip and get tired more easily and often catch myself limping.

‘No!’ I think. Try to stride out as if you could still conquer the world. Yes, it can be hard, but the fire of life — and rebellion — still glows and will not go out.

That’s what your poems prove, Susan. You sit there alone, at your great age, and write down your thoughts and feelings — and it’s marvellous because you’re keeping the vital flame a-flicker.

You inspire me! So I hope you’ve made a full recovery from the virus, that you treat your precious hair very gently and try a nourishing mask once a week — and that when you look in that mirror you see a beautiful soul smiling back at you.

And finally… We can learn to be better and braver

Those of you who have Facebook accounts will know that it reminds you of memories. Sure enough, this time last year I was trying to keep my head above lockdown blues and wrote this:

‘Beginning each day with at least half an hour of reading poetry in bed is calming and necessary. This morning I finished with a small selection of the Bronte sisters, chosen by a poet, Gillian Clarke.

When Charlotte sent her poems to Robert Southey (Poet Laureate 1813-1843), he replied: ‘Literature cannot be the business of a woman’s life, and it ought not to be.’ Gillian Clarke comments: ‘No use now to rage against Southey. He was a man of his time.’

Anyway, I post this because of her wise words about ‘rage’ and figures in the past. Let history be, but at the same time rejoice in shifts of meaning and points of view, and let us learn from the whole process.

Of course, the so-called debates about ‘problematic’ statues and people suddenly ‘cancelled’ for things written decades ago go on and on, and show no signs of stopping. Intelligence seems in flight.

If that’s not enough to get you down, what about the appalling spectacle of Professor Chris Whitty being manhandled by anti-lockdown yobs?

And the realisation that Islamic extremism seems to be ‘colonising’ Africa? Prejudice and tyranny are everywhere.

Yes, you’d be right that your advice columnist often needs help through low moods herself.

This latest feeling of bewilderment is fuelled by finishing a big, brilliant book, Barbarossa by Jonathan Dimbleby, after which my soul feels battered by yet more proof of humankind’s perennial suffering.

I don’t tend to read much war history (unlike war poetry) but had to tackle this one through interest, loyalty, great reviews and enduring hatred of Hitler.

In the aftermath, this vivid, absorbing account of Germany’s doomed attack on Russia triggered the awareness that human beings are at once bestial and unimaginably brave — equally capable of wanton slaughter and heroic sacrifice.

Nothing new there. But we must study history for understanding, compassion — and warning.