After being involuntarily celibate for over two years—following my husband’s departure after three decades of marriage—I started to yearn for physical intimacy again. I wasn’t ready for a full-fledged “relationship,” which I had always thought was a requirement for sex; in my vulnerable state, that could lead to more emotional turmoil. For the first time, the notion of a one-night stand—sex without strings, possibly without even knowing each other’s names—felt appealing.
Serendipitously, this desire emerged just before my trip to Austin, Texas, for the South by Southwest (SXSW) festival, a renowned gathering for music, film, and tech enthusiasts that doubles as a hotspot for casual encounters. I’d read about the phenomenon and realized SXSW might well deserve its moniker as Spring Break for Adults.
One theory behind this phenomenon was that the thrill of potential success served as a powerful aphrodisiac. Many attendees at SXSW could one day become the “Masters of the Universe,” as Tom Wolfe famously termed high-flying Wall Street bankers. At this conference, those future power players had egos that matched their daily ATM withdrawal limits.
The sweltering heat of Austin also encouraged people to shed clothing, but more likely, it was the plethora of complimentary drinks that led to a decrease in inhibitions. Perhaps the most compelling reason was that many discussions took place in hotels—ideal settings for spontaneous encounters. Plus, being away from home minimized the awkwardness of running into a casual partner later. This made casual sex seem like a fitting way to fill those awkward gaps between sessions.
I confided my goal to a male friend, who surprisingly advised me to “look for a ‘spark.’” (But if there were a “spark,” wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of a fling?). Naturally, I started to question whether I had the right look to pull off my plan. At fifty-something, I’m in decent shape, but I packed my Spanx and some form-fitting attire (which, admittedly, looked a bit comical with the necessary sneakers for dashing between venues). Determined to not sabotage myself, I even got waxed before heading to Austin.
Once at the conference, I seized every opportunity to introduce myself. I smiled, engaged in conversation, and spoke with numerous younger men (most of them were younger). Every night, I attended at least one of the many vibrant parties. Instead of burying my face in my iPhone or pretending to be busy with my iPad, I scanned the room while sipping on my Yellow Armadillo beer, envisioning a sign over my head that read: A-V-A-I-L-A-B-L-E.
But like a firestarter with a box of damp matches, I experienced no “sparks.” Nothing progressed beyond the obligatory exchange of business cards, often stuffed into back pockets, only to be forgotten as the jeans made their way to the laundry.
Where had I gone astray? Did I not look good, but merely “good for my age”? Why couldn’t I enjoy an experience that seemed accessible to everyone else at a time when I was most receptive?
I reached out to my friend again, who explained that men seeking one-night stands were typically not interested in depth. No matter how hard I tried to appear lighthearted, I still exuded “substance.” (I appreciated the compliment, whether it was true or not—then I thought, darn it!). But what did I need to do to seem trivial enough to attract attention as a potential one-night stand?
Upon returning home, I delved into the “how” of hooking up that I had overlooked before. Apparently, I should have signed up for one of the dating apps, like HowAboutWe.com. Considering the tech-savvy nature of the conference, I suppose I should have anticipated that. But where was the human connection? Oh right: that was what I didn’t want in the first place.
I reached out to a female friend who had fully embraced the sexual liberation of the ’60s. She mentioned that men had become—what was her term? Timid. And downright lazy. They no longer needed to pick up on subtle signals since women had taken on the role of pursuers. This meant that dressing to accentuate my assets and being open to opportunity was akin to waving a red flag in front of a blind bull.
According to her, men today expected something akin to an engraved invitation: prolonged eye contact, a flirtatious smile, encroaching personal space with physical touch, and suggestive conversation. To succeed, I needed to adopt a more aggressive flirting style, which I had either forgotten or never learned over the years of my marriage.
Ultimately, I couldn’t do it. While I thought I could separate physical needs from emotional ones, I still envisioned having someone to chat with before our heart rates spiked and after they returned to normal. Why did I want to connect with someone who valued me so little that he didn’t care to know me? Having felt devalued in my marriage, a one-night stand would only serve to diminish me further.
While I may have technically failed in my quest, I learned to heed what those closest to me had been saying for years: my worth is far greater than what was communicated to me during my marriage. As I work to internalize this new self-perception, I remain open to meeting people who appreciate substance. So if you happen to spot a woman of a certain age at a conference who isn’t trying to draw undue attention, take a moment to say hello and get to know her. You might just discover a different kind of luck than you anticipated.
If you’re interested in exploring more about this topic, check out this insightful post about the nuances of relationships and intimacy. And for those considering at-home insemination options, Cryobaby offers reliable kits to assist you. For comprehensive information on intrauterine insemination, visit Healthline for an excellent resource.
In summary, my attempt at a one-night stand didn’t go as planned, but it led to a deeper understanding of my self-worth and opened my eyes to the value of meaningful connections over fleeting encounters.
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