Last Updated on 24 June, 2026 by Cara Sutra
“You looked very pounceable today. Shame we’ve had no chance to play. Maybe later.”
No this wasn’t from him to me; it was my message to him. To say my husband was surprised by this WhatsApp from me would be an understatement. It has been a long, long time since I felt the stirrings of sexual longing, and desire. But these past couple of weeks, I’ve felt something similar to how I was back then. In the before times. Before COVID. Before perimenopause. Before chronic illness. Back when I was younger, felt young, and revelled in it. Revelled in my body and its energy and natural desires. The freedom to fuck him whenever I wanted, which wasn’t an issue, because he always wanted. Turns out, luckily for me, he still does.
A warning that this will be a shameless brag about sex. Some might say my whole blog is exactly that. But I think I deserve to relish the return of my libido with immense pride, seeing as I’ve gone so long with low libido. So low it felt like it had died and was long buried. This week, my husband and I performed a “res-erection”.
Holy fuck-me-now-Batman, she’s back. My libido is back.
There have been a few signs of it over the past few weeks. A little tingle, here and there, surprising sensations from the depths. At first I thought it was simply a strong resurgence of my Domme side. But the ache to have something pounding me, thrusting deep inside and ravishing me whole became stronger, more difficult to dismiss as merely a fleeting whim. Masturbation, then? I have some new sex toys to review, perhaps they will hit the spot. But no, as enjoyable as they are, that wasn’t what I was truly lusting after, either. This wasn’t a simple quick thrills subdued with a fast orgasm kinda ache. It became clear what sort of lingering ache it was.
I was craving his touch. His fingers on me, holding me, gripping me, stroking me, teasing me. And in me, dipping in and out of my silky wet intimate space, using the natural lubrication to tease my hard, pulsating clit and back down to thrust inside, more this time, two fingers, three. Opening up that tight space, readying me for even more of him. His mouth on mine, and his teeth on my neck, and down to my cleavage, my primed and alert nipples, and back for another taste of my hot and hungry mouth. Our tongues entwined as if we were trying to consume each other, our hands exploring each other’s body as if we were newly intimate, as if we were young again. My hands embracing him, moving down from where I cradle his neck to rest on his waist, and a cheeky feel of his shapely behind. One moving to the front where his urgent need is readily apparent despite his being fully clothed, and I try to resist the urge to grab and fondle and dismally fail. I have to have it in my hands. I have to have it in me.
That’s what I was craving.
And so we did. It began with that message to him, alerting him to my changed libido, my reawakened desire, my need for him. It ended with… Well, it hasn’t ended yet. And I hope it never does. Three times this week so far we have become intimately reacquainted, once on Sunday night, twice last night. It’s only Wednesday.
I had reassured him during the day that I didn’t need him to enact some dramatic and artistic sexual performance session with me, it doesn’t have to be energetic or involve role play or kink. It can be, and I would eagerly welcome, in my lowered energy capacity state, an unashamedly lazier form of intimacy. And that sex doesn’t have to involve an orgasm for either of us. We could just do something like spooning, and he agreed that he does like to cuddle me from behind and hold my breasts, it’s comforting. I replied that I like to fall asleep laying in the crook of his arm, my fingers curled around his hard cock, also as a comforter.
We discussed something we’re calling “jigsaw snuggles”, or perhaps a very British “private parking”; where he spoons me from behind and when his cock gets engorged with his passion and need he can slip it into my warm, tight and willing pussy. No need to thrust or fuck, no need to rut and cum. Just connect. Park, no ride. Just slide in, hold my breasts and let us become one.
We tried, anyway. That’s how we ended up in a frenzied state of rutting once again last night, despite the tiredness in us both, despite the incessant hot weather this week. We tried, we failed, we fucked. Jury’s out on whether that’s a fail or not. 😏
We’ll keep trying, every night. Also some mornings. And a few afternoons too, for good measure.
I’m enjoying the return of my sex drive, but also what it’s giving my husband and I beyond the physical sex, the grunts, the thrusts, the moaning, the hot cum and the gloriously sticky wet patches. We share memories of last night through the day, on WhatsApp, little teases. I’ve been sending him saucy messages and filthy photos, sexy snaps the likes of which I’d never share with anyone else. For his eyes only. And I’ve been basking in his teased and tortured frustration during “work hours”, times when neither of us can actually act on our reignited impulses, but instead are forced to ride the waves of need and frustration and let the anticipation build until we are finally able to collide and unleash in a mutually indulgent crescendo.
So right now, I’m feeling very smug, very content, sated, happy. In case you couldn’t tell. Not to mention, very relieved. But also confused about the sudden return of my libido after years of absence and no sign of it returning until very recently. Will she stick around this time? Absolutely no idea. I hope with everything I have that she does. Please stay. Please make yourself at home, nestling deep inside my cunt and throbbing hard through every minute of the day, like you are right now, like a distress call beacon, aching for more attention, more hot fuck action. Please never leave me again.
Fucking hormones and anatomy, eh? What a wild ride.
Read more of my personal posts in my Life Unscripted series. Covers my thoughts and experiences with midlife, ageing, perimenopause, chronic illness and disability, surviving through and healing from trauma, body image and self-worth issues, and much more.
