Single mum suicidal after losing husband at 45 is now superstar sex blogger at 83

As an octogenarian looking for a new hobby, blogging had never crossed my mind.

Sure, I’d always liked writing, but I’d never been tech savvy and wouldn’t have had a clue how to do much more than send emails and tinker with pictures on my laptop.

But when I saw a notice for a Blogging For Beginners course in my area, I thought, ‘Why not?’

It was strange walking in on the first day – at 80, I was more than double the age of anyone else in the room. 

Over a few weeks, we learnt the basics and set up our own sites.

The others were writing about fashion, food or travel, but I thought those topics had been done to death.

I wanted to write about what it’s like to be old, because nobody else seemed to be doing it.

You can never truly understand old age until it comes to you.

All you hear are doom and gloom stories about waiting lists and Alzheimer’s and this wave of elderly people who are going to swamp the NHS.

Well, that’s not what I was seeing when looking at my friends: I saw people who had never been happier, who weren’t afraid of the world any more, who spent the weekends rambling or outdoors.

So I wrote a few blog posts about what it’s really like to be in your 80s, got a good response and carried on with the course.

I noticed that whenever my classmates would mention anything to do with sex or dating, they’d glance at me as if to say, ‘Is it OK to say this in front of an 80-year-old?’

I found this ridiculous – I’ve got 60-odd years of sexual experience, and the idea you just stop having it past a certain point is absurd.

I knew I had to tell people how it really was, so I wrote a post about sex in your 70s and 80s.

In it, I told the truth about human sexuality, that it’s a delightful pleasure for all ages.

When you are young, sex is an exciting discovery. It seems to belong to your generation, to beautiful bodies, to smooth skin, to perfect curves and six packs.

The truth  about sex

But being old doesn’t mean you stop being a normal human – my husband and I still crave intimacy.

Youngsters think we turn the lights off, but of course we don’t.

Dark is dodgy at 80. We would probably fall over climbing into bed!

The real pleasure of sex when you are old comes from the stroking, the soft soothing, the sensitive touching.

Mornings can be long and lingering.

Tea in bed, catch up on emails?

A hand slides across and before you know it you are having to explain to the postman or the neighbour that no, you aren’t ill, you just needed a lie-in.

My post struck a chord with people and overnight I became a blogging

star as it was shared thousands of times.

I’ve carried on writing about grey sex, telling my readers how it’s not all gentle and staid just because we’re in our 80s – there’s a reason we still have the fur rug and the armchair (although we maybe need to borrow the garden kneeling stool to get up again).

I even write about sex toys, which are great for older people.

Sex in your later years is very sensual, much less acrobatics and thrusting.

We have time, lots of time, to caress, stroke and give each other pleasure. And it is very nice to have something to add to that recipe.

The owner of a sex shop told me that they send lots of orders to old people’s homes – it’s not easy for us to shop in them because of the embarrassed giggles from the staff.

Sex in later life is just one of the things I like to write about.

The main message I want to get across is that life is good at 80. 

Because the NHS has been a huge success, there are so many people now hitting this extra 10 bonus years, and there’s no reason why these can’t be your best yet.

They say happiness peaks around 73, but I’m happier now than I’ve ever been.

It’s such a carefree period of life.

You have the wisdom you’ve developed over a lifetime, you realise what you can change and what you can’t, and you know what you want. 

It’s a sort of serenity – knowing you can get through anything, and feeling proud of overcoming life’s adversity.

I got through the war, I survived three polio epidemics, and I feel proud. I’ve lost two husbands, and brought up a son alone.

I’ve been a single mum in a council house, living on the breadline. When I lost my second husband at 45, I was suicidal and could never have imagined making it to this age.

Before I lost him, I said, ‘How will I live without you?’

He said, ‘By travelling to all the places we couldn’t go to together.’

So I did that.

It’s easier to list the places I haven’t been than the places I have.

All my younger colleagues were going backpacking, so I did too.

Having felt suicidal made me fearless, and I took risks I wouldn’t have otherwise, like hitchhiking and sleeping in places I wouldn’t normally.

It was a gift – I wasn’t worried about anything, and I just said, ‘If I die, I die.’

I saw a lot of the world that way.

My work as a physiotherapy lecturer took me all over the UK too, so I bought a motorhome, chucked my hiking boots and maps in, and saw so much of the country.

I was single for 30 years, but remarried six years ago.

We both love travelling and have a lovely life together – this year we’ve been to India and Cyprus, and soon we’re off to Hong Kong.

Enjoying life

I could die next year and I’d be happy.

I don’t know any old people who are scared of dying – you might want to live to see another spring, or your granddaughter’s wedding, but the act of dying isn’t scary any more.

Old age comes with a feeling of comfort at all you’ve achieved, and you’re ready for a sit down and a bit of a rest.

Having adversity in my middle years helped me to relish life now.

Yes, it’s annoying when your aches and pains start up, but you get on with it.

My friends and I groan in unison when we stand up from the sofa; we’re all looking for the same banisters when we want to go upstairs; and we all moan about restaurants that are too noisy for our hearing aids.

But we’re laughing while we moan!

These days, I don’t see the wrinkles on my face or those of my friends’.

It’s the twinkles not the wrinkles that matter.

I don’t think about the superficial things I did when

I was younger – I think about whether people are still twinkling and are fun to be around.

What’s the point of being old and unhappy? You only get one life.

Read more of Joyce’s story on her blog: Grandmawilliams.com