Part 1 can be found here

While my libido continues to be high, my body is aging and this causes limitations.

I am going to spare you the details about my various perimenopausal symptoms, except for my mood swings. Mary Ruefle, in her article, talks about feeling like an adolescent and this is true in my case. My mood changes quickly from anger, to melancholy, to  euphoria. The angry, melancholy me feels especially low when attractive, cocky, young poets aren’t interested in my attentions. The joyous me, who would paint myself blue and gold and take a rocket to the moon, would like an orgy, please. A dozen men to fondle and suck. To kiss and lick.  My breasts grow erect at the thought. But they are sore now because even though my period is a fortnight away, I am spotting, I have cramps and breast tenderness. By the way, I am due for a mammogram in a few weeks, something that happens every two years since I turned fifty. I am much more aware of my body at this age. Its pains and its joys.

Orgasms seem to be more extreme for me now, even more pleasurable. I have never climaxed from vaginal penetration and I was always shy about touching myself, preferring a vibrator to self-stimulation, but in my fifties I have grown bolder. I can now give myself an orgasm by gently caressing my clitoris. Before that only my husband and a few other lovers were able to make me cum that way. The vibrator was my second favourite lover.

In my fifties I have started to gush, or as porn enthusiasts refer to it, “squirt.” I don’t do it all the time. It can occur during penetration or when my clit is stroked. It was weird at first to soak the bed and my lover’s balls with ejaculate. It’s not piss, but you feel like it might be and unless you’re into golden showers, it can make you feel self-conscious, but at this age, I’m not as worried about what others think of me.

I’m more confident about myself and my body at this age. I see a beautiful, vibrant woman. Life is short. I know this to be true from direct experience. At forty-six, I almost died. I lived despite the odds. So I have no time for bullshit. I want to play and I want to make connections with people who captivate me and who are captivated by me. And I refuse to be constrained by puritanical notions of morality.

I fancy myself a modern day Colette, the strong-minded, voluptuous French novelist and performer with an insatiable appetite for art and sex. Both art and sex are forms of intimacy, an exploration of the wild. I can’t imagine ever wanting to stop creating and appreciating art, or indulging in glorious flings with handsome, intelligent and caring men, no matter what age I am. I seek kindred spirits. But much of the time, the world feels too narrow for me. Discrimination is rampant and censorship is on the rise. Being sexual is considered to be inappropriate at best or predatory at worst. And women my age are not supposed to be wild. But I have no intention of being obedient or remaining in the cage society has created for me and other women like me.

Amanda Earl is a Canadian poet, publisher and occasional pornographer. She’s the managing editor of Bywords.ca and the fallen angel of AngelHousePress, including its transgressive prose imprint DevilHouse. She runs a close reading service for new women poets. She’s the co-host of the poetry podcast, “The Small Machine Talks” with a.m. kozak. Her books include “A World of Yes” (DevilHouse, 2016), about a woman who falls asleep during her thirty-fifth birthday party and misses an orgy; “Kiki” (Chaudiere Books, 2014), a poetic celebration of Montparnasse between the Wars; and “Coming Together Presents Amanda Earl,” (Coming Together, 2014), a collection of erotic tales whose revenue goes to the AIDS/HIV charity GMHC.org. For more information, please visit AmandaEarl.com or chat Amanda up on Twitter @KikiFolle.