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As she publishes her memoir, “The Wild Oats Project,” on Tuesday, she talks to The Post’s Jane Ridley about her erotic journey.
Pulling on his pants after our intimate encounter in my Las Vegas hotel room, the cute 23-year-old I’d just picked up holds out his cellphone, urging me to tap in my number. Having sex with a stranger is thrilling, but I’m not that interested in a repeat performance.
Stuck in a rut — our once-a-week sex life was loving, but lacked spontaneity and passion — I was craving seduction and sexual abandon.
I was having a midlife crisis and chasing this profound, deeply rooted experience of being female.
Before then, starting a family had felt like one route to this elusive state of feminine fulfillment.
The first lover I met through was a 40-something lawyer called Jonathan*.
Slim, handsome with glasses and a stylish haircut, he suggested we kiss to test our sexual chemistry. On our second date, the following week, he came to my studio after work with a cooler of snacks and some wine.
We stumbled to the bed, where he turned me onto my hands and knees and took me from behind.
Many people will find this hard to understand, but, as the door to motherhood closed, I found myself rushing towards this whole other outlet of heightened female experience — taking lovers.
I’d always been “the good girl,” and had slept with only three guys before getting involved with Scott at the age of 26. Sexually, I was experiencing what happens to a lot of women in their late 30s and early 40s.