Confessions from the Senior Center: Viagra, Vaginas, and Why My Hip Replacement Was the Best Thing That Ever Happened to My Sex Life

Listen.

I’m 78 years old. My back hurts when I sneeze, I fall asleep during the news, and I once tried to microwave my dentures.

But don’t let the orthopedic shoes fool you.

I’m still getting laid. And not just in the “I-accidentally-fell-on-top-of-Ethel-during-Bingo” kind of way.

Here’s a truth bomb society’s not ready for:

Old people have sex.

A lot of it.

And sometimes in public laundry rooms, which is why I no longer do my whites on Thursdays.

People think retirement homes are all porridge and prayer groups.

Honey, it’s a geriatric jungle. We’ve got STDs, scandal, and more drama than an episode of The Bachelor, only with fewer teeth and more orthopedic pillows.

Now don’t get me wrong. Things have changed since I was a young stud.

For one, my penis now comes with a pharmaceutical support team.

Viagra, Cialis, and a prayer to the patron saint of blood flow.

But in many ways, it’s better. I’ve had decades to master the art of seduction — or at least the art of not pulling a muscle while doing it.

Back in my day, sex education was basically “don’t do it or you’ll go blind.”

Now? I know more about G-spots, prostate stimulation, and pelvic floor exercises than most YouTube sexologists.

Why?

Because I read.

I ask questions.

And also, Sheila from apartment 3B gave me a very detailed presentation using two bananas and a grapefruit.

The Horny Herd and the Great Strip Poker Incident of 2022

It all started on a Tuesday.

Why? Because Tuesday is meatloaf day in the cafeteria, and meatloaf makes Doris feel flirty.

Now, I was minding my own business, sipping decaf and trying to remember where I left my pants, when Estelle from room 114 leaned over and whispered:

“Poker night. My place. Clothes optional.”

Naturally, I said yes.

I also brought snacks. Because I was raised right.

By 8 PM, there were six of us: four women, two men, and one hearing aid on the fritz.

The stakes? High.

The clothing? Dropping faster than my blood pressure when I stand up too fast.

I lost my socks in the second round, my dignity by the third, and by round five I was sitting there in nothing but a knee brace and a confused smile.

That’s when things got really heated.

Not in the sexy way.

Harold had turned the thermostat to 90 degrees because “he likes to sweat out the toxins.”

Unfortunately, the toxins weren’t the only thing dripping.

Ethel spilled her chardonnay on my lap and yelled, “It’s happening!”

We all panicked—thought it was another stroke.

Nope.

Just a very enthusiastic return of her libido.

Now, I’m not saying we broke any laws that night.

But we did break a lamp, two folding chairs, and someone’s pelvic floor.

(Still not sure whose. No one’s claiming it.)

Science Says We're Not Dead Inside (Yet)

Let me hit you with some facts, in case you think this is just one man’s delusion:

Older adults are still sexually active. In fact, a study from the Journal of Sex Research (yes, it’s real) found that over 70% of people aged 65–80 still desire sexual intimacy.

Women? Many experience a sexual renaissance in later years. Less stress, fewer kids screaming “Mum!”, and more time to explore.

Men? We’ve got better pills than NASA’s astronauts. It’s not about the rocket, it’s about mission control.

Aging doesn’t kill sex.

Being boring does.

Things They Don’t Tell You About Senior Sex

Let’s be real.

They don’t prepare you for the fact that:

• Condoms expire (seriously, check your drawer)
• The most erotic thing someone can whisper is: “I booked us a double physio session.”
• Sometimes foreplay is just taking turns rubbing each other’s bunions.

And yet…

It’s better than ever.

We laugh more.

We’re not chasing six-packs or trying to impress anyone with our Spotify playlists.

We’re just… being human. Naked. Sometimes literally. Always metaphorically.

A Letter to the Younger Generation (And Their Tightly-Clenched Buttholes)

Dear 20-somethings with your protein shakes and commitment issues:

Let me tell you something.

You don’t know sh*t about sex.

You’re too busy swiping left, ghosting, and pretending you're "emotionally unavailable" like it's a personality trait.

Meanwhile, we’re over here making eye contact, reading each other's bodies like Braille, and climaxing to smooth jazz and the gentle hum of an oxygen machine.

You’ve got stamina.

We’ve got soul.

And a drawer full of latex gloves, just in case.

Mic Drop Quote (for Screenshots & Shares):

“They said love fades with age. I said, ‘So does hair, but I still use a damn comb.’”

Closing Punchline:

So here I am.

78 years old.

Three ex-wives, two hip replacements, one magnificent mustache, and a sex life that would make your Tinder date cry in the shower.

Is it graceful?

No.

Is it loud, creaky, and occasionally interrupted by someone yelling, “Where are my teeth?!”

Absolutely.

But it’s real.

It’s human.

And it’s better than ever—because I’ve finally figured out what matters:

Connection. Confidence. And remembering to stretch beforehand.

So don’t pity us.

Don’t wrinkle your nose when we talk about sex.

You think you’ve got moves?

Honey, I once brought a woman to climax using nothing but jazz hands and Bengay.

Now if you’ll excuse me, Doris just texted me “🍆🔥💃” and I have exactly 40 minutes before my Cialis kicks in.

👉 Tag someone who thinks old people don’t have sex.

Then send this to their grandmother. She’ll understand.