I've rarely been upset that it took too much time to finish... too quickly more than I'd care to examine, and gone numb a few times over the years. For a few years now I've been telling it like this: Sex after 45 has been a lot like remembrance day ceremonies. First there's some sad music and prayer The flag gets raised for a minute, dropped to half mast briefly, raised, then lowered for a final time. Afterwards I spend the rest of the night weeping into a drink about how awesome it used to be.
not to sound crude, but there is a saying: "anything you can't fit in your mouth is a waste". I heard a comic comment about the French using the "champagne glass" comparison. He said that in Brooklyn the ideal breast has to stop up a toilet.