CONTENT WARNING: This article contains explicit sexual references.

Two women and two men talk about the post-split sex that got them back in the saddle.

There’s a reason why divorce is ranked up there after the death of a spouse when it comes to the most stressful life events. Separation can leave us emotionally battered, financially broken, and fearful of the future – hardly known libido boosters.

When the ink has dried on divorce papers, the idea of having sex (or even getting naked) with someone new might be a daunting prospect. We spoke to two women and two men, all anonymous mid-lifers, about the most memorable post-divorce sex that got them back in the saddle.

‘Her approach to sex was fun, casual, like a pressure-free joy’

Tim*, 56, a solicitor from Bedfordshire

The end of my marriage was more of a long, slow fading of the light than a dramatic full stop. We both ignored talking about the fact we’d drifted. And surprisingly, perhaps, we continued having sex. Not passionately, but we kept up our weekly routine until nearly the end. Like a ritualised attempt at saving our relationship. We both knew deep down it wasn’t working and sex had become functional, joyless. Same day, same start, same middle, same end. And largely silent.

Once our boys had left home, separation seemed inevitable – and sensible. By the time I’d summoned enough courage to get on the apps and nodded and smiled my way through a few boring dates, I was beginning to think sex just wasn’t going to be a part of my life.

Beth was a change in track. One Saturday afternoon after my eldest son had cancelled on me to watch a rugby game with his mates instead, I found myself idly swiping, and we matched. She was my age, liked the same old 1990s bands as me, and was immediately quite sparky on the messages. When she said, “I don’t have much on, do you fancy the pub and the rugby?” I thought, why not?

I don’t honestly remember a minute of the rugby, although it definitely was on in the pub. We hit it off so strongly that when she asked if we should head back to hers, it didn’t feel forward or even that thrilling. It just felt right. Similarly, our kissing and undressing didn’t feel anxiety-ridden, it felt fun. We talked throughout the sex, not dirty talk, but she asked “should we try…?”, then later stopped me, looked me in the eye, and said “you look very serious, it’s supposed to be fun!” And I laughed, it felt different.

Beth’s approach to sex felt casual and yet mature, like a shared, pressure-free joy so unlike how I’d experienced it before. Or, as it happens, since. Beth ignored my call the next day, replied to a few texts, and then her WhatsApp picture became the dreaded “grey head” and we never saw one another. Strangely, I still feel nothing but gratitude to her.

‘Him taking control in bed was exactly what I needed’

Louisa, 47, a deputy principal from south London

Admittedly, no one would ever look at Ali and think “sex god”, bless him. Slight in build and an inch shorter than me, he was smiley, hugely geeky and tutored children for the 11-plus exams. When I saw him waiting at the table for me on our first date – in brown brogues and cord trousers – I almost walked out of the restaurant feeling so deflated. We’d connected on an app and his pictures had been flattering.

I couldn’t help thinking how my ex-husband, a musician who’d been in a band, would be sneering at me.

But while my “cool” ex always looked good, his partying ways and refusal to grow up had ultimately ended our marriage. So here I was sitting opposite a teetotal man who probably weighed 2st less than me. And I’m so glad I didn’t flee that evening, but had sat down, and genuinely enjoyed meeting someone new, interesting and different.

I’d been on just a handful of post-divorce dates by then, none had resulted in fireworks, but when we ended up inevitably swapping our break-up stories, I found Ali was really wise and attentive and interested in my life (other dates had mostly banged on about themselves). I loved that Ali really knew himself and what he wanted. It was refreshing. By the time we were sharing a pudding we’d moved onto talking about sex. I was agog with his confessions of being an experienced “dom” – and yes, I was excited too. My ex had long lost interest in me in the bedroom department, and his drinking habit wasn’t conducive to love making. Ali, despite his outwardly nerdy appearance, was actually surprisingly alpha and full of thoughtful compliments; it was a novelty, I realised, to feel sexy and desirable.

He paid the bill, ordered my taxi and told me I was a “special good girl”. If that sounds creepy, well, I’m sorry, but I felt turned on enough to go home and google “daddy dom” and all the things we had talked about. From then on Ali took charge of everything, from deciding what I wore to organising dates and telling me what to do in bed. I’d never been with anyone so adventurous. He bought me outfits that I would never have imagined anyone could persuade me to wear, sex toys I never knew existed (nipple clamps that buzzed when I was “naughty”) and our first full sex session lasted hours while he teased every inch of me. If I felt perverted calling him “Daddy”, I simply didn’t care. It was the most powerfully erotic experience I’ve ever had, and I spent the next day in a daze hungry for more. It opened up a side of me I never knew I had. We had the most intense six-month fling before it fizzled out. But that remains the best sex I’ve ever had.

‘I lasted five seconds’

Mike, 48, a chartered surveyor from Bristol

The last five years of my marriage were entirely sexless, but I’d stopped “hassling” (her word) Amy about it after year two. After our twins were born she didn’t want me anywhere near her, and while we’d tried counselling, I never felt her heart was in it. The marriage limped on until she ended it. I was too cowardly, but when she said “Mike, I think it’s time to call it a day,” there was a sense of relief, in all honesty. My sexual confidence, it’s safe to say, was at rock bottom for a while. I’d stopped even wanting it. It was another year after splitting before I dared to download a dating app.

After several dates which didn’t progress very far, the first time I had post-divorce sex was with a curly-haired art therapist five years older than my 42 years. I was nervous, hopelessly out of practice, and fumbled with the condom when the time came. I made a self-deprecating joke which Sara; warm in nature as her lovely brown eyes, put me at ease, diffused the awkwardness and made sure I was, erm, “ready”. And we did it. I was overwhelmed by her nakedness, her scent, her enthusiasm.

She pointed out her stretch marks and I reassured her – meaning every word –that I could not care less. I just felt 10 feet tall having a woman on top of me again, who wanted me. Reader, that I lasted about five seconds is probably no surprise. But my God it felt divine. I grinned like a Cheshire cat at work the next day. Sara and I met several more times, and while it wasn’t a lasting relationship, I’ll always be grateful to her for getting me back in the saddle (as it were). I’m pleased to say that since that first time post-divorce, I’ve improved my skills (and hopefully the experience of partners). I adore giving and receiving pleasure in a way that seemed unthinkable during my marriage. I’m happily making up for lost years now.

‘The most intense pleasure I’ve ever experienced’

Roz, 44, a marketer from Manchester

I’d never been attracted to a woman before. Henny was six years younger than me, Scandinavian and self-assured. With her tattoos, short hair and fearlessness, she was way more hip and worldly than me, the person who’d ended up with her sixth form boyfriend and had only ever slept with him (yep, I was embarrassed admitting that to her, too). Pete and I lost our virginity together, married in our 20s and had two children. He was always my best friend, and if our sex life wasn’t adventurous, well, we didn’t really worry. Until the bickering began… and we’d found ourselves in our late 30s, bored, and both thinking “is this it?” He’d already moved back in with his Mum by the time Henny came on the scene as a contractor at work.

She had always known she was a lesbian and breezed into my life turning everything I thought about myself upside down. The intense, passionate fling I shared with her for three months changed my life.

We started as friends. Although I was older, Henny was far more experienced in every area and enjoyed entertaining me with her risqué dating escapades. After tequila after work one night she took me to a lesbian bar for the first time in my life. We shared an Uber back to her place snogging the whole time. Then she, well, seduced me. Of course it felt entirely different being with a woman, but also extremely natural; it never felt like a performance. I didn’t need to “act sexy” or make my body look a certain way. I relaxed my belly, didn’t care my underwear wasn’t matching and when she went down on me (insisting it was a rule that as a “virgin” I didn’t need to return the favour), I went with it. I genuinely knew she wanted to, rather than thinking she had to, as I always suspected Pete felt.

And my goodness it was the best oral sex I’ve ever received by a country mile. I never believed in female ejaculation until that time. I made shapes and sounds I didn’t know I had in me. Afterwards we drank tea in her bed and I admired her body, so much smaller and softer than Pete’s.

It didn’t last with Henny, and I was left heartbroken. In hindsight, I think she was more excited by the process of “turning me” than actually me. That was six years ago and I’ve had another gay relationship since then. I’m so happy my world opened up and I found the real me.

*All names have been changed