"If you’ve never experienced two people’s full attention on your body, you really should". Photo / 123rf
Everyone hoped I’d find my next husband before 50, but I rediscovered what an exciting sex life feels like again.
I finally pulled the plug on my miserable marriage the year I turned 40. My ex-husband, once the star of our university rugby team, had always drunk enthusiastically. The endless boozy anecdotes regaled by his best man at our wedding didn’t impress my father. Once we settled into careers – mine in teaching, his in IT, I naively hoped he’d calm down. He didn’t, and I’m sure it took five years to get our twins because of his lager-polluted sperm.
A grumpy husband and hungover dad was not what I’d signed up for. The final straw was coming home after parents’ evening and finding him passed out with the kids running around. As painful as divorce was, I knew my children deserved better.
Freshly single and solo parenting at 40 was daunting, but with family and friends, it was doable. I downloaded my first-ever dating app, Bumble, a few months later and found the novelty of being paid attention again fabulous. I had a couple of one night stands (as divorcees you do) but they’re not for me. Sex is nice, but much nicer in a relationship.
By the time my divorce was finalised five years ago, my ex had moved north and got sober. We’re now amicable enough to meet at Newport Pagnell service station every other Friday when he takes the twins for the weekend. Having more time to myself allowed for a handful of flings, but they never lasted longer than a few months; juggling work, hormonal teens and GCSEs takes up energy.
Working at a private all girls school, most of the staff are women and my mother would occasionally sigh, “what a shame there’s no men at your work – it would be so nice to find someone before you’re 50”. Thanks Mum. I’d grit my teeth while my sister smirked.
What I didn’t admit to either of them was how dismally depressing dating had become. After eight years, five flings and 472 lame Bumble messages that ended with “You up?” or a photo of someone’s sourdough starter, I’d had enough. Even if things progressed to a date, by their late 40s men have less hair, little charm, and unfathomably all dress in quarter-zip fleeces, badly cut jeans and think running trainers are “fashion”. They’ll earnestly tell you they’re “emotionally literate” but can’t spell “your”.
Is it any wonder I was celibate for a year? It never felt worth the bother of a bikini wax.
However, my mother’s warning about turning 50 had hit a nerve. Not because I wanted to settle down and find a new husband as she hoped – I’d given up. It bothered me more because I constantly hear how ghastly menopause is. Perhaps I should “use it” before I “lose it”.
And so that’s why I found myself, back in January and egged on by a wilder friend, downloading Feeld, with its racier-than-your-average dating app reputation. I wasn’t expecting a grand sexual awakening, but goodness it was eye-opening. It prides itself on being “open-minded”, though, as I quickly learnt, that phrase can mean anything from “I’m polyamorous” to “I own a ceremonial whip.” Don’t laugh, but I actually wore a wig on my profile picture, paranoid a parent or – perish the thought – a curious sixth former might spot me.
What surprised me wasn’t the kinkiness, but the honesty and lack of pretence. Everyone seemed startlingly articulate about what they wanted (once I’d googled the acronyms) whether that be ENM (ethical non-monogamy), NSA (no strings attached) or FMF (female male female threesomes). It was oddly refreshing. Scrolling through the profiles I noticed several couples looking to “play” with a third wheel. Single women up for meeting an established couple are rare enough to be called a “unicorn”. Mystical and in-demand, I liked that.
And then I met this couple.
Simon* messaged first. He and his girlfriend of two years, Kai*, had both previously “swung” but were now looking for something more – a “throuple” to share a relationship with. He was a picture restorer, she was a chef, neither had kids. Flatteringly, they both liked the look of me. (I confessed the wig and he laughed.)
I admitted that apart from having a threesome, once, at university, my sex life had been completely vanilla. He laughed again, reassuring me that enthusiasm was everything, we’d take it slowly. He was funny, knowing, clever, keen to put me at ease and not remotely sleazy .“There’s no pressure to do anything, if you’re not feeling it,” he assured me, “but why don’t we all go out for dinner?”
Yes, I said, why don’t we?
The chat moved off the app when Simon set up a WhatsApp group “Having a Feeld Day” for the three of us. We messaged a lot before the first date – not just about sex or relationships but art, books and films. I felt entirely safe, and certainly more sexual than I had in years.
I’ve got staple “first date” outfits I’ve worn over the years. But dressing for another woman is different, I wanted more classy than sexy so opted for new jeans and a Sezanne blouse. Simon had booked a restaurant in town and the chat flowed as easily as the wine, him telling stories about the psychology of hoarders; her passionately describing the alchemy of food. They were warm, self-assured.
When Simon went to the loo I leaned over and asked Kai “is this really OK with you?” I wasn’t sure if I was flirting appropriately with her man. She reached for my hand and said “it’s perfect, silly”. Simon settled the bill (nice touch) and she kissed me. Then he did, and we shared a funny group hug before walking me to the tube. I went home elated.
The next step was actually doing it. Simon booked a smart hotel for the occasion and admittedly I drank wine for dutch courage. With another woman you do end up comparing yourself physically, her boobs were perkier, but also I stopped pulling my tummy in as I’d always done with men. She was relaxed about her cellulite, so I was too. Simon’s grin made me realise I’d wasted decades worrying about stupid things. With three people in the bed it does feel more exposing, I’m self-conscious about my bottom and there’s no hiding with bodies either side of you. But I let them take the lead and – bar the odd awkward limb, headbutt or undignified noise – it was… glorious. If you’ve never experienced two people’s full attention on your body, you really should.
I dimly remember from my 20-something three-way feeling jealous my boyfriend fancied my friend more than me, but with this dynamic there’s none of this.
People assume a throuple is all about sex, but I love also waking up to “good morning my beauties” WhatsApps and swapping tales of our day before bed. Mainly it’s fun, and far more adventurous sex than I’ve ever had before. No one is getting hurt.
The very select friends I’ve told are agog and delighted, though I know one pal fears my arrangement is stopping me finding a “proper partner”. Frankly, I’m having too many laughs to care. My children don’t need to know this, nor does my 72-year-old mother. My sister (unhappily married herself) only drily remarked “surprised you’ve got it in you”.
Six months into throupledom, we’re in a routine. Dinner out most weeks and every other weekend we spend the night together at one of our homes. They meet more often, and that’s fine. I’d never meet either alone, only as a three.
When we cuddle up in bed we’ll affectionately say “love you” but it’s never heavy, which is probably why I’m enjoying it so much. I suspect our throuple has a shelf life if I’m honest, but until then, I’m enjoying all the delicious thrills.
Three isn’t always a crowd, I’ve realised, it’s brilliant company that can work surprisingly well.
*Names and some identifying details have been changed to protect privacy.
As told to Susanna Galton.
Dr Luke Brunning, author of Romantic Agency, is a lecturer in the philosophy of romantic life at Leeds University and one of the experts at Feeld. He has the following suggestions before jumping in:
1. Be clear about what you want
There are many ways to be polyamorous, from having one primary partner and others that feel more casual, to sharing equal connections across a network of relationships. The healthiest dynamics begin when everyone understands what they’re stepping into.
2. Define your boundaries early
Think of boundaries not as restrictions, but as agreements that help everyone feel safe. It might mean setting limits around time, emotional intimacy, or how much you share about other relationships.
3. Keep communication alive
Poly relationships thrive on ongoing dialogue. Check in often, not just when there’s a problem, to ask what’s working, what’s shifting, and how each person is feeling. Curiosity keeps connection breathing.
4. Don’t fear jealousy, get to know it
Jealousy and insecurity are human. They’re not red flags so much as emotional signposts pointing to unmet needs. Talking about them openly is one of the most powerful ways to build trust.
5. Let your relationships evolve
Polyamory isn’t static, people change, and so do dynamics. What felt right at the start may need adjusting later. Growth is part of the practice; renegotiation is a sign of care, not failure.