57 year old Maria, pictured above, was still a virgin at 51 despite being married twice cos she got married to men who refused to make love to her.
Maria told MailOnline:
My first marriage lasted from the age of 18 until I was in my mid-20s. My relationship with my second husband, Carol, began when I was 25, we wedded when I was 38 and remained married for 13 years.
So, yes, I was still a virgin at the grand old age of 51 - the prime years of my life spent without ever knowing the intimacy and wonder of becoming one with a man.So how did this come to be? Maria continues:
When I look back now, I wonder if my mother's dysfunctional attitude to intimacy skewed my understanding of relationships. As an adolescent she told me sex was to be endured, not enjoyed.
At night I'd overhear my parents arguing in their bedroom. My father Phillip craved affection, but my mother Irene would threaten: 'If you don't leave me alone, I'll go to the spare room.' It left me believing sex was a chore, rather than an act of love.
When I was around 16, I had a couple of innocent relationships, but in Devon, my hometown, in the early Seventies pre-marital sex was still a matter for shame. I wanted to save myself.When she met her first husband, John at the age of 18, both of them concluded they should not have sex before they were married.
So when he proposed, I said 'yes', imagining the passion that was yet to be unlocked in my fiancé.
We were married in 1977. He was 32, I was just 20. But it was my time of the month. John recoiled when I told him and, as a result, we did not make love during our honeymoon. I was not unduly worried. I thought we had a lifetime together to explore the physical side of our relationship.
Once home, I strove to be the perfect wife. I always had a gin and tonic waiting when John returned from work and cooked meals from scratch. John, in turn, was kind. After supper we'd sit on the sofa holding hands, occasionally kissing. He was sweet, but we always stopped short of sex.
John, who was a Catholic, eventually told me he believed sex was for procreation only. Because I wasn't ready to have children, I agreed we shouldn't sleep together until I was. As a naive young woman with no previous sexual experience, I thought this must be normal for some couples. We would kiss and cuddle, but he'd stop before things went too far.
Then, about a year into our marriage, I got impatient and suggested we go together to the family planning clinic to talk about contraception. During my discussion with the female doctor, John passed out. He said it was because he was overwhelmed by the smell of disinfectant. But now I realize he probably had a deep‑seated physical revulsion to the idea of sex.By 1987, John and Maria separated amicably, and she fell for another man, Carol. He was 47 years old - 22 years her senior - a married man and the father of two daughters.
Maria continues her story:
We began spending illicit weekends in smart hotels together. But Carol, stricken by adulterer's guilt, refused absolutely to have sex with me. While I was desperate to make love, I understood his reluctance. After all, he was still married, and I did not want our love-making tainted by adultery. I thought I just had to be patient.
At the end of 1987, Carol left his wife and I imagined everything would change. But, to my intense disappointment, he merely exchanged one excuse for a battalion of others. 'I've given up so much for you: my wife, my family, my home. Isn't that enough?' he'd plead every time I brought up our lack of physical passion. For a while we did share a form of intimacy, but it never resulted in full intercourse.
By then I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me. Carol had obviously had sex with his wife, so why not with me? Once or twice I'd don sexy underwear and try to seduce him. But he'd tell me it wasn't appropriate. My feelings of shame and embarrassment began to consume me.
Despite this, Carol was capable of great charm and romance. He always held my hand when we walked down the street. There were sweet gifts on Valentine's Day, chocolate hearts iced with frivolous messages - 'Keep safe my darling' or 'Come back soon' if I went away. I took these as proof that he did truly love me.
Then, their wedding took place on December 28, 1995. But Carol still employed an array of tactics to avoid sex: night-time bathroom rituals; reading in the lavatory; catching the last half-hour of a film he'd already seen.
In 2002 Maria lost her job, she and Carol moved to France and according to her for a few months, they were as happy as honeymooners - without, of course, the sex.
Then, about a year later, a group of Carol's mates visited from England and I overheard them. 'Bet you're banging away like a barn door with that young wife of yours,' said one. 'Oh, yes. We're at it like rabbits,' he replied.
I was incensed that Carol had the temerity to brag about our non-existent sex life. That night I dressed in alluring underwear. 'I'd like to have sex,' I said. 'Are we going to, or what?'
'Or what,' was Carol's surly reply.
From that day on, our relationship descended into rows and recriminations. Then, in 2005, Carol suffered a stroke and it signalled a turning point.
Tim, his French doctor, came into our lives. Separated from his wife and three years my junior, Tim was gorgeous: 47, tall and dark with a deep, silky voice like liquid chocolate. From the instant I saw him I was smitten.
My marriage by now was in terminal decline. In the end it was Carol who left me. In 2008 he went, unannounced, to live near his daughters in Cornwall.
I invited Tim to dinner and when he kissed me goodbye I felt as if cartoon stars were circling round my head. I was 51 but giddy as a teenager. It was two months before Tim invited me to his house for dinner - by which time his estranged wife had left - and I knew my life was about to change.
He kissed me that night with a passion I'd never experienced. I guessed it was a prelude to making love. I knew, too, I had to be honest.
'There's something you ought to know,' I said. I took a deep breath before adding: 'I've never had sex.'
Tim’s jaw practically hit the floor. 'But you've been married!' he said - and the whole story spilled out.
That night, for the first time in my life, I enjoyed passionate, satisfying sex. I was 51 years old and, finally, no longer a virgin. For the following five years I made up for lost time. Tim and I would make love for six hours at a stretch: after half a century of famine, suddenly there was a feast.
We made love on the stairs, on the floor, on the sofa. For the first time I enjoyed true intimacy. It was fun, an expression of love. The contrast with my previous, sexless life could not have been more marked.
But then, somewhat unexpectedly, in November 2012, Tim left me for another woman. I adored him and hoped we would share our lives for ever. A part of me blamed myself and my lack of sexual experience for casting a long shadow over our relationship.
Yet this spring something rather magical has happened and we're back together again. We are now building a life based on emotional as well as physical love. Our relationship has taught me that sex is as much about sharing pleasure as giving it. Most importantly, he made me feel like a real woman.
