In my 20s I lived with a man my age, but he was a controlling alcoholic. The tepid sex dropped to twice a year, and he didn’t like it if I masturbated. I tried counselling, but it didn’t work.

I left at 30 and placed a personal ad seeking older men, because younger ones seemed too much hassle. I met several, and got on well with a caring man of 68. It was amazing to feel appreciated and we made love that night. He was retired and said if I lived with him, I could have physical affection whenever I wished. I cried. I moved in and we were intimate every night and morning, and during the day on weekends, for four years.

After we split, I didn’t want a live-in relationship, but had become used to daily orgasms and sex more than 10 times a week. I dated a few guys, but none was as available as my retired lover. I split my time between them so I had a reliable supply of male company, plus backup. Despite living in a small city, I’ve had no problems conducting concurrent relationships with up to six men for more than a decade. They are all kind and love being with me. All men make love differently, but I find it easy to remember how to be with each one; their familiar embrace reminds me.

I’ve been doing this for 15 years with one man, and six years with the most recent. One is 13 years older than me, some are half my age. My record is four interludes in 24 hours. I have sex at least seven times a week. I’ve tried for 21 times, but after 18, I felt like a moth that had flown too close to the flame.

I don’t know if this is “normal”, but it’s right for me and everyone involved is happy. I don’t care what judgmental fuddy-duddies think.

• Each week, a reader tells us about their sex life. Want to share yours? Email sex@theguardian.com