[disclaimer: The following is a very candid, very explicit composition of my sex life. So to passersby & subscribers: if you are not at all comfortable with honest, sexual dialogue -- or if you're in some way related to me (this includes you, Mommy) -- feel free to disregard this post. Of course, all are welcome to read it. I just wanted to give you a fair warning. & for those of you who might be asking, "Why talk about something so extremely personal?", I say: Because it's time to stop being hush-hush about something that we all do, that we all experience. It's time to be honest. & through my honesty, I hope you will be comforted.]
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I’ve mentioned before that sex (intercourse, forking, boning, what have you) does not come naturally for me. Rarely do I feel sexy & never have I called myself a nymphomaniac. I’m the kind of girl who, when she gets the “urge”, waves it off & chooses to read a book instead. It’s much simpler to read a book, I think. Jumping my husband’s bones — or even taking matters into my own hands — is often much more complicated. It requires time, it requires effort, & it requires enthusiasm. Very seldom do I have all three. I would much rather go to sleep than invest my already diminished energy into a sweaty sack session with Jonathan. What’s even more awful is that I sometimes relish in my having period, blissfully relieved that I have a tangible, truthful excuse to say, “Not tonight, Honey.”
& if someone gave me the choice between having passionate sex with my husband, or eating a slice of dense, fudge-like chocolate cake… I would pick the chocolate cake without a moment’s hesitation. Even in spite of my husband being devilishly handsome & clearly resembling Jonathan Rhys Meyers, I would almost always choose the chocolate cake. Not because I abhor sex, & not because there is something wrong with my husband (on the contrary!), but because I feel that chocolate cake is on a much higher level of goodness, lusciousness, & indulgence than sex. Quite frankly, I get more pleasure from eating a slice of chocolate cake than from sex alone.
(& I wouldn’t be so inclined to admit all of this if I knew that there aren’t people [women] out there who feel exactly as I do. & there are.)
Because of my colorful opinions about sex, it’s no wonder that I tend to view it as more of a chore than actual playtime between Jonathan & I, as it should be. & this is precisely why we’ve been stuck in a sexual stalemate for over a year; probably one of the most daunting & worrisome events to happen in a marriage.
The result of my unassertiveness & lackadaisicalness regarding sex was that Jonathan was no longer coming onto me anymore. Why should he, when he was constantly being turned down? My sweet, darling husband began ignoring his own sexual urges. He began to give up on sexual intimacy as a whole, at the compromise of my passivity. Knowing this, seeing this, made me feel like I should have been crowned The Lousiest Wife of the Year. I was absolutely miserable knowing that he was miserable, in spite of me being somewhat okay at the fact that we weren’t having sex.
In my defense — which isn’t at all excusing my actions — I felt that it would be even more terrible of me to force myself to have sex, when I really, truly didn’t want to have it. To fake it, to grin & bear it, would leave me feeling used, resentful, & melancholy; not to mention, the sex would be lackluster & indifferent. (& here, I am speaking from personal experience.) I didn’t want that, Jonathan didn’t want that, but it was almost inevitable. & no matter how hard we tried to put our heads together to come to a happy medium, we could never seem to make it work. One of us was always left feeling gypped. It seemed much easier to not have sex than to have sex at all.
Who would have thought that sex could be so damn complicated.
Several weeks ago, we tried once more to talk rationally about this, with the hopes of coming to a satisfying compromise. Jonathan was rather hopeful. I, on the other hand, was indignant. I remember being so frustrated that we were on this topic again, with nothing to show for it. We were going around in circles, not improving our last few steps, & having this conversation was a bitter reminder of that. It was also a bitter reminder of how much damage I was causing.
Nevertheless, we discussed our options.
Jonathan: We could go to sex therapy…
Me: We’ve done that before, & it didn’t do anything, obviously.
Jonathan: We could go to a couple’s retreat in the mountains, or something…
Me: Those are too expensive.
Jonathan: Well then, maybe we could… be abstinent, & just not have sex at all.
Me: What? Are you kidding?! No! Absolutely not.
I could tell that Jonathan was at his wit’s end, & I had been at mine for the last several months. What else could we do? Nothing, it seemed.
After a long pause, I frustratingly blurted out, with tears streaming down my cheeks:
Me: You know what… We don’t need sex therapy, we don’t need a couple’s retreat in the mountains. We’re two, young, healthy individuals, madly in love with each other. We just need to fuck.
Jonathan looked startled, as if my suggestion was unexpected & unheard of. (& it was.) But it was the most blatant answer to our problem; someone just needed to bloody say it. & surprisingly enough, that personal was me.
& then it hit us. Once that bold (& quite vulgar; pardon me!) declaration was uttered, we finally saw how much pressure we were putting on ourselves about sex; myself, specifically. We finally realized how much we were over thinking something that is supposed to be so simple. We finally understood what we needed to do to fix this. We needed to stop talking about it, stop thinking about it, & just have sex for Heaven’s sake.
& we did.
That night, we were intimate for the first time in several weeks. We stayed up until three in the morning, talking, laughing, canoodling. It was beautiful. It was fun.
I remember the next day, I couldn’t keep my hands off of him. I couldn’t stop kissing him, or complimenting him on how attractive he was. I felt immensely close to him. My entire body just radiated with the love we had made the previous evening, & much to my surprise, I was looking forward to getting him into bed again that evening.
& I did.
Now, this isn’t to say that our — my — troubles with sex are over. Even while writing this, I was conflicted as to whether or not I should be writing in past or present tense, because some of the things I’ve mentioned above still stand; others are a work in progress. Today, for instance, at this present moment, I still feel like sex is more of a bother than an enjoyment. Not to mention, I am still dealing with stereotypical self-esteem issues in regards to my body & how I feel about sharing it with my husband. But those things, I have realized, are all based on years & years of preconditioned, incorrect judgments towards sex. I can’t expect them to dissipate so suddenly. In time, I’m sure those negative thoughts will be filtered out of my conscience, as I continue to work diligently on them.
As for us as a couple, sometimes we “forget” to have sex, for the simple reason that our schedules & frames of mind are different. Sometimes he would like to read a book; sometimes I go to bed before he does; sometimes we would much rather cuddle in bed.
Regardless of what we do (or don’t do), I’ve learned — quite the hard way — that it is our choice; a choice that neither of us should feel guilty about. I’ve learned that it’s senseless to spend time counting the days since I was last intimate with my husband. Life happens; it’s inevitable. What matters most to me is that we’re genuinely making an effort to stay intimately connected. (& I am sure as hell trying my damnedest.) Because we can express our love for each other in different ways. Sex (intercourse) is not the only way.
& to you, my reader, I have to say that I didn’t tell this story in vain. I desperately needed to get this off of my chest, but I mainly wanted to YOU to know that you are not alone. I especially want to break down these wretched walls regarding sex, something we all do & have struggles with. I find it so strange that we can so easily talk about the troubles we’re having in our lives, but when it comes to sex, everyone keeps it within. I’ve made a personal vow to myself to no longer do that, no matter how graphic my predicament might be. My only hope is that my story has provoked a courage in you that is contagious for others.
& if you ever need anything, I want you to know that I am here for you.