Married Sex (the lack thereof)Posted: March 25, 2014
Today is my husband’s birthday. There was talk of birthday sex. I woke up early to make him breakfast and get the kids ready so he could sleep in. We gave him his modest gift and some candy to enjoy throughout the day. I made a cake, and after work we all had cake and pizza. After the kids went to sleep we were supposed to watch the new Superman movie, open some wine, and get busy.
At 9 PM I looked over and he was asleep on the couch. I woke him and told him to go to bed. He said he did not want to, but he could barely keep his eyes open. He is now tucked in with our daughter beside him and clearly sex is off the table.
I don’t want to whine, but I seriously need it. I am not going to get angry or pout, but I can’t believe that this is our life–my life. And I think, is it any wonder I went elsewhere? This happens all the time. Not him falling asleep on the couch, but the presence of children and the stress and exhaustion of life getting in the way of us having any alone time.
I feel like I need to be quaint when I talk about sex with my husband–“alone time.” As if this is an after school program, a family blog. I have realized lately that there is something seriously wrong with our sexual dynamic. It goes far beyond our mis-matched libidos, though I believe that is the root of it. Even when he is groping me and slapping my butt, I am sure he is just playing around and not actually conveying a desire for my body. We kiss but there is rarely heat–when we have sex there is often no kissing at all, just a rushed “hurry, drop you pants, put it in before the kids wake up!” When there is kissing, it is born less of genuine passion and more just a way of getting from point A to point B.
I wonder if all couples feel this way after awhile–if the heat between them flickers, then fades entirely. I love my husband. I am so, so fond of him. I think he is a great guy–and now I’m sitting here asking myself, “is it normal to describe one’s spouse as a great guy?” I could be describing a co-worker, an acquaintance, a relative stranger. Who is this man to me, and what has happened to us?
When we first got together, we were ridiculous. People actually commented on how he always had to be touching me with his entire body. We were that disgusting couple that got so caught up in each other we basically dry-humped in public. If we were at the movies, his fingers were inside me. We couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves. Yes, I usually initiated sex, but he said this was because he felt guilty due to our religious beliefs at the time. And even outside of sex, he was just always touching me. Always touching, kissing, stroking.
I know that new relationship passion can’t last forever. Honestly I think about that kind of sick, insane, frenzied infatuation and it makes me tired. I have no desire to feel that for another person again–it is absolutely exhausting. But I do want passion. Even if we get used to each other, I still want to feel heat when we kiss. I feel like when we are having sex, any heat that is there is generated by the fact that we happen to be horny, not by our feelings for one another.
Before I took this break from ethical adultery, my husband was my last choice for who I would want to have sex with. I would only proposition him if all of my regular booty-calls were busy. I know that isn’t exactly fair. My husband is a fantastic lover. It’s just that sex between us is so hard. There’s the kids to put to bed, the fact that we have to choose between waiting until our daughter passes out on the couch and then sneaking into the bedroom, or doing it on the too-small loveseat. Then there’s everything else. The baggage that comes from being partners in life, and any disagreements or spats we’ve had with each other because that is going to happen when you share everything with someone.
With a lover, it is different. I shower, get dolled up, and I meet them somewhere. They may be stressed, I may be stressed, but we are both there to blow off steam and we both want the same thing. I am not part of the complications of their life, and they are not part of mine. When we are together, we are simplified versions of ourselves. Me, the slut; them, the stud. We rip each other’s clothes off and we escape from everything that has been bringing us down and wearing us out. We exist in each others’ lives only for pleasure and fun, and because that is true, we are sexy and fun, despite anything else that is going on.
I think even if I had a husband with a sex drive like mine it would still be hard. Hard to go from being the person who is sharing in all of the trials and duties, from being the mom with peanut butter on her pants to being a sultry, desirable woman that someone wants to bang.
Maybe it is just the stage of life that we are in. Our kids will get older, they will get less needy. Our daughter WILL learn to sleep in her own bed. We will be able to afford to have someone watch them so we can go to a hotel for the night and reconnect. It will happen—it will.
In the meantime, I fantasize about every good looking man I meet. I think about old lovers and how their cocks felt inside me. I browse lingerie shops and wish I still had a reason to buy those sexy, slinky items. I imagine hot women with their faces buried between my legs. I turn on the shower and take out my sex toy and imagine I am somewhere else.
I miss escaping and being someone else.