Ridiculous WoundsPosted: September 23, 2014
As strange as it may seem, sex all night is a loaded topic for me. I thought about it this morning, on my way to work, and was overcome with such a heavy saddness that my eyes filled with tears and I had to look up, blinking, to keep them from spilling over.
I feel ridiculous writing this. This is not something that should matter–not something that should cause me pain. But it does. And I will tell you about it, dear readers, because I am too embarrassed to tell anyone else.
I am an incredibly sexual creature. And for most of my life I dreamed of getting married, in no small part, because (as far as my religious upbringing was concerned) then being sexual would go from being a bad thing to a good thing. All men wanted it 24/7, I was told, and I would be a goddess among mere housewives once I tied the knot. The Hubby and I talked extensively about this when we were dating. He knew I was a horny little minx, and I made it absolutely clear that I was going to want to have sex, well, all damn day. He assured me this would be no problem.
We got married, and. . .I knew right away that something was amiss. On our wedding night we had sex twice. I knew from other married people that often couples didn’t have sex on their wedding nights at all, because they were so exhausted, so I thought this was pretty good. But on our honeymoon, he didn’t want to have sex constantly. I was confused, angry, and crushed. Why would he want to go out and explore? Why would he want to lay by the pool, or head to the beach? I mean, I wanted to do those things too, but I also wanted to spend at least one entire day in bed. But that was a no-go. We did have sex on our honeymoon–probably every night (except right after Hubby got horribly sunburned)–but I wanted more. We were married now. We were crazy in love honeymooners. If we weren’t going to go wild round the clock now, then when?
It turns out, the answer was never. I was crushed. I had committed to this union for the rest of my life, and this very simple need–not to have sex all night once a week, or every month, but ever, was clearly never going to be met. All-night sex aside, we would sometimes go weeks or months without having sex at all. As a highly sexual person who had been waiting for this her whole life, it was devastating.
Fast forward 7 years later, when we decided to open up our marriage. Now, I was sure, I would have the chance to not only have sex as regularly as I needed it, but also to have sex all night long, like I’d been dreaming of since before my wedding night.
It still hasn’t happened.
I don’t spend the night with other men a lot, and on the occasions that I have, sleep has been the priority. I can’t say that I have even been woken up in the middle of the night for sex by a lover before (though hubby and I have had mid-night quickies a handful of times), let alone gone all night. I just assumed it was something that I would have eventually. I wasn’t fixated on it anymore, because at least I was getting my needs met and not going to bed desperately aroused every night.
Then I met Sugar Daddy. And on our very first sleepover, he promised he’d fuck me all night. He promised he’d take me outside at 3 A.M. and do me on his patio. He promised a lot of things. But the wrench in this plan, was that I wasn’t to be the only woman there. I loved him, though, and trusted him. I was thrilled that this was finally going to happen. And then, it didn’t.
After that fell through, he invited me over the next week to make it up to me. I spent the night again, but before I got there, he texted to let me know that he needed to be up at 5:30 for work, and I was not to wake him. If he woke me for sex, that was fine, but he required me to let him sleep. I followed his orders. I understood that he needed his rest. I was disappointed, but I had a good night regardless.
The next day, Jailbait came into town. The girl who’d been present for our first sleepover. I had all kinds of feelings about this, but I tried my best to suck it up–even though I was dying inside. Instead of being sensitive, the first thing he said to me the next morning was “Only got 3 hours of sleep last night between fucking!” I would have preferred to have been punched in the face.
He blithely informed me that he’d decided to take the day off. To be with her.
We had been unraveling before this, but that was the day I reached the end of my rope. I was sick with anxiety and rejection all day, desperate for his reassurance. Instead of giving it, he told me I was jealous and insane.
This is what I think of now, when I think of all night sex. A near-decade, book-ended by rejection. The fact that I cannot make a man, any man, so passionate, so crazy, so lustful, that he would rather have me over and over and over, than sleep.
I don’t understand.
Can I give it up? Let it go? Accept that this totally attainable, normal, accessible event is just never going to happen for me? That no one will ever want me that bad? That I will never have the right partner, at the night time, in the right place, to do this with?
It seems I should.
I feel dramatic and foolish. This is not a problem. But it cuts me to the core, no matter how petty and insignificant. And that fact alone, means that it is not petty and insignificant–not to me.
I wanted to tell Sugar Daddy why it hurt so bad, but he never gave me the chance.
I want to bring it up with Gentleman Friend. Not to pressure him or complain–this hasn’t been an issue for us, so its nothing he’s done or hasn’t done that is making me think about this. I want to tell him because I want to tell someone–because right now, for whatever reason, it’s hurting. But I can’t, because I don’t want to pressure him. I don’t want to pressure anyone.
I just want someone to want me as bad as I want them. I want someone to be unable to stop fucking me. I don’t want to plan it, I want it to just happen.
There is my ludicrous tale of woe. Enjoy it with a cup of coffee, and shake your head at how nonsensical I am.
But this is my diary. And if I can’t say it here, then where?