I love sex. I always have. It never occurred to me that there would be times when I wouldn’t crave it. I couldn’t imagine not wanting to feel hands roaming my body or soft lips trailing the curve of my neck. But it happened when I got married.
The pressure of marriage was hurled at me from all directions as I approached my mid-twenties. I fought it at first, refusing to settle for a partner who couldn’t give me everything I needed. But I eventually gave up on my notion of the ideal mate. I ended up marrying a man whose manhood was threatened by a vibrator. I knew from the beginning that he was very straight laced sexually speaking, but I thought I could adapt. I watched how he treated his mother. He adored her. I knew then that he would be a caring husband and father. I felt we could make a good life together. He gave me everything I wanted. Just not what I ended up needing the most. The freedom to be me.
I traded in nights of amazing sex for a house in the suburbs and Thursday morning playgroups. Little by little, I began to change. I started to cover my body in front of him, I got used to having sex with the lights off, and I found myself making excuses on the rare occasions he turned to me. The days of dripping wet excitement were long gone and lube became a necessity.
I was sad for awhile and began to mourn the loss of the sexual being I once was. I missed multiple orgasms and the thought of the night ahead soaking my panties. I missed that feeling of anticipation as I waited to be touched. I missed the ravenous look in a man’s eyes as he watched my every move.
Sadness eventually gave way to denial which is where I stayed for most of my marriage. I downplayed the importance of a sexual relationship. I told myself that it was normal to have a husband who rarely initiated intimacy yet expected it of me. I convinced myself that I could live my life without it and eventually stopped wanting sex altogether.
I listened to my friends talk about how much they loved sex with their husbands. They talked about vibrators, orgasms and feelings of need. I felt nothing. Not even a spark. My desire was officially dead. It was a thing of the past and it was time to let it go. I decided I didn’t need it and would be fine without it. I was a housewife with two kids. I felt like I didn’t have much of a choice.
Then I started to get angry. I was angry because I’d given up so much of who I was for a person who gave me nothing in return. I listened to him condemn people for their sexual orientation and judge others for enjoying the things I once loved. And as my hostility towards him grew, my sexual urges slowly began to resurface.
The orgasms I gave myself with the shower head were nice. And I often wondered if he ever noticed the handprint on the glass that I left on purpose. But, that was only the beginning, and I soon wanted more. I graduated to bringing myself to orgasm with my fingers as he lay sleeping on the other side of the bed we shared. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out in the middle of the night. Still, I needed more. I paid cash for the vibrator that stayed hidden in the bottom of my underwear drawer in the closet. I cried when it broke. Then all of the needs that I’d suppressed during my marriage slammed into me full force, knocking me off balance. I saw a future without him in it and I knew there was no going back for me. I was done hiding.
My marriage lasted for fourteen years, and for nine of them, I felt dead inside. I asked myself if it was karma. Was I being tormented for my sexual exploits in the past? For trying to be someone I wasn’t? What better way to punish me, someone who had so few sexual boundaries, than to dwindle my desire down to nothing. The last year of our sexless marriage, I realized I was partly at fault for the breakdown by not being upfront about who I was. I was a woman who loved sex. All kinds of sex. I wanted it. I needed it. And I swore on a stack of Southern Living magazines that I would never sacrifice who I am again.
Beautiful written account of a less than beautiful time in your life. The handprint left in defiance…I smiled.
Me? Defiant? Well, I never…
Thank you, Scot!
I just found your site/blog through twitter and just wanted to say I really appreciate you having written this. I’ve recently found a few blogs with topics along the same vein and have just been really happy to read them. I’ve had similar experiences – although due to different circumstances – and in the middle of it all was just baffled as to how I could have gone from very sexually experimental to having virtually no interest in any of it.
I’m on the tail end of a long term relationship that is over – but not quite due to plenty of complications – but is interestingly in the best place it’s every been. Even sexually, which I find pretty hilarious.
Anyway – I just wanted to say thanks and am looking forward to reading more of your posts.
In life, it’s so easy to lose yourself to the bigger picture. Some people are okay with that. I wasn’t. My reawakening has been incredible and I’m still evolving.
I’m so glad you found us, Carol! And thank you for commenting!
I still can’t quite put into words how beautiful this post is. I feel so bad, I want to give you hugs, but I also want to congratulate you. (With an orgasm or two, of course
)
But seriously…I’m surrounded by people who fell into this same state. Pressured to get married to the first person nearby and essentially ruin their happiness. Half of my family is stuck in the rut and in denial. Seeing that, how horrible such a mistake can really be, is what really made me realize that is NOT how I want to live. I’m lucky enough to have the example shown to me inadvertently.
I can’t imagine how you made it so long like that. But I’m mostly just so happy for you that you climbed back out. Embracing yourself is the only way to live. Fuck anyone who says differently.
Thank you for being you.
You make me want to cry, Brittany! And get naked…