I’ve been sharing lots of good things with all of you. Happy things. But life is not all sunshine and roses, is it? Today I’m going to share some of the bad and the ugly. The really ugly. My ugly. Deep breath…
During the worst time sexually in our marriage, I wanted almost nothing to do with sex. I told my girlfriend that if someone told me that I’d never have sex again in my life I’d look at that person, say, “Please pass the salt,” and go on with my dinner. Conan was a virile, healthy, testosterone filled man, and that was pretty much unacceptable to him, of course! So when I’d done everything I could do to avoid it and he’d done everything he could do to get it, I would agree to sex.
I remember those times very well. I’d go in the bathroom to get ready. I’d sit there and say to myself, “I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to.” And then I’d tell myself, well, too bad. You’re going to do it anyway. This is important! Sometimes I’d masturbate a little to get things going, and sometimes I’d go in cold and wait for things to get going. Nine times out of ten it was good for me. And then we’d start all over again. Avoidance, rejection, cajoling, pressuring, asking, asking, asking, until I couldn’t take that anymore and I’d agree to sex again.
That was a very tough time for me and a very tough time for Conan, too. Keeping Conan satisfied sexually made life easier. For me and for him.
Fast forward to today. Conan and I are living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed, going on with life in the same way. Except…a couple months without sex was making Conan a very, very miserable man. On top of the emotional breakdown of our marriage, going cold turkey celibate was too much.
So we did some negotiating. Conan said that if we could resume our sex life, it would make it easier on him to live in this strange marriage that we’re in now. He wanted three times a week. I said, no, how about once a week. We settled on two times a week. Sigh. I find myself in the exact same situation I was in before. Giving Conan tons of credit, he is a good lover and he makes sure things are good for me. But the first time I started crying right in the middle of it. Yep, tears streaming down my face. Conan was otherwise occupied and didn’t notice, thankfully. (If he reads this, he’ll know, I guess.) I managed to get my emotions in check and go on and it turned out good. Later, though, I cried some more. I told all this to the counselor I’ve been seeing. She says it’s because I’m the type of person who can’t have sex without an emotional connection. Well, I can, and I know I can. I just don’t particularly care for it. Emotionally. Physically things are more than fine.
And…it’s making life bearable for Conan, and so makes life more bearable for me, too. Just like before.
Don’t be too hard on Conan, I’m the instigator in this whole mess. So if I can make things easier in some ways, shouldn’t I? I think so.
Wow, I’m living in the Twilight Zone.