For years I have not felt desire for my husband. I used to cringe each time he would want to have sex. It was usually about once a month, and I always complied. To be honest, I never felt any kind of emotional connection but he is well endowed and our bodies fit together well after the many years of practice.
He was never good at foreplay, or oral sex. His mouth gave me more pain and frustration than it did pleasure, and he never really ever did seem to get the hang of it, and that wasn’t for lack of trying.
His insistence to continue trying made me uncomfortable, because I am not exaggerating when I say he had little talent in the art of cunnilingus. Being a Catholic school boy and then a virgin after five years of college, he did not get much practice before I married him, and I was then and still am now the only lover he’s ever been with.
Oh yes, I tried to direct him and guide him and offer him bits of positive feedback in the form verbal praise, but he never got better at it, and I spent twenty years wondering what other women thought was so special about oral sex. I was 22 when I married him and had never had any MAN over the age of 22 eat my pussy, so I really did not know what I was missing.
Honestly, I don’t know HOW I managed to make most of this entry about oral sex. I did not start out with that intention. Let me get back on track.
I still do not desire my husband, and when he became impotent over 18 months ago, he did not tell me. I assume he kept it a secret out of fear, shame and embarrassment. That he felt those things isn’t the weird part, the weird part is that he felt he could not talk to me about them. It’s not REALLY weird, because my husband has never opened up and talked to me about anything in regards to feelings or vulnerability. But, that he could keep THAT a secret shocked me.
It was like he woke up one day and was a different man.
He used to playfully grab at my girl parts all the time…now that is gone.
He used to make sexual references every now and then about my body or when he liked something he saw....Gone.
He used to rub my back and buttocks at night, sometimes in a gesture of intimacy but mostly in hopes of getting laid, because each time he would rub my ass in the dark he would get a hard on that you couldn’t bend with two pipe wrenches…also GONE.
When I asked my husband about the total lack of any physical contact from him, he admitted (with a good dose of prodding) that he did not want to physically touch me because he could not perform should I want him to. I said, “Well, didn’t you think that I would notice or that it would hurt my feelings or make me feel not wanted? Did you ever consider the fact that just because you can’t orgasm doesn’t change the fact that I might still want one, or want you to participate in giving me pleasure?”
His answer was that he doesn’t try to initiate sex because it always ends up in frustration for him, meaning, his penis won’t get hard enough to allow him to ejaculate.
I wanted to say, “YOU still have two hands, and digital manipulation of my pussy was the ONLY thing you mastered in the two and a half decades we’ve been married. You can get me off in FIVE MINUTES, and they make DILDOS in every size.” Instead, I looked at him astonishingly.
What a dumbass.
Let me rephrase that…
What a SELFISH dumbass.
Even though the sex we had every month was not ideal for me in terms of emotional satisfaction, it felt good to get the hot beef injection. (There’s a throw back for ya, ladies of the eighties). It felt good to be physically satisfied by his penis every once a month, whether I needed it or not.
Apparently, I needed it. Because I am about as sex starved as a woman can get right now. I spent the past year moping and trying to wean myself off the Fox, because I knew all along the truth I heard him speak to me in person the last time I saw him. I knew he was always going to cheat and never leave his wife, and I knew that if I were less accessible he would find someone new to fill the void his wife leaves in his heart. I knew he was devoted to her and that my dream of us really dating would not come to light. About half way through that weaning period , I was still asking to be reassured that he would eventually be my real boyfriend. He was still promising me that one day, he would meet my family and that maybe we could spend the last ten or fifteen years of our lives together.
But he said it out loud. He said I was too young, he would never get divorced and that we would never live together or date openly.
Once he spoke those words that I never wanted to hear, my heart did its final death lurch inside my chest. From that moment on, I’ve been broken. Part of my soul will never be the same. Letting go of that dream almost killed me, and it still may, for I am still suffering more than anyone else could know.
Hearing those words affected me in a way I can’t explain. I knew the notion of him and I being together was a dangerous one to entertain. I knew I was probably wrong to believe, but somehow I could not stop marveling at how good we were together and how perfectly right that relationship felt for me. It persevered for the better part of eight and a half years.
I have nothing left to believe in.
I always thought love is what made someone truly happy. Love is what made me truly happy. Having that special someone that knows the deepest parts of you does not come along very often. It is once in a lifetime for many. Somehow I can’t overcome the loss of it. I am so incredibly empty inside. LIFE is so incredibly empty.
I am determined to leave MY marriage, more now than ever. I do not stand to lose any less than the Fox would. If anything, I will lose more. I will have to share my child with my husband. I will lose the only adult home I have ever had, a home that I have turned into a showplace over the past 25 years. I will lose my health insurance, eye insurance and dental insurance. I will lose a brother- in- law and four sister- in- laws, 13 nieces and nephews, four of which I am close to and love very much. I will lose over 115K dollars a year in spendable income. I have a high school diploma and three pieces of heirloom furniture to my name.
I am self employed with no benefits. I will lose the ability to even take my kids out to a nice restaurant. The hot mess that is Ebay is forcing a purge of small sellers and I cannot count on that as a steady form of supplemental income.
I could cashier, waitress or work in a factory, but at almost fifty years old, I am better suited for the sex trade than any of those professions.
My life will be downgraded in a way that I never thought humanly possible. Oh yeah, my parents know the devastating affect that divorce will reap upon me, and they are NOT in favor of it. I will lose their support temporarily.
To feel utterly alone in the world but still be living in the same house with a man, posing as his wife is more of a burden than I can bear. It’s a sadness that never goes away. It’s a sentence, a scarlet letter, a painful, oozing leprosy.
It’s an emotional prison.
I’m tired of trying to tunnel my way out of it with a spoon.
It’s time to bring in the heavy machinery.
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