We haven’t had television hooked up at our new place since we moved in, and I don’t even miss it. It’s amazing how few shows actually speak to what I’m thinking and feeling on a daily basis (except the one I’ve written and intend to sell.) Or which ones actually sound like the way my friends and I talk. “Sex and the City” came close back in the day, until most of the woman got married and suddenly a protective curtain went around the “sex” part. Suddenly it got all 1950’s, “Oh no dear, we can’t discuss that…” Only Samantha, the single, slutty one gets to have sex. But SERIOUS MARRIED’s keep that stuff where it belongs, in the bedroom. With this post, I want to blow that bedroom door clean off…
I used to love that show “Mind of a Married Man” because guys talked like real guys, and some were faithful and some weren’t and they got together over games of pool, and one guy was an asshole, and one was not, but tempted by his hot assistant etc. Where is the TV show that reflects my friends and I, complaining about our husbands over coffee, but with no intention of doing anything about it? Or drunken confessions of personal sex secrets that will be denied when sober? Where is the woman’s opportunity to go get a “happy ending,” a little hand relief after carpool to karate class?
Here’s my truth – just the mind of “one” married woman, not all of them. Sex in marriage is extremely complicated, and unless you regularly get shit-faced, and wear top notch disguises so it seems like a different person, you have to face the fact that, as much as you love him, it’s been over a decade and you’re still fucking… This guy. The same guy you see yell at the kids. The guy you’ve seen perform every bodily function, more than you’ve seen your own. The guy whose shoe of choice on the weekends, against his better instincts, is Crocs.
Now lest I get off on a rant about how I don’t want to fuck a guy who wears Crocs (or those weird rubber toe shoes, or boat shoes) let’s remember that he didn’t wear Crocs on the first date. Likewise I wasn’t wearing a Snoopy T-shirt, polka dot boxer shorts and velour bedroom slippers (what I’m wearing currently as I write this.) And love is not superficial like that. There is a beautiful poem about love in Corinthians:
Love is impatiently waiting to get laid,
Love is kind for about ten minutes afterwards.
Love should not predicate on footwear
Or ugly shirts in rude colors.
But It is sometimes rude, especially when the kid has peed in your bed,
It is easily angered, when you’re the one who got peed on.
It keeps a record of EVERY single evil your spouse has ever wrought
And delights in pointing it out
Making his Staff of Joy unfit for battle.
And your Moses Basket full of nothing but reeds…
It protects you from hurting your partner’s feelings,
For about the first three years,
And after that IT’S ON.
Love trusts that the whole affair will feel like the first three months (it won’t)
Always hopes the butterflies of longing will come back (they won’t)
And perseveres, but only with a lot of therapy (unless he won’t)
Love fails 2/3 of the time, but like giant, deluded rubes, we keep trying It anyway.
Okay that may not be the exact poem, but what do you expect from a Jew quoting the New Testament?
What makes married sex great, and what makes it (sometimes) awful or non-existent are the same thing – you actually KNOW each other. I have had sex with my husband where the heavens opened up and I swear I saw the Baby Jesus descend off a cloud and kiss me. I’m not trying to be blasphemous here, just making an analogy about something that is spiritually so intense, divine and life-changing that words cannot explain it. Where you see colors when you reach that magic moment. Where you cry and laugh at the same time. When you feel like you’re holding the only person who ever really loved you on the edge of space and time and with your bodies you can create world peace. Sex that makes other sex embarrassed to call itself sex.
And then there are the other times. The times that simply didn’t happen. When you wanted to have sex, needed it, but LIFE got in the way, shit-sucking, cock-sucking (but not in the good way) LIFE with its CHORES and BILLS and PHONE-CALLS. Fuck you life! Or, DON’T fuck you – see how YOU feel…
And then – the rest. And here is where it gets tricky and I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but bad sex can happen to good people. There have been times, when I have gotten more aroused from looking at a Bloomingdale’s catalogue than having sex since kids came into the equation. And believe me I am a highly sexual person, as evidenced by the fucking sprees I’ve been on when single, and how great they were. As soon as I started having sex, I enjoyed it, besides all the crying, bitterness and agony of realizing that once again I had gotten myself hooked on someone sexually who didn’t love me the way I wanted to be loved. But who knows, that could have been some of what made it so good?
My husband is the best guy I’ve ever met, a loyal, dependable, hilarious man who has done more for me in a day than any one of those three month flings. He is my blood, he is family, he is like one of my limbs. So is having sex with him almost like masturbating?
Married sex most often takes place in a bed, as opposed to on a beach at night with the threat of someone coming by, or in a cemetery (just me?) or in Paris (I wonder if all Parisians have great sex simply because they’re in Paris?) And with someone who you haven’t seen smeared with feces (unless that’s your thing, in which case – G-d bless you) but someone who was still a mystery to you, who didn’t mispronounce the word “realtor” or ask you the same question twenty times.
Which must be why I keep seeing other moms sitting in idling SUV’s furtively reading “Fifty Shades of Gray.” (Although I’ve never seen any of them rubbing one out in a parking lot.)
How to separate the person and the act? A certain amount of sex includes objectification, and while I’m still really attracted to my husband (he’s pretty hot) it’s hard to objectify someone you know so well. On the other hand, I regularly become infatuated with other men, whom I do objectify, and then use supreme willpower to make sure nothing sexual happens, but I still end up having to cut off all contact. I can’t be friends with men I’m even mildly attracted to and for weeks afterwards have to detox from the high of all that attention. The lust. The rising heartbeat when the text comes in. I have skated on the edge of infidelity, but not crossed it, but not because I’m a bad person, or a good person. But simply because I am devastated to learn that something so trivial (heart racing, palms sweating, fiery aching need) may be gone forever.
I have channeled this pent up lust into other things (writing! music! friends!) gone to twelve step meetings and done yoga, but the fact remains – if I stay faithful in the paradigm of monogamy – there is a part of life I will never experience again. And unlike having another child, or the time of my life when I was a child (both of which I do not miss) … I often find myself wondering what life is like on the other side.
Which is when my husband and I check into a hotel room and I’m reminded of what is was like, and what it’s like now and why even though it’s not perfect, sometimes it is, and even when it’s not, it is perfect enough.
If your marriage or relationship is showing early signs of sexual disconnection, the tipping point for either an affair, sexlessness and/or divorce can happen IN AN INSTANT. As a Sexual Intuitive®, my passion is for saving families, many of whom don’t yet know how very soon they’ll need saving. Email me NOW if you think there’s no hope, or if you hope there is…