I saw a pair of stand-up comedians, last night. Both men included jokes about how their ex-wives avoided sex, during the marriage. To those men, being married meant they were begging for sex, once or twice a week. I know exactly how they felt, because I was in that position throughout my marriage to my gay ex.
Whether or not you are a sexually active single person, it is a lot harder to go without sex while your spouse is right there, a few inches away, than it is to go without sex because you don’t have someone in your life that day with whom you’d consider having sex. I used to say I was living on teaspoons of sex and affection.
For that and many other reasons, divorce was the best idea I’d had in decades. I left my ex years ago and have not regretted that decision.
My boyfriend moved in a few months ago, after nearly two years apart, while he was stationed overseas. We are learning how to live together, and that is a blast. Of course, as a pair of middle-aged, divorced people who had spent 23 months building our relationship over the Internet while he served our country, it’s also just new. We have these awkward moments, when we’re both trying to be so considerate that we have to figure out how to decide what to do. But, you know. we love each other and want to be together, and we’re having fun, and it’s all good. We’re laughing it all off as adorably awkward.
We’re also having the “honeymoon sex” I had heard about before I married my gay ex. You know–that whole idea that you have sex a lot, and it’s great, and you want more of it, and it makes you feel good and makes you feel closer? That thing? I didn’t experience that with my ex-husband. He avoided sex as much as possible, became physically ill after sex much of the time, and told me that I was abnormal for wanting it more than occasionally.
After a while, I started keeping track on a calendar, marking a little dot in the corner of every day we had sex–even if it was only for a minute or two, even if it was just him lying there like he was enduring the tortures of the Inquisition while I gave him a blowjob. If we spent time together at least partially naked, and he had an orgasm, I put a dot in the corner of the calendar that day.
Some months, there would not be a dot. Some years, we’d rack up a grand total of six dots for the entire calendar year.
It struck me, today, that in any given week, my boyfriend and I have sex more often than my ex-husband and I did during the entire first two-and-a-half years of our marriage.
And, not to put too fine a point on things, this is not “Well, I touched his penis while he jacked off and watched porn, so it counts,” sex.
If your guy
- avoids sex
- makes up reasons to not have sex
- says you’re a nympho for wanting sex
- gets sick after sex
- insists he not touch your vagina at all during sex
stop wasting your time trying to make it work. It can’t work, because he doesn’t want you. And he just may not want you because he’s gay.
It’s not nearly as complicated as a closeted man trying to hide his sexuality from his spouse will try to make it out to be. Married couples, loving couples, really DO have sex. They really DO enjoy it. They really DO look forward to it. And straight men really will do whatever they can, to ensure they can have sex with the women they’re with, whether it’s because she is amazing or just because it’s a lot easier than looking for sex elsewhere.
Men like sex, every bit as much as women do. Even after they move in together or marry, men want sex. Even if they don’t want sex with you, they want sex, and they are probably having it, whether or not they tell you the truth. If your hot lingerie is dry rotting and your husband has no idea that you got a bikini wax two weeks ago, stop looking for evidence.
You have it.
Now, you just have to decide how much it matters to you to be with a good man, or no man, rather than with a man who would try to convince you that there’s something wrong with you for wanting intimacy and physical affection within your relationship.
Gotta run, ladies—my boyfriend is cooking dinner, shirtless, just for me.