While I’d like to say that I took such a hiatus from blogging because I’ve been having this phenomenal sex life and I’ve been much too busy to write about it, that’s not the case (and it rarely, if ever, is). All my absences from the blogosphere has been because of some type of crisis, usually having to do with my lack of sex partners or sex in general. But it’s more than that this time.
A few months ago, late March, I had reached a boiling point. The intimacy between Henri and I became non-existent. The moment I realized we had reached a point of no return was two nights before our huge argument. I was set on approaching him that night; instead, I drank a few shots of Tequila and smoked some herb, dancing in the twinkle the lit candles cast, the ones I scattered throughout the living room relishing in the rarity of having the room all to myself (our room mate, currently completely moved out, had spent the night elsewhere that day). I had showered and put on a tight pink and gray lace nightie that hugged me in all the right ways. I felt sexy, wild, and wicked. I haven’t felt like that since…
Henri walked through the door and I pounced on him, a wild animal waiting for her prey in the shadows. I sucked his cock before deciding to ride him, full of heat and passion. And then, for the second time that week, I felt his cock go soft while it was inside me.
“I’m really tired babe. It’s just been one of those days…” An excuse I heard too many times before. I remember drinking and smoking myself to oblivion, documenting the remnants of my sex appeal on Instagram and feeding my depleted ego with the comments people left behind.
Two nights after that we had our huge argument. We sat down eating Chinese takeout, and I decided that while we were both there, alone and calm, I would ask him why we are no longer intimate, why he was obviously not sexually into me like before.
“I’ve told you before, your health is very important to me, and I think you need to take this more seriously. I want you around for a long time…”
“Okay. My health is why you won’t fuck me? I’m not disabled, so tell me what is really your problem, because my health and you not wanting to fuck me are two separate issues.”
But in his mind, they are one in the same. See, what he meant was the one thing a woman doesn’t want to hear from her husband; the man she has chosen to be by her side for life, one of the very few people who could take any pain away. How do you begin to tell your wife that she is physically unattractive? It’s hard, I know, and there is no right way to say it. But he let these feelings simmer for almost two years, and in the process we lost an intimacy in our relationship we had always reveled in. It had been one of the things that, despite having other sex partners, I thought had not faltered between us. I had been blind of course. There were signs, and I kept ignoring them because I didn’t want to face the fact that it wasn’t like that between us. More that he wasn’t like that with me. To be honest, it was not the only time where he hinted at a problem with my weight, even going as far as stating that I am clinically obese and that I had to do something about it or… I had been devastated that day. Of all the words to hear, even about fearing my health, I don’t expect to hear that from my husband. But that day in late March cemented my fears.
It took me two weeks to be able to function without bursting into tears. My own thoughts alone drowned me: Shouldn’t he love me no matter what I look like? What do we do now? Are we faking it? I don’t think we can be together if we’re just faking it…it’s not fair to either one of us…
Our frustrations culminated into an argument a block away from home, while I was taking a walk to calm my nerves and he just happened to be leaving for the gym. We took the shout match into our car, fogging up the windows in weather that was a toe away from full Spring. It broke my heart to know that once upon a time we would have sweated the windows with passion, not heated hateful words that bounced off the leather interior. I will do anything–help out more, clean the house, be a better husband–if you commit to losing weight! To which I asked So our marriage depends solely on me losing weight? He gripped the steering wheel tightly, clenched his jaw, and took a long pause before responding with I’ve said what I’ve had to say. I slammed the car door and went home, too pissed off to cry.
It took two weeks before I let him kiss me hello when he got home from work. Before I let him hug me or hold my hand without flinching or pulling away. All I kept thinking was he’s kissing me out of pity, despite him telling me he loves me for me, that has not changed. You’re the love of my life; the person I want to spent the rest of my days on this Earth with. But his body can’t help feeling how it feels. And I know that feeling too.
Since our monumental blow up, I have not pursued any new lovers. I had one in line and the two times we were supposed to meet were canceled due to personal circumstances and I think it was for the best anyhow. I rarely masturbate anymore, and if we were having intimacy issues before, it became worse. For three months I rebuffed him at every turn. We had sex about twice, and those times were extremely awkward for me and I’m sure for him too. I wasn’t even turned on, my saliva being my lubricant and replacing my natural wetness. I was merely performing wifely duties and then escaping to the living room with my vibrator to fantasize about other men, touching me the way I wish he would. The other times he approached me with intentions of having sex, I would deviate from his plans and give him a blow job instead, giving him the release he wanted and in return releasing myself from an encounter I didn’t want. The tables have turned and it was no intentional. I am little to none sexually interested in him or anyone else. Sometimes I feel disgusted with myself, other times with him. Why have sex with someone who was and continues to be a selfish lover? All he cares about is getting his and doesn’t give a fuck about me and my orgasm. I know all the moves by now, so really, what the fuck is the point?
His excuse is that we (me is who he really means) are restricted to two positions. I call bullshit. It’s been like this for years, before I got to this weight, before I even had our son. It was one of my reasons for seeking sex elsewhere: no more intrigue. I knew how sex was going to go down before it even began. Someone told me once that bad sex was better than no sex. I disagree. Why have bad sex if it’s going to be disappointing anyway? I’d rather not have sex at all and save myself the displeasure.
It took two weeks before we could speak without shouting and actually have a discussion. The biggest issue was my weight, that’s true. But there were other things that he wanted me to work on and vice versa. Initially, I had been stubborn about losing weight because it felt like I would only be doing it to appease him and his sexual appetite, and I didn’t think that was a good enough reason. Still I had to admit that my health comes first and so does my family. I would be stupid to say I want to do anything I can to save our marriage and not try to lose weight if that’s something that will improve not only us, but me all around.
It’s harder than I thought it would be, but I’m trying. He tells me that he is turned on by my efforts; he sees the changes I’ve made, not just physically, but in my spirit. Right now all I can say is that I’m making changes, positive ones. We’re trying. There is still love here and as long as there is, we will continue to work for it. Giving up on us is not an option we have decided to take.