Words

We had bad sex this morning.
No. That’s not remotely true. It went bad before we had sex. It was after She’d got back from the bathroom. After we had both looked at the clock and realised the ugliness of the morning’s hour. After we knew we were both awake. After I contemplated getting up to do some work. After Her finger tips had just about rested against my shoulder, but only just. After my hand reached for Her hip and the surprise of it finding the soft skin of Her inner thigh. After that wasn’t rejected. After She stoked my cock. After She rolled onto Her back and seemed to pull me towards Her. That’s about when it started to go bad.

She rolled onto Her back and seemed to pull me towards Her which, in the absence of any contradictory precedent, I took to mean She thought She was ready to fuck. We didn’t get that far – something about the way She moved Her legs as my roll followed Hers. Ok. A bit more stroking. That’s ok. Except what ever I did, and I never found out what that was, seemed to solicit an almost instant chill in the air.

I stopped. Setting my exasperation free as it coagulated into a sigh.

She: What’s wrong?
Me: Nothing unusual.

Many years ago my Wife accused me of being passive-aggressive. I dare say that’s not an inaccurate way of looking at it. The other way is that I wear my heart on my sleeve – if you don’t know where you stand with me, you’re really not looking.

“Nothing unusual” almost certainly falls into that category. It says one of two things:
Why do you have to throw this same old crap at me every time?
… or …
I can’t do this. It tears me apart.
It probably doesn’t say either very well.

She suggested that I don’t get the response I want.
I replied that the response I usually get is don’t do that.

She said if I touch Her where I want to touch Her it’s not pleasant. She qualified that – that It’s actively unpleasant. She said something about encouragement.
I said that it wasn’t encouraging to be told that being touched by Her husband was actively unpleasant.

It’s different once She’s turned on, but apparently I move too fast.
I said I can’t move much slower.

Apparently I spoil the good work I’ve done.
I said I rarely get any sign that I’ve done any good work.
Good work? Ha ha! It may be semantics but good work is the sort of phrase an employer uses.

I said that’s what I’ve got used to over the last 10 years.
She said lets not dwell on the past.
I said it was kind of difficult not to. That’s why I gave up hope a very long time ago

She seemed to have an issue with the fact that when we indulge in foreplay I stroke Her back and thighs, but nowhere else.
I pointed out that that’s all I’m allowed to stroke.

There was something about how She’s been making the effort over the last few weeks.
There was something about how that’s how we do it – 2 weeks, then months of nothing.

She said I seem angry.
I said it’s frustration.

She apologised for making miserable.
I apologised for not pleasing Her.

She said something about there being no romance.
It wasn’t really discussed but She’s probably right. But you have to be open to romance.

And then we got round to what to do.
What do I want to do?
Run away, bury my head in the sand and pretend it doesn’t matter.

Do I think we should see a therapist.
I struggled to say yes. Not because I don’t think it would help, but there are some boxes Pandora intended to say closed. To misquote Billy Brag, the things I’ve done and the places I’ve been, when I open the door for Her, I will not let them in. As long as She comes back to me, She need not ask. For Her I will be the man in the iron mask.

Counselling seemed to have helped us.
It stopped us hating each other.

Perhaps, She mused, we need the impartial 3rd party to whom we can say the things to we can’t say to each other. And we’d probably have to schedule sex.
(I didn’t say this, but I suspect that may be a long standing scar about a comment I may have made years ago about the lack of spontaneity in our sex life. Back when we had one.)
She didn’t see why we couldn’t do that anyway, without a counsellor.
There will, inevitably, be difficulties finding a therapist we could see at times that are convenient. Circumstances have changed since we saw a marriage counsellor, and setting aside time during normal office hours once a week is no longer a realistic option, at all other times we will be somewhat hamstrung by parental duties, and this problem was noted.

And slowly, amidst a sense of blame and counter blame, we ran out of words. Or the will to use them.

She rolled away. We lay in silence for a while. And because I don’t want Her to feel crap about all this, I reached out an arm to wrap round Her. But ultimately I got out of bed and went for a shower.

Come breakfast, we passed in the kitchen, but little more.

7 Responses to “Words”

  1. AM, this post is breaking my frail heart. You are younger than I am and since you are of the male species, even if you were my age…you have options. I’d like to think that this shit should not be so fucking complicated. I’d like to think that for both of us there is someone out there who not only desires us but who would desires us so much that if it was possible, we would never leave the bedroom again.

    Sexuality should not become something so shattering to your/my self-worth. It should help to make it better.

    (in a perfect world.)

    Bises,
    Dawn

    • Sometimes you fall.
      Sometimes there’s something to catch hold of. A branch which offers hope of salvation and climbing back up.
      Sometimes the branch you have clung to gives way.
      Sometimes you just keep falling.
      Sometimes you reach the bottom, and the landing may be soft or hard.
      Sometimes you land on a ledge, half way down the cliff face. There may be no way up, and only a hard way down. But the ledge may be broad, and grassy, and a hollow in the cliff may provide shelter. And there may be a pleasant view of the landscape from which you are separated.
      Perfection can be such an arbitrary term sometimes.

      Merci pour les bises.

  2. Sorry, another post I can’t ‘like’
    I agree with Dawn but have no idea what to do about it…

  3. Wow! That IS really sad. It sounds like you all really DO need a therapist, because it seems you both WANT to communicate and have sex, but don’t know how and don’t know what each other wants and are too afraid to find out. 😦 I vote for the therapist to help you. It certainly doesn’t sound like it is too late! Go for it!!!!

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