Hmm. Well, sex has been a non-issue for the last few days. I'm working on installing central air in our ancient money pit, but for now, only our bedroom has AC. It's been hotter'n'dammit here lately, and we've had the entire family in the bedroom at night. During the day it's too hot to think about sex without melting. Maybe you could manage it under a cold shower, but that's about it.
I've been working on more GAL stuff. I've gotten a little more active over on the No More Mr. Nice Guy online support group, and another member and I are going to try to start a "real" group in our general geographic area. One of the warning signs for "Nice Guy Syndrome" is a man with no male friends. Well, I had guy friends before I got married, but that coincided with moving back to my home town after four years of college. My college friends weren't there, and my high school friends were gone for the most part, too. I got so wrapped up in my wife and my marriage that I just didn't go out and make new friends. Now my good friends--male and female--outside my marriage are all people I've met online. Some of them I've never seen face-to-face. Part of the reason for that is that I'm a shy guy who just doesn't reach out and take the risk of making friends. Part of it is that I live in a part of the country that's more hostile than most to my main interests, so the people I meet through those hobbies tend to live elsewhere. So now I'm going to force myself to take a look around and really talk to people. We'll see how that goes.
My wife and I had a good talk the other night about where we are now and how much progress we've made. I was trying to tell her--clumsily--that I understood how much she's been working with me on our marriage and I appreciated it. We ended up talking about a lot of things. She still seems surprised every time I talk about how much it hurt when she was rejecting me and I didn't understand. It's as if we've never talked about it before.
I'm starting to wonder what will happen when the new school year starts. I know she's dreading it. I wish she'd just leave; I don't think she'd be out of work for long. Our field is very short of people locally, and nobody can afford to treat us the way she's being treated. But I don't want to push her to solve it my way.
It's been over a week since I've written. Things have been going well for the most part. I've gotten to do some more GAL stuff, mostly shooting. I've been practicing for my trip this month by shooting in competition, which has been a lot of fun. I shoot near the school where I work, so I think during the school year it will actually be easier to get to the weekly match after work. I've been working out more, too.
I've had some good conversations with my wife, but I want to talk about one I had right about the time of my last post. This illustrates, to me, how far we'd fallen with me stepping back and trying to be the "Nice Guy" and let her lead, and her stepping forward to take over our life completely. She was going to buy me a car. Not, like, buy me a gift. She knew I wanted a different car because I hate the POS I'm driving at the moment. It was her dream car, and when we got married she'd never been allowed to choose her own car. Her parents had always told her what to drive. She was driving a blowoff blue Chevy Celebrity at the time, and it had been through three accidents and had the muffler held on with a coat hanger for five years at that point. So we went looking and got her dream car, a red '95 Camaro with t-tops, a V6 and an automatic transmission (because if you can't be comfortable, you should at least be slow.) I drove my ancient caddy and then an ailing Buick I'd bought from my parents for the next few years. The plan had been that we would save up and the next big car purchase would be for me. Well, the kids came along and then the baby was coming, and we had to have a van. So we went out and bought the newest car either of us has ever driven, a Ford minivan. The van did improve our quality of life a bunch, but now there was no money for anything else and I got rear-ended by a lady with a new car and no insurance. So today, she's got the van and I've got that POS Camaro that's now breaking faster than I can fix it.
She knows, she says, that I want "a Volvo." She can't remember what kind, but she figures a Volvo is a Volvo. So she was going to go out and buy one, since I was just taking way too long. Of course, I was taking so long because we don't have the money to do this without selling the Camaro, but what does that matter? And of course, she was liable to come home with something I wouldn't want to drive, but again, who cares? She says she finds car shopping a hassle and she'd be glad if someone came along and just did it for her. Huh? You want someone to come along and spend thousands of dollars of your money on something you have to spend 6 hours a week in, and you don't want them to consult you? "Were you at least going to say something to me about this, or were you just going to go do it without even mentioning it?" I asked. The look on her face told me everything. To her credit, she at least had the grace to look sheepish.
So that's how far we've gone down that road. She had apparently decided that she was in charge, I had no say in anything, and that must be how I liked it. Needless to say, it has been made clear that she will NOT go out and buy a car unless she wants to drive it-and I'll be selling the van if that happens.
It's not like I'm being irresponsible here. I'm looking at Volvos around ten years old that are in a price range we can afford, paying cash we have in the bank. Yeah, I like the sportier models, but you're still talking about four-door sedans--the safest in the world, and with good mileage--that won't require a loan. I admit I'm fascinated by the engineering--I love a good gizmo, and a turbocharged inline 5-cylinder is right up there. But it's still a good choice for us, and what's more, it's my choice.
Anyway, we had two good breakthroughs in the sex department. First, we had a moment I didn't enjoy. We'd been cuddling on the bed late in the afternoon, and there'd been some kissing and some snuggling, and I moved my hand to her breast. She brushed it off as if it were a spider. "What's wrong?" "I just don't want to be touched there." "OK, I won't, but why? I thought you were having fun." "I was, but . . . it's daylight out, and . . . ." "It's what?" "You know what I mean. I just, with the way I look . . . ."
I let this go because I could see myself turning it into an argument. I sort of knew what she meant--I know she's bothered by being overweight, and she's made comments before now about her breasts sagging since the baby was born. She used to wear a naughty nightie to bed when she wanted to make love; now she often wears one of the nighties, but with her bra underneath. But I wasn't planning on stripping her naked and taking photos in sunlight. I just thought it would be nice to touch her breasts, because, you know, breasts.
I waited until later, when she was relaxed, and broached the subject again. I asked her what the daylight had to do with it--did she think I didn't find her body beautiful, or was she the one insulting my woman? She admitted that it was her mental issue. I told her I'd like to touch her breasts, and I promised nothing I would do would embarrass her. She agreed to that, and I kissed her and gently cupped and fondled her breasts through her shirt and bra. She was tense at first, but she relaxed and then grew obviously aroused, kissing me passionately. I told her how much I loved her and how much she excited me, and that we could take pleasure in each other. I told her I wasn't trying to force her into doing anything she didn't want to do in the daylight, and that every little sexual touch didn't have to be an intercourse early warning sign. I admit, I have a hard time stopping once I start, but I'm capable of it. She has always had this sense that one does not simply caress, lick, suck or otherwise stimulate one's partner unless there will be a By God Penis inserted into a By God Vagina In An Approved Manner With All Due Dispatch. It's always been a stumbling block; she wants to wait to have sex until she's in the mood, but she won't do anything to get into the mood unless she's ready to have sex. Catch-22.
Now the good news: I told her I wasn't pushing her to do anything, but I wanted to make love to her that night. She said, and I quote, "Okay."
That may not seem like much to some of you, but in my house, it used to be that "no" meant "no," while "maybe" meant "no," and "yes" meant "maybe." There was no real yes. If she decided to make love (and it was always she; it was understood that I did not have the power or the right to initiate sex) then she would either go to bed in sexy lingerie or invite me to the shower. That was it. If one of those things hadn't happened, I could ask, but it was a waste of time.
From there, after the divorce ultimatum and after she read most of SSM, we eventually progressed to the point where I was getting genuine "maybes." In other words, she would say "maybe" and that actually meant "maybe." It was no guarantee, but I no longer automatically translated "maybe" as no. To be honest, I was pretty happy with "maybe." It's asking a lot for someone to say "Yes, I will be in the mood in six hours and we will have sex."
Well, that day, she said, "Okay." I said: "Okay? Okay as in yes?" "Yeah . . . why not? Just do it, right?" "Well, yeah, but you have no idea what that means to me. I can't believe you said that. Are you freaking out?" "Um, a little! It's scary. I don't know what's going to happen. But I need to get over it." "OK, well, I don't know if this is smart, but here's what we'll do: I am SO happy that you just said yes to me. But tonight, if you need to say no, I promise I won't get mad. I'll wrap my arms around you and kiss you goodnight and we'll go to sleep. Of course, then you'll miss out on agonizing levels of pleasure, but it's your pick."
And that's what we did. I don't know if that was the right thing to do--maybe my Nice Guy Syndrome came out a little there, and I had to give her an escape. But I never want to be her obligation or her chore again. Those days are over for me. And I never want her to feel like I've cleverly trapped her or manipulated her into having sex with me. I wanted to be and look confident and happy about what she'd done--but confident enough that I could take away any obligation she thought she'd taken on.
It worked from my point of view, because we made love in mind-blowing fashion. She really tries to hurt me sometimes now, biting, pinching and clawing. It's intense. It feels like she's letting loose something that used to shame her. She's still learning that she can't break me and it's OK if I feel a little pain with my pleasure. I've always had a weird relationship with pain; I like hitting and being hit, having my joints cranked and escaping, fighting off chokes . . . when I was younger, I was a 260-lb football tackle who ran the 2 mile for the track team in the spring. Daily 6-mile runs with actual long-distance runners . . . . it hurt the entire time. Nothing that happens during sex has ever come close to the kind of pain I voluntarily put myself through for other stuff.
I think that's hard for her to understand, and she's always acted like I was delicate before, to the point of avoiding pleasurable things because maybe they would hurt. She'd try to give me a back massage, but I'd hardly be able to feel it. I think she was stronger than that, but she was afraid to dig her knuckle into my back or really put her weight on her palm. But that night, she put scratches on my thigh from the knee to . . . . well, you know, the *ahem* topmost area of the thigh.
If she ever actually tries to choke me out or kicks me in the groin during sex, I think I'll set a boundary. But for now I'm enjoying the wildness.
""You know what I mean. I just, with the way I look . . . .""
Bear,
I did NOT read your whole post, but when I got to this part, I immediately thought, "OMG, she's inhibited. Have you ever read my story, I mean the long post about what happened to me in the past and how my H reacted when I told him? If not, you should. You wife may be suffering from post traumatic stress disorder.
It's something to think about. She had some bad relationships in high school, but I don't think she was abused. I have no idea how to bring that up.
Oh, and the technical internet term for that way of reading is either "tl;dr" or "FRATS" depending on your mood.
It's Saturday morning and she just said yes again--for tonight--which is pretty impressive, considering that I was trying out terrible pick-up lines on her all morning. I don't know if any of you read Boobs, Injuries and Dr. Pepper but Crystal's husband tried this one on her: "You're like a sex pinata . . . I'm gonna beat you with my stick until candy comes out!"
I spent last weekend shooting at Blackwater USA in North Carolina with a world champion and somebody else paying for the ammo. It was a fantastic time, a once-in-a-lifetime thing, and I kind of considered it part of my GAL. When the chance came up (I won a contest) I never considered not going--and for me, that's a big step.
It's only been a little over a week since I made love to my wife, but I'm getting antsy. Last Wednesday, the night before I had to get on a plane to be gone for three days (that's a long separation for us) she rolled over in bed and said, as nearly as I can remember: "Honey, I love you, and I want to show you that I love you, but I'm so tired. I think all I can manage is the 'vanilla' kind of sex tonight."
On the one hand, I liked her honesty. We made love and it was nice. Nothing to write home about, but nice. Loving. On the other hand, I didn't enjoy the implication that this was her favor to me (even though I know that this is true) that she was not really looking forward to the chore of having sex with me (even though I know this is true, too) and, most of all, that she was apologizing for disappointing me, because I demand some sort of wild, kinky sex every time and she was only up for "vanilla."
It's true that I've introduced all the more adventurous ideas into our bed. She occasionally talks a good game, sometimes buys something or other, but she rarely actually uses the stuff she buys or follows through with her talk. But why does she think I've done that? Because she keeps saying "Maybe if we try this or that, then I could get excited."
From my side of the bed, it always feels like I have to bring up some new idea that's wilder or more forbidden than last time, because just the thought of making love to me, her husband, her lover, is just not exciting enough to overcome whatever it is that's dropped an anvil on her sex drive. I'm so tired of this.
Still, I know she's trying. I know she's frustrated just like I am. I just wish she wasn't frustrated by sex; it'd be OK if she were frustrated by the lack of it, because I can fix that.
A few days ago I found one of my "for couples" porn videos in the player in our bedroom. It's a VHS and it was stopped halfway through a scene. I asked her about it during a very private moment and she admitted that she'd been watching it by herself, which I found very arousing (technically this would be considered "hardcore" pornography, but it's produced by a woman and intended to be watched by men, women, and couples. The scenes are fun and loving with none of the weirdness that often creeps into mainstream pornography.) But I'm afraid that my asking her about it embarrassed her; I haven't heard any more about it since.
A few days after that, she really surprised me. It was the first day of school for teachers, and I had to deal with my pregnant co-teacher all day. She's good assertiveness training; last year, she made the new teacher who worked with her go to McDonald's and get her lunch. She doesn't try stuff like that with me, and if she asks for something I don't think is appropriate, I just say no (this is so easy with other women.) I called my wife to see about having lunch together and mentioned this teacher had asked me to do something, and I'd told her I wouldn't. My wife joked that she was jealous at the thought of "another woman ordering you around." I told her she could give all the orders she wanted and get the same answer. "Yeah, well, she doesn't do all things you like for you that I do." she joked.
That was a Friday. I joked back that I couldn't wait to get home so she could do these things I like. It fell on deaf ears. I made a few more cracks on Saturday. Nothing. Finally, on Sunday, she agreed that we would "play." The problem was that she wasn't up for sex, but she was willing to try something new, which was that I would lie back and relax and she would touch me instead of the other way around. This was a HUGE step for her. We've had sex for years where I touch every part of her body and she touches almost no part of mine. I get kisses on the lips, hands on genitals, and that's IT. I had almost forgotten how much it bothered me; it just seemed like she thought I was too unattractive to be worth touching. Before anyone asks, YES, I had brought this up years ago and then again every once in awhile. I told her honestly how it made me feel. She either didn't care or didn't understand, but either way, nothing changed. Until that Sunday night. She used her hands, and she touched my legs, my belly, and my chest. It sounds pathetic as I write it now, but it was better than anything I've experienced in years. It felt like she wanted to touch me, at least a little.
Anyway, now it's been over a week, and the cackling hens in the teacher's lounge today were discussing sex and how none of them get enough, and all I could think was "Line up and let's see who's serious," and so clearly I'm losing it a little bit. All in all, it was a good day. I got a lot of work done, I had a good time teaching, I ate well and had a killer workout. But I still let this sex thing cloud my thinking, and a good day turns into another day with no sex in sight. Now my wife is sick, and I know it's not her fault, but a little part of me says she's glad she's sick because now she won't have to fake interest in sex with me for at least a few days. I hate feeling like I'm her unpleasant chore.
I really wish you wouldn't feel this way, but I can't stop your feelings from feeling. All I can say is STOP feeling this way. You are a man in a marriage, and you are (at least) having sex. Try to think of all the people on this board who are worse off than you are (me, for instance) who have no one, no husband and no wife hanging around the house to even talk to.
I wish you well. You'll do OK. Keep your chin up and read.
Well, don't cry too hard for me. My life is pretty good, really. I think it's hard to understand each other. For her, I (SillyOldBear) and sex with me are separate things. She rejects the one but not the other.
For me, they're more or less one thing. I look at the language I've been using--offering <i>myself</i>, risking <i>myself</i>, <i>I'm</i> a chore, etc. She wouldn't use that language to describe what's happening. For her it's more like someone you like is going out to do something you don't like much, and he asks you to go along. If you don't want to go, you are not rejecting him, only declining to go to his underwater basket-weaving seminar with him.
For me, to offer sex is, in some way, to tell her I love her and ask whether she loves me. "No, thank you" is not the right answer.
