H was 35 and I was 33 when we first met. He had never been married and had never lived with a woman. Our sexual relationship started early in the relationship and was very strong – a nightly thing. I became pregnant, despite the pill, 3 months after we became intimate.
The baby was lost to placental abruption at 37 weeks. We had decided prior to her birth that H would stay home and I would continue to work as I did not want to be a stay at home mom, but we both believed that, if possible, a parent should stay home for the first 5 years.
Anyway, after the loss of the baby, the OB-GYN advised that if we wanted a child, we would need to have one before I turned 35. We did the daily thing, and then the every other night thing, all through the second pregnancy.
So, two years of good, steady sex. There were a few months here and there where there would be a dry spell, but it didn’t strike me as anything to worry about. Looking back, I can see some things that might have struck me odd if I had looked at them closer.
1. No spontaneous sex. It’s always at night, in the bedroom. 2. When I mentioned that I wanted sex, I would get an embarrassed chuckle as a response, but he usually delivered. 3. No discussion about sex. If I asked him what felt good, he would get embarrassed and not give me an answer.
Now, remember that he is a stay at home dad and takes his job very seriously. As a rule, I don’t do housework, I haven’t cooked in over 4 years… you get the picture.
Once the baby started sleeping through the night, we got back on track with a couple times a week. I asked him if we could have more, and he said that all I had to do was initiate. My idea of initiating was to tell him. Then I would get hurt when he didn’t deliver.
Then, it got to be where we were only having sex once a month. And that sex was “middle of the night” sex. Not a bad thing if we had regular sex also, but it began to feel like he was dreaming of someone else and using me as a substitute.
I started feeling used and the sex was less than stellar. I ended up more frustrated than I was before. I kept telling myself in between the bouts of “middle of the night” sex that I would tell him no the next time, but I couldn’t. Instead, I made comments that maybe we could do this more often. He readily agreed, but didn’t deliver.
“How about some nookie tonight?” I’d ask. He’d chuckle and later that night we’d go to bed and one of us would be asleep before anything happened. I took this as rejection.
In retaliation, I bought a vibrator and kept it in my bedside table. He knows about it, but has never made a comment about it. Occasionally, when I’m feeling particularly evil, I’ll leave the cord hanging out of the drawer so it’s in his face.
Anyway, the occasional middle of the night sex has ended also. We have not made love since October. In January, I made the comment that we hadn’t had sex in 3 months. He looked shocked and said that it couldn’t have been that long, but made no move to rectify it and I was damned if I was going to force him if he didn’t want me anymore.
Last year, we made love (all middle of the night) six times. This year, none.
How does this make me feel? I hurt so much that I want to confront him, but then I don’t because I don’t want pity sex. I want him to want me, not to just give in to shut me up. So, I keep quiet about it. We don’t discuss it.
We rarely argue and live our lives pretty much like roommates who share a bed. There is no snuggling, no affection except for the perfunctory good-bye kiss when one of us heads out the door.
Anyway, how do I feel?
I hate it. I hate living like roommates. I have forced myself not to look at him sexually anymore because it hurts too much. I keep telling myself that he is just a friend. That’s the only way that I can get through this.
In the meantime, my sexual self-confidence has hit bottom. My regular self-confidence is starting to take a downswing also. I find myself questioning other parts of myself that I never would have given a second thought to – my weight, my little habits, etc,. And at odd times, the question, “Why doesn’t he want me anymore?” comes into my head and I immediately get teary. (I’m not much of a crier, but this one has knocked me down low.)
Although I love my H, a part of me resents the hell out of him because he seems to have all the control and I have none. Maybe it’s of my own making, maybe if I would just confront him… but what’s the point? If I confront him, he’ll take it as a clue that he’s expected to perform and he will, I’m sure – but I don’t want him that way.
And at this point, it’s been so long, I don’t know if I want him anyway. It wouldn’t be about sharing, but because he’s finally horny enough to do something about it. God, sometimes I hate him and hate myself for giving him this kind of power of me.
And I’m angry. So angry. We don’t fight, remember. But I have found a way to really piss him off – I spend money. Yep, I start getting teary and out comes the credit card. He doesn’t say anything, but I’ve heard him mutter over the bill. It gives me a kind of satisfaction – it’s really sick, I know, but damned if I can stop it. And I hope that if I spend enough, he’ll get ticked enough and then I can jump in with my complaints. God, maybe I need Dr. Phil because this has gotten really messed up.
It’s gotten to the point where I feel uncomfortable being naked in front of him. It’s like he isn’t supposed to see me naked. He doesn’t have that right. He gave up that right when he stopped having sex with me.
Before I stumbled across this forum, I thought that I was the only one in this situation. I was looking on the internet because I thought for sure that there was something wrong with me. His not wanting me has become an obsession with me. I had to find out what I was doing wrong, what I could change to make him start loving me again. Because yes, I equate the two. If he doesn’t want me anymore, he doesn’t love me anymore either.
That’s the crux of it. I don’t care what he says or that he acts as if everything is normal. My thinking says that he doesn’t want me then he doesn’t love me. And the tears start.
I feel hopeless. I don’t know how to make this better or if I even want to. I know eventually, I’ll be able to close off and go back to a normal thought process. I’m getting there slowly. Days pass now where I don’t obsess over this. I’m slowly beginning to accept the fact that he doesn’t want me.
But I don’t want to live with that acceptance either. I know that once I fully accept it, I will file for divorce.
