Here's your place to come talk about sex and love whenever you feel like it.
Last weekend was like most others. Doing routine chores, seeing friends and having some drinks, getting mauled by my husband like I was dipped in bacon grease and he was a hungry, hungry bear. You know, the usual.
Now I’m into my husband. He is the Khal Drogo to my Khaleesi and I love having sex with him. But I am not into some come from behind-out-of-the-blue-put-your-hand-on-my-boob-move while I’m at the kitchen counter. Once I was cutting a cucumber, and I said, “Doesn’t the fact that I’m taking a knife to a phallic vegetable give you pause? Even symbolically?”
Whenever I bring this up, people tell me "Men are visual." Ok, so? I’m visual, too. I express it through fashion among other things, and I think it and sometimes say it when I see somebody or something attractive. But I don’t go into a store and start dry humping a handbag.
I know rationally that my husband loves my body, loves me, loves to connect with me. And one of the ways we connect is through hot, loving sex. When he expresses his desire for me, I can feel him also express his desire to be in our bubble -- that place where only he and I exist. And it feels bad to turn it down, because I don’t want him to feel rejected.
But here’s what happens: I give in to that "ninja breast grab" move to spare hurt feelings and I think to myself, "Just get it over with so he can get it out of his system." And as I get pounded from behind like I’m an elephant seal, I’m just waiting for my mate's impending orgasm so I can get to the next thing on my to do list (moving up the queue to #1: wash my hoo ha so I don’t get a UTI). Empty.
Now this may sound to some like I’ve got it pretty good. But that emptiness, left unabated, can lead to sadness and anger. I start feeling like I’m not respected in that moment, like I’m being objectified as an entity whose sole purpose is to offer up an orifice. Like there is a war on women going on right in my own home and I need to paint a sign that says, “My body, my choice!” and hold it up as a barrier between me and the person I love. These are not emotions I want to feel when I’m about to copulate. What I want to feel is, “Hell yes, let’s get it ON!”
I don't want my partner to stop touching me. I just need the timing to be right. At the computer working on a deadline? Not the right time. Making something to eat, or in the act of eating? Please don’t dig in my pants. Walking in a field hand in hand and come across two bathtubs ala a Cialis commercial? Ding Ding Ding! (Seriously though, what is up with the bathtubs?)
When I first started becoming annoyed with this Cro-Magnon approach, I reacted via abstract platitudes. “I need you to be more romantic!” I’d protest to my husband. Well, what the fuck does that mean? So now I’m more direct. “Hold that thought buddy, and when I come get you, I want you to tease me…you know mama likes that.”
The talking has helped, when it’s discussed compassionately, which is most of the time. Now he picks a moment when I’m not doing something that has my full attention. He comes at me a little slower, without going immediately for my erogenous zones.
I don’t need to orgasm every time to have fulfilling sex with my husband, but I do need to feel like we both want it.