Our marriage wasn’t loveless, just sexless
In the embrace of his warmth, my arms encircled his waist, and I delicately grazed my lips against his neck, relishing a familiar thrill. A hint of sorrow lingered in his gaze as he pecked me with restraint before turning away.
Gone were the days when my entire being pulsed with the anticipation of intimate moments. After seven years in a relationship marked by a scarcity of physical connection, I had resigned myself. Despite the enduring love, yearning, and desire that echoed the early days of romance, our once-vibrant sexual life had dwindled. A few weeks into our courtship, the flames of passion had begun to flicker, evolving into a plea for his touch. Now, awkward intimacies occurred once or twice a year.
Our love was profound,
yet our marriage was not devoid of love, only the physical intimacy that eluded us. While he brought happiness in countless ways, the absence of a fulfilling physical connection gnawed at me. Days were spent pondering the reasons for his apparent disinterest in my allure. What had changed? Was there someone else? Was he concealing a different aspect of himself? How could I bridge the chasm that had grown between us?
I had attempted countless conversations about his desires, fantasies, past experiences, and our shared hopes, all futile efforts to mend the intimacy that was slipping away. Each time, he sat in frustration, hands in his hair, expressing a desire for sensuality and love, yet admitting to the unfamiliarity that had developed between us. “It’s been so long; I don’t know how to touch you, to hold you anymore,” he confessed with pain in his eyes.
To the outside world, we were a content couple,
parents to two beautiful children. However, behind closed doors, our marriage was overshadowed by arguments and anguish about our diminishing sex life. The thought of separation crossed my mind, but our love proved resilient.
Society emphasized that love endures beyond the waning of physical passion, yet few discussed the challenges of navigating a relationship lacking intimacy from its early stages. Surprisingly, many of my friends shared similar tales of sexless marriages, from relationships reduced to the exchange of airport-bought gifts to the toll of childcare on a once-fulfilling sex life. Sharing these stories with girlfriends became a cathartic release, blending pain with crude jokes about our sexless lives.
Several months into our relationship, I had urged my husband to seek help from a psychiatrist. “I can handle this on my own; I don’t need anyone,” he had retorted. It took five years and the threat of separation for him to visit a sex counselor, and eventually, we sought marriage counseling together. Though the root cause remained elusive, I noticed a newfound willingness to communicate.
Fast forward, and the trajectory has changed.
I asked him to jot down things he missed about our intimate moments, granting him a mere five minutes. Initially hesitant, he listed, ‘1. Go down on him.’ Encouraged, he continued until we each had a list of seven. The exercise expanded into a constructive dialogue about our desires. We collaborated, supported each other, made suggestions, and asked questions. The result was a numbered list of 31—an entire month dedicated to rediscovering our physical connection, complete with scheduled times.
Anticipation became our foreplay the next day.
The feeling of being wanted and pleasured set an ecstatic tone for the month that ensued. Whether we waited until the babies were asleep or seized moments during the day, it didn’t matter. Fatigue occasionally led to conversations instead of physical intimacy, but the important thing was that we had rekindled our connection. I had my man back, and together, we had rediscovered our mojo.
