Confusions

The door opened, and she entered.

"Hi, Lady," I said, greeting her with a big smile. "How was your date?"

"Just fine. We had a nice time," she replied, taking off her scarf and leather coat. She had on a beautiful blue low-cut poet-style shirt on, neckline plunging to show her modest (but in my mind, perfect) cleavage. Her jeans hugged her curves in ways that made me feel lightheaded.

"That's great, baby!" I said cheerily. I paused, waiting for more information.

"He had a gift certificate for one of the fancy restaurants in town, and needed someone to go with him. It was nice. We talked, caught up on things," she said. She hadn't seen him in months; probably not since my turnaround. She likes him. He takes the kids fishing.

I continued puttering around the kitchen, tidying up from the dinner the kids and I had. I didn't tell her how I couldn't eat, my stomach in knots, while she was out for dinner with another man.

Suddenly she took my arm and pulled me close. She enveloped me in a close embrace, and brought her face towards mine. I gently kissed her, and she responded with mounting passion.

We kissed, standing there in the kitchen, hands slowly exploring each other's backs and arms and necks. I did my best to rein in my desires --- must stay in very tight control. After several minutes, she released me.

"Thanks," she said.

"You're... you're welcome," I managed breathlessly.

This is very hard. I don't know what's happening. I'm just trying to roll with it graciously.

I sure like kissing her, though.

Will I Respect Me in the Morning?

"I wish I was in love with you. Really I do. But I'm not," she said. "I'm just not. I'm curious. I want to explore other... options. I want to know what else is available, and come back knowing I've made the right choice."

I paused awhile. "For what it's worth... ultimately it's always a choice. You could be with one man or a thousand, and ultimately it all just comes down to a choice."

"I know," she said. "I guess I want that choice based on more knowledge than what I have now."

"Okay," I said. What else am I supposed to say.

"So, just so you don't get the wrong idea," she continued, "when I kiss you (or whatever) it's not because I particularly want to be kissing you. You're here, and I want to be kissed, and there aren't really any other options at the moment, so I kiss you. You're here and you're convenient and there isn't anything more than that."

"Oh." I said. "Okay."

I figure if she's going to be kissing someone, it damned well better be me. Maybe if she spends enough time intimately with me, the feelings will develop.

"But I don't want to spend too much time doing those things with you," she went on. "Because I don't want to get... tied to you. And being intimate with you might make that happen."

I hugged her closely and said nothing.

A bit later, she said, "But I still want you pursuing me."

Later, in bed, she invited me to kiss her. We kissed awhile, and she invited some touching, so I touched her. Suddenly she stopped all contact and rolled over. Okay...

After lying still for several minutes, she reached over, took my hand, and placed it between her legs. I whispered romantic, loving words in her ear while she rubbed herself with my hand for awhile. Then she released my hand, rolled over, and fell asleep.

I think I would have preferred if she'd used something else to masturbate with.

Does anyone deserve to be treated like that?

Not "Together" Together, But...

She stopped suddenly and looked at me strangely. Her brow furrowed as she struggled silently for a moment. Then:

"I don't want you using the word 'wife'. I'm not ready for that. I'm not ready for any kind of committment. But...

"If we take things one day at a time... we're... we're living together, okay? Common-law or whatever. You can't say we're married. That... assumes too much. It doesn't give an accurate reflection of where things are at."

I kept my face relatively calm, but inside I was dancing. "Sure, that sounds reasonable. I'm not telling anybody anything, just that we're spending a lot of time together."

"Okay," she said. "Now, about the bedroom; I'd like us to redecorate that big room downstairs to become the master bedroom. There isn't room for both of us to hang out together comfortably in this room. Here are some paint swatches I'd like to consider..."

Changes

She looks at me differently now.

I was worried about the letter she sent, mistrusting her motives, disappointed that she was giving him one last chance to put in any effort whatsoever with her. But she actually seems to have let something go, releasing her infatuation or attraction and actually feeling free to receive more from me.

And she's looking at me differently now.

There is warmth and hope and affection. She's using "us" words more than she has for a long time.

I still fear the other man responding to her letter. But... it doesn't worry me as much as it did.

Go-o-o-o-oal!

I lay beside her, lightly buzzed on wine and pleasantly exhausted from yet another bout of lovemaking.

"You see what happens when you back off?" she said. "When you're initiating anything that feels like sex, it feels pushy and demanding. I know you don't mean it like that, but that's how it appears to me. But when you give me lots of space, that frees me to come to you. So to speak..."

I tried to think of something witty and profound to say. But the frontal lobe of my brain was still blood-deprived, and all the wrong neurons were firing. I simply smiled and nodded happily at her.

She grinned at my bemused countenance and continued. "Who initiated?"

"You did," I said happily.

"Who was in charge?"

"You were."

"And who got lucky twice today?"

"Me-e-e-e-e-e!" I crowed softly, imitating a silly voice she often uses.

"That's right," she smiled. She extracted me gently and rolled off again.

.....

In the morning:

"I'm not saying this is the way things are going to be," she began. "I'll probably have to back off again."

I had a mild headache from too much wine (and not enough water) the night before, and was feeling incredibly damned good from the lazy, sexy weekend. Too good to get up for work, but duty calls.

"I know, baby. I'm not assuming anything," I replied, looking around for wherever my underwear got flung to last night.

"You know, but you'll be all offended with me," she said, not looking at me.

"Offended?! No. Hell, no," I replied emphatically. "Disappointed, yeah, a little. But not angry or offended. Yesterday was... really fantastic. I'm not expecting a repeat anytime soon." She can't handle expectations or pressure of any kind, and so I know: if I ever want her love, I must stand back and gently woo her. I have to let her come to me.

The brutal irony is this: in my years of depression, I was neglectful. I didn't pursue her the way she wanted and needed. I silently demanded that she come to me instead. Now that I've conquered the depression and passionately long for her, she's not able to accept my pursuit.

We have the worst timing, she and I.

The rest of the morning she was friendly but distant. I hate that. But I understood, and the recent sex really helps me deal with things much more graciously.

"See you tonight, oh-delight-of-my-eyes," I smiled, and went in for a kiss. She turned her face to receive it on her cheek, and turned her back on me. "Okay. Have a good day," she said.

I looked at her back for a moment, heart full and aching. Then I turned and stepped out into the cold October rain.

Sunday

Sunday.

We stay in bed late, warm and soft and cuddly. I want her terribly, but daren't even make the slightest suggestive statement. I know the rules.

She wants to go to church. We have somewhat different needs for church, but completely different "I can't stand this" triggers for church. We haven't gone to the same place for years.

We talk about the place she likes to go, and why she likes it, and why the things that trigger me aren't what they seem to be, and why it might not be as bad for me as I might think. In the end, it gets so late that she decides not to go anyway.

She has a noon rehearsal for a murder mystery, so we pack up the kids and go to that. I get draughted to play guitar for one of the performers who was going to play guitar and sing, but doesn't play very well. Lady is greatly pleased that she can bless her friend through my talent. That feels pretty damned good. Plus I get to play guitar in a show, which is very cool. Normally I play in a full band, and this is a totally different venue, audience, and style. Cool.

Lady practices her singing and dancing, choreographing and planning her burlesque-ish dance with another dancer. I get to watch them vamp and strut and tease over and over again. I really dig that.

She tries on costumes, and pics a 20's flapper dress that comes halfway down her butt-cheeks. I nearly fall over --- she looks so incredibly sexy. Think Daisy Dukes, but a dress. Hot as hell. She'll look amazing on stage in that, let me tell you. She smirks at me, and twirls a little to show her ass.

We get home, and she wants to go to bed and cuddle. Hurrah! She leads me to the bedroom and casually removes her dress, revealing matching lime-green lacy bra-and-panties that does simply amazing things for her ass. She allows me to remove her nearly-knee-high boots. I do so very slowly, caressing her calves and feet slowly and sensually.

She climbs into bed. "Where do you want me, Lady?" I ask. "Where do you want to be?" she replies. "Dangerous question," I reply. She smiles and indicates that I should crawl into my normal spot. We snuggle.

I want her so badly, and gently caress her. She stops my hand and gives me every indication that I am not to continue. Oh well. I lie back and enjoy being close and warm and cuddly.

Nearly two hours later, we're getting ready to get up. Her bra has disappeared somewhere. Suddenly she rolls atop me. "Do you want the kitten?" she asks me. "Oh, yes!" I reply. "Oh, good," she purrs, and allows me to explore her body everywhere with my hands. She grinds us both to very pleasant climaxes.

She rolls off and lies in my arms awhile longer, while I revel in post-coital euphoria.

I'm going to go downtown now and get a bottle of wine, some camembert, and a baguette. I think I'll make a fire in the fireplace, and we can watch a movie. I want to be in her arms all night tonight.

She has been absolutely clear --- she's not in love with me. There are no promises, no committments. Still... I feel pretty damned wonderful right now.

I'm a Jerk

Because she has such a hard time telling me things, and because I want to know her so very much...

I read her diary.

She posts online at a message board, open to guests, and so I visit and look at what she's written. She's written some things that she's never ever told me.

And she's written in journals for years, and I sneak peeks at them when she's not around. She has no idea that I know as much as I do.

I don't read them to judge or condemn her, but to understand her better. That way when she tells me things, sometimes that I've already read about, I actually understand what she's talking about much more than she realises. And so I can empathise and react more appropriately to what she needs.

I feel like a jerk for invading her privacy. But I don't feel confident in my ability to decipher her hints in words. It doesn't help that I'm half deaf and have a hard time translating speech into intelligible thought. Reading really helps me understand.

All this is a prelude to this.

Up until now she has been holding a torch for another man. I knew this; she told me directly. At one point she told me directly that she was giving him 'til "mid-October" to make more time for her. The last time she saw him, the day after my heart broke towards her, he told her: "Give me some time, and I will make time for you."

That was three months ago, and he's never contacted her since.

She was completely enamored of him, and wanted him very much. She wrote a pornographic poem to him, describing pleasures she'd never given me, earnestly wanting to give to him. She never sent it. But she did send letters to him regularly over the past three months with other poems and pretty words to him.

He never responded to her.

Today, mid-October, she wrote a final letter to him. She told me about it, and I knew she had sent the pornographic poem. The letter wasn't "never contact me", but rather "you meant this much to me, this is what you could have had, I still consider myself your friend". She left the door completely open (though she perhaps won't admit it even to herself) for him to walk in and say, "Lady, I feel about you just the same way you feel about me. Now give me those goodies you wrote about."

He could with only the slightest of efforts take her entirely away from me. She made that very, very clear. (She posted excerpts from the letter on her message board.)

I wish she hadn't given him this one last chance. I wish she hadn't told him what delights he could expect if he were to convince her he wanted her. I wish she had just let it go.

I wish she wanted me the way she wants him.

She knows she could choose to allow herself to fall in love with me. But I am her default, her backup plan, her "if nothing better comes along". She doesn't in fact want me at present. Perhaps she never did.

I explored the possibilities. I fell in love with another. I didn't have sex with anyone except my wife, ever, before or after we got married. I had one date while we were separated. I had some conversations with women, and couldn't bear to think about exploring a relationship with any of them. And after all that, I finally realised the treasure I had at home. I'm not looking anymore.

But even though she had sex with one man while we were separated (more than once), made out with a half-dozen more, and really really pined after this one guy, she still feels that she needs to do more exploring before she can believe I'm right for her. That's hard. A decade of marriage and four kids later, she does not want me. Maybe never did.

I want her to want me. I'd settle for her settling for me. But I don't want to wake up five years down the road with her running off with some other guy she likes better. I want her to know that she wants me forever, as I know I want her.

I really blew it with her, when I wallowed in depression for two years after the end of my (non-sexual) affair. I destroyed all the love she had for me. I pray to God it comes back.

I pray that letter gets lost in the mail, or the guy has moved without a forwarding address, or has left the country, or somehow never ever sees it. And if he does, I pray to God he doesn't come back for the goodies promised therein. Because I'm convinced I'll be out of our bed and house, and out of her life in a nanosecond if he so much as calls her.

Oh God, save my marriage.

Processing

"Would you take me out for drinks?" she asked.

"Sure, Lady," I replied. "I'd like that."

"If you get me drunk," she continued, "I might be able to talk to you about where I'm at."

"Deal!"

I took her to a little pub close to our home. The music wasn't too loud, but it was definitely present. She asked the waitress to make her something with amaretto in it, and I had a rum & coke. We sipped our drinks and I stared into her eyes.

She'd been giving me strange looks all evening. Sometimes I suspect she's "smouldering", which is sometimes an invitation to kiss her or some other romantic gesture. But I wasn't sure what she was thinking. So, of course, I asked.

"What're you thinking?"

She smiled quietly to herself, finished her drink, and asked for another. I went up and ordered it for her.

We sat mostly silently for awhile. I tried to ask questions, to draw her out, but she flatly refused. After awhile she said, "I'm just processing. I'm not going to tell you anything about it. I need a few more drinks, and I need to be quiet and think."

"Okay," I said, disappointed on the inside but maintaining a cheery attitude on the outside.

On the way home, I stopped at a convenience store for some Kahlua mudslides and extra bottle of Vodka. She didn't want me to make her drinks --- she didn't want any association with me. So she took the mudslides and went off to be alone, and I retired to the basement.

I'm sure she's thinking this (because she said it, offhand, earlier in the day):

"Should I go out and try to find something better, or should I 'settle' for you?"

It sparks a million thoughts; of my search for unconditional love, of my quest to feel like I was a success and not a total loser, my flirtations with other women while married, of my eventual "emotional affair" that I thought met all of those deep, untouched needs. Of the devastation of the loss of the other woman. Of the slow realisation (taking two years of anguish) that the other woman was not in fact better for me, or even good for me in any way. That all I needed was actually found in my wife, and what wasn't in her was only found in God, not in any human being. That we were intended for each other, that we were the best possible partners because we clash so tremendously.

We needed each other to highlight the areas of our lives that were deeply broken and needed healing. We just didn't understand why we kept hurting each other so terribly. She brutalised me by reinforcing my belief that I wasn't able to succeed as a husband or as a man. I brutalised her by reinforcing her belief that she wasn't precious, desireable, beautiful, or captivating. So I spent my time trying to find someone that would make me feel like a success. After enough neglect, she left me and went off to find someone to make her feel worthy of romance and love and pursuit.

I thought I found what I needed in the other woman. I felt like I was always getting an "F" from my wife, no matter what I tried, and the other woman said, "No, baby, you score an 'A' every time, no matter what effort you put in." I felt like a hero. I felt like a god, instead of a complete failure.

That is what I mourned for two years. The loss of feeling immortal, invincible, all-powerful. The idea that I was binding myself to someone who I felt made me feel like a loser.

I had to grow up and realise that I'm responsible for my own feelings, and living for my wife's approval is a perfect recipe for total failure. Living for anyone's approval is a recipe for failure. I'd still love to please her, but I can't rely on that for my own well-being. Because I won't always please her.

I thought of all these things, and how she still wonders if she should go out there, explore, date, have sex, do all the things her former moral code said she shouldn't, and find out by experience what she wants out of life. And I think, you know, I thought the grass was greener. But it was lethal poison, not life. The other woman never actually loved me. She just loved being loved, and really dug that she could entice a man away from his wife.

The other men my wife has been with have enjoyed her on a superficial level for a time and then disappeared. No-one is there when she's PMSing and savage. No-one is there for her children. No-one is prepared to deal with the boring everyday life stuff. Sure, they liked the fun and physical delights. Who wouldn't? Only I was prepared to embrace the whole.

She could go out and find all kinds of attractive men, particularly when she's in New York for a month. She could experience all kinds of pleasures with them. But nothing she can experience there has any bearing on her real life --- her kids, her friends, et cetera. She is not, in fact, unattached, no matter if she pretends to be for a time. And so whatever she develops with whoever she meets will be based on fantasy, not reality.

Will reality win?

Will I win, meekly caring for our children, in the home we bought from my parents, the home I grew up in, in the bed my father made by hand for us as a wedding gift, a wedding she now despises?

Will being with me, and her kids, living in a small town, outweigh the glory and glamour of living in New York doing theatre for a month? Meeting glamourous big-city people and doing glamourous big-city things?

Will her heart be broken by yet another man who uses her for his gratification and then never calls again? Or worse: will she meet someone that she wants to be with more, and decide to stay forever?

She leaves in a month. She'll be gone for a month. She won't allow herself to fall in love with me before she leaves. And so what will the next month be like?

She processes these selfsame thoughts, alone. I keep the kids away from her, giving her space, hoping and praying that in the end, she chooses me.

But I have no assurance that it will happen.

Shocker

The phone rings. It's Lady.

"Don't freak out..." she says.

I brace for impact.

"I won a honeymoon," she says.

"You what?"

"I won a honeymoon," she repeats.

"Uh... wow! That's... really cool! Tell me about it!"

So she proceeds to tell me about some typical "free" vacation thingy where you have to get to Orlando, Florida and take a two-hour spiel for them to sell you time-shares or something. You get to stay there for a week or so for free, so that's not so bad, but travel and food and such is still on your tab. But all of that is beside the point.

"So... you want to go to Florida with me?" I ask.

"Yes. And I'd want to go as your wife."

I pick my jaw up off the floor. "You would?!" I blurt.

"Yes," she said. "Now, we can take this anytime in the next two years, so there isn't really a time restraint. And I'm not making promises. But yeah, I'd like to go on a honeymoon with you. Don't get all weird, and don't start putting pressure or expectations on me. That's just how I'm feeling right now."

Oh, God, I'll take it.

She was remarkably cuddly that evening when I got home. And when we awoke, we were still in each other's arms. Ever nice.

Hyperbole?

"I'm having a hard time with what happened in our conversation last night, Lady," I confessed.

"Well," she said carefully, "I felt a little threatened during our conversation. I felt like you were judging and condemning me."

"I really wasn't," I protested.

"I can accept that. I can choose to believe that that's not what you meant by what you said.

"It's entirely likely that I... overstated some things, just to prove a point. It's possible that I wasn't entirely accurate in everything I said, and used some... hyperbole."

"Really?" I said. "I... I don't think we need to go into that, at least not until we're seeing a counsellor together. But... that makes me feel a lot better."

"I agree," she said. "We shouldn't get into this outside of counselling.

"Your behaviour towards me has been tremendously fulfilling. My emotional needs are pretty thoroughly met. I haven't felt any need to go out and find someone else --- for anything --- for the past three months, since you've been... nice to me."

I blushed, and she continued, "I just need to know... if you actually like me."

"Lady," I said, choking up, "this one issue was very difficult for me. But setting that aside, I like you. I like you very much."

"All right," she said. "Let's go to bed."

"Uh, I should sleep downstairs. Unless... you actively want me in bed with you. Sometimes you're unsure, and if you're unsure tonight, I should be downstairs."

"No," she said. "I want you in bed with me tonight. Just cuddles, though."

"Of course!" I replied. "I wasn't even expecting cuddles, so that's a pleasant surprise."

In the morning, we were still nestled in each other's arms. I hated to leave her, but I needed to go to work.

Conflicts

"What is on your heart?" she asked me.

"You know... I have said it clearly and plainly," I replied.

"Tell me again," she prompted.

"I want to win your heart. I want to be with you. I want to be your husband," I said. "I want to love you, and be loved by you. I want us to be in a committed relationship."

"Committment? How dare you ask me for committment?" she said angrily. "You certainly weren't committed to me when you fell in love with her."

"I know I made terrible mistakes. And for three months I've been completely different, haven't I?"

"Three months is nothing," she replied.

She paused, then continued, "I'm going to New York for a month. I will go and experience all the life I want to. No rules, no limits. Maybe I'll get it out of my system and not need that anymore when I come back. But there are no promises."

"I don't regret sleeping with other men while we were separated," she continued. "I have no regrets. I needed that. I needed to live. And I need to live some more."

I ached silently. How would I deal with her having sex in her wild experimentation? How could I live with myself while she behaved in ways that are completely alien to me? How could I have any self-respect if I sit here, patiently waiting, while she fornicated at will?

She went on. "I'm not stupid. I'm not foolish. But you have no rights to anything with me. None. Zero."

In all of my errors, I never ever slept with anyone else. I am here, humbled, kneeling at her feet, begging to be hers. I have poured my life out before her for three months.

And she is reserving the right to have casual sex with other people, and I have to accept it and not judge it in any way.

I don't know if I can live with that.

Counselling and Committments

The boss was taking some days off: Thursday to Monday. There was a lull at work, and I work alone in a part of my building far away from just about everyone. So no-one noticed that I didn't come in that day.

I stayed with her all day, working on projects around the house. We followed Flylady's methods of house-cleaning: fifteen minutes on one task, then switch to a second for fifteen minutes, then a third for fifteen minutes, and then a fifteen minute break. You never get overwhelmed or burnt out, and the house improves noticeably as you work that way through the day. She hates housework and greatly appreciated my participation and help.

I played my "Romantic Pop" mix from my iPod over the stereo: Sade, Enigma, Seal, Journey, Foreigner, Phil Collins, Marvin Gaye, and all that eighties slow-dance music she likes so much. It affected her strongly, bringing feelings of warmth and affection towards me. We slow-danced to some of the songs on the breaks, and during Lenny Kravitz' "Stand by My Woman", she wept, and I held her tightly, softly singing the lyrics to her.

Later, we sat on the couch together and spent some glorious time kissing. After awhile, she invited me to bed. But all she wanted was sleep. So I cuddled her for awhile, and got up to do some errands. I came back later and joined her for a nap, and she snuggled closely to me.

I had an appointment that afternoon, and was preparing to go to it, when she reminded me that she was taking the kids for swimming lessons that day. I could drop them off, but she'd have a half-hour's walk back, and it was raining. So she asked if I would put off my meeting. I called the client, and rearranged my plans, and went to the pool with them. She was very grateful.

After the pool (which was very nice) I met my client for a few hours before coming home. Sitting with her on the couch, I didn't know what would happen. She could kick me out of the house, or send me to the basement, or jump me and tear my clothes off. I tried not to think.

"You really hurt me, you big dumb jerk," she said, eyes filling with tears.

"I know, Lady. I know," I replied.

"I never used to hide anything from you," she continued. "I told you everything. And now I can't. Sometimes I want to tell you things, and I look at you, and I just can't."

I suspect she might have been talking about opportunities I'd missed through the day to hold her, to kiss her, perhaps even to make love to her. The rule is that I can't initiate. I interpret it as: "If Jack wants physical affection of any kind, the answer is no. If Lady wants physical affection and Jack also wants physical affection, the answer is no. If Lady wants physical affection and Jack does not (a very, very rare occurrance), then the answer is maybe." Perhaps that day she wanted to invite me somehow, and just couldn't bring herself to do it. I just don't know.

"Lady, that's why I'm convinced we need to start couple's counselling together. To understand each other better, to build trust, to tear down misconceptions and heal hurts and triggers. We can't do it on our own. We'll only keep hurting each other if we don't get some help."

"I know," she said. "But that would feel like... a committment to you. And I am absolutely not ready for that."

"It's not a committment," I protested. "It's the prerequisite to any kind of committment. If we can't get these issues sorted out, we won't be able to progress to the point of committment."

"I know," she nodded. "And I just need more time."

"I have been in love with you for three months," I said gently. "I know it's not enough. But it's a good little start, isn't it?"

"Yes," she agreed. "But it's... unbalanced. There were ten years of neglect before that. Three months of wonderful doesn't make up for ten years of horrible."

"No. No, it doesn't. I know. It's all right. Wherever you're at is okay."

She invited me to join her in bed. And all she wanted was sleep.

And that was okay.

It's All Good

Reading over yesterday's post, I realise I was being unreasonable, for the following reasons.

1. It's only been three months since I fell in love with her.
2. It's only been a week since the most incredible, transcendent sex we've ever had.

She does need time and space to process the changes in me. I need to be able to demonstrate that these changes are not short-term, but will last for the rest of our lives. It's ridiculous that I would freak out about one botched sexual encounter when we just had a mindblowing one a week earlier. Okay, I'd have liked a repeat the next morning (and afternoon and evening) and a week felt to me like a terribly long time without sex. But the fact is, we only went a week without sex.

I am actually very grateful that things are progressing so well. Because things have been moving forward, a lot of the old problems are being revealed anew, and those are challenging to face. We desperately need some professional help to get us through some of these issues. Obviously I misunderstand a lot of where she's at and interpret it badly. And she does the same to me. So we need some good counselling to deal with each other in a way that doesn't hurt each other so much.

She is wonderful, and we've been having more fun together than we ever have in the past. Things are better now than they ever have been, even though we're technically not together yet (in her mind). I have every reason to be ecstatically joyous about where things are at. And so I need to be.

Thank you, readers, for your comments and support. This is a very difficult time and your encouragement is tremendously valuable and precious to me. VDOPrincess, Joy, Major Boredom, Jen, and Namrata, you are inspiring me to continue sharing this very deep and personal journey on this secret, anonymous forum. Thank you.

Mixed Feelings

Every day I concentrate on pouring love and attention, respect and affection, on my wife, the delight of my eyes. I make sure she's always got a glass of water handy, and maybe a nice cup of tea. When she says, "I need to get..." I always leap to get it for her. I give her space to be alone when she wants it, and I go tidy the kitchen, load/unload the dishwasher, run some laundry, whatever.

I give her constant compliments and attention, without expectation or demand. I listen to her and ask questions to draw her out. I bring flowers every few days, often with a card. I bring poetry and extravagent words professing love and desire and adoration. I do everything I can think of to meet any need she might possibly have.

So the other night, when she offered sex, I hoped it would be successful. But I failed miserably. She assured me it wasn't my fault. I have a hard time with that, but I try to take it at face value.

I fantasize about spending hours making love to her; caressing her, giving her a whole-body massage starting with about a half hour just on the feet, scented candles, soft music. I fantasize about using the toys on her, taking my time, raising her arousal level slowly, letting it settle down again, raising it more, edging her slowly towards ecstasy, holding her at the peak for an eternity before sending her plummeting over the edge. And then starting over again right away, with barely time to recover. And seeing how many times I can take her there. And then maybe attaining release for myself.

When I tried to go slowly last night, it failed miserably. Instead of aroused and excited, she was angry and hurting, and wouldn't tell me why.

This morning, she offered sex again. I didn't have any time to think of how to pleasure her, so I just tried to followed her cues. And again, like usual, it ended up being the typical "wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am" quickie.

That's not how I want to make love to her! I want to be loving and romantic and thoughtful and draw her into greater and greater ecstasies. I want to be the greatest lover in the world, not some ordinary dud. But I can't do that if she won't allow me to spend time pleasuring her. Going straight for the intercourse means I can only last a short time, and then there's a danger that she won't be able to reach climax. And to me, that's completely unacceptable.

Part of me says, "Hey, that's what she demands! She wants a quickie and no more, and who am I to deny that! Better a quickie than nothing!" And the other part says there is something seriously wrong here when she can't enjoy foreplay and can only manage sex if it's quick and frenetic. Something's either wrong with my skill and technique, or with her ability to enjoy the moments.

But she won't talk with me about it. And that is very, very difficult to deal with. I don't know what to do... but I really want to do something...

Huh? Wha'? Uh...

"Gah... Sorry. I'm not... centred right now. I'm a little out-of-sorts, not feeling myself," I said.

"Bull," she retorted. "You're sexually frustrated."

"Well... okay, yeah. Not your problem, not your responsibility, I'll take care of it, okay?"

"Look," she said. "It's okay. Totally understandable and natural state of being, all right? I'm not upset."

"Cool," I replied, relieved.

Later, I was still twitchy and "off". She looked at me in the eye and said, "Don't worry. You're going to be okay." It almost sounded like an invitation.

At night, I prepared for bed. As I came out of the bathroom, she took me in her arms and breathed, "Yes," in my ear. I wasn't sure what she meant until she started kissing me. I took her to the bed.

Not long afterwards, everything had fizzled to a complete halt. Somehow I had said or done or not said or not done something that had completely, utterly turned her off. She was angry and hurting and could not (or would not) tell me why. "It's nothing you did. It's got nothing to do with you," she insisted. "There are too many triggers for me. We have to fix some of those before we can really do this."

I tried to get her to tell me what the trigger was, but she wouldn't. I have no idea what to do: when to be bold, when to back off, when to give space, when to be close. I have no idea what turns her off so completely. I have no idea how to arouse her sexually. I try everything I can think of and after twelve years of marriage I still have no idea what makes her tick. And she can't, or won't tell me.

I tried to get her to talk to me, to try and learn what went so horribly wrong and changed her from apparently completely willing to furious so quickly. I reached out a hand to stroke her back. She didn't want me to touch her or talk to her. "You can sleep here," she said. "But I need my space."

But I couldn't sleep. So I went downstairs to the spare room and practised some loving self-care. I felt better. But I still can't sleep.