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No Sex in the Champagne Room
Or any room and it feels like a death
Whenever I read about longtime couples who have managed to maintain a robust sexual connection, I am awestruck, and also, envious.
My husband and I have not been sexually intimate for approximately fifteen, or maybe twenty years. I stopped counting because it feels like a lifetime.
You’d think I’d know the exact number but it’s one of those instances when a certain level of forgetfulness is for the best.
No. It’s twenty.
That’s one hell of a thing to admit, I know. That our marriage has been sexless for all these years. And I’ll probably feel like shit about this story, later. But, just as this past year has left its mark on us all, I feel that I need to dig ever deeper in my writing…and my psyche…because it’s become increasingly difficult to just make things up.
My intent is not to “spouse bash” or disrespect our marriage. Because I love him. Deeply. Rather, I need to bare my soul and purge myself of the resentment that has haunted me for years. Clean it out, and tamp down the fire of my chronic anger.
And also, if my advice is worth anything, I want to drive home the point that, before you know it, shit happens in a relationship and if you don’t confront it posthaste, you’ll be…
