“You’re gonna do me tonight, right?” I ask as we are rolling around in the back of his work truck. There are clothes strewn everywhere and we are maneuvering around coolers and tool bags. He has his caulk in his hand…we are patching up a leaky window on the truck’s shell.
“Ok!” he says happily with a twinkle in his eye and a devilishly expectant smile.
We kiss passionately. I get lost in the wetness of his lips, and his decadent manly smell. Mid-smooch, I fall into the daydream of what this evening will bring.
I am melting into my excitement for the baby soft skin beneath his boxer briefs. Then a neighbor kid comes running by. We separate our bodies and get back to the caulk-tastic task at hand.
As night falls, my anticipation builds. All throughout dinner and dishes, I think to myself, “I’ve got to get my hands on this man tonight.” He leaves tomorrow for a business trip and before he returns, I am off to New York!
The clock is ticking. I’m feeling the time crunch. So why is he saying yes to yet another episode of Friday Night Lights? I sit through another, and another, until eyes are drooping and sleep has become more seductive than sex.
When we finally make it to bed, sadly, the fire I had been building in my imagination all day was already out.
We move into some sweet kissing. An attempted mounting takes place. But the pull, the pump, the pulse is nowhere to be found.
Feeling defeated and now uninterested, I roll away from him and pull the puppy into my arms. Good night. Looks like it will be at least another week and a half before I’ll even have the hope of getting any.
I’m disappointed, but I have been here before. Left wide eyed and awake when the lights go out, laying there wondering, what went wrong? Is my husband bored of me? Am I somehow less bangable? Is this how the next 50 years are going to go down?
First of all, adorable doubt, I am going to proclaim a resounding NO to all of the above questions.
My husband worships my being. I am totally fuckable. And no way Josè would I tolerate a half century of passionless living.
So what is up?
I might have a few ideas…
Numero Uno: Ok, so we are currently living with my parents. Yes, I cringe a little inside every time I admit that, even though it is totally delightful.
Numero Dos: And yes, our bedroom is right next to the room where my father sleeps. I can’t imagine this is ideal for my husband, or any husband for that matter.
But still, I am pissed. I want what I want. And I want our lust for one another to defy the laws of practicality, convenience and sleep deprivation. And right now it isn’t, so what is to blame?
I want to blame the fact that he is older than me and past his sexual prime.
I want to blame Netflix for being the most exciting thing at bedtime.
I want to blame marriage for luring us into routines, patterns and schedules.
But when it comes down to it, I must place the blame on myself, and take responsibility.
Living as an empowered female, I know I am the creator of my own reality. I have the power to shut off the TV and drag that man out of the living room and into my loins.
I blame myself for getting lazy and shutting down my creative sexual expression. I blame myself for expecting him to be the “man,” the initiator, the dominant one. Yes I would love to be ravaged and carried away by my big hairy mountain man! But how is my laying there waiting for the fun to start really fair?
Yes, I do have damsel in distress, save me from the tower, role-play fantasies. But even deeper than that, I desire to be in a sexual partnership that sacredly aligns the feminine and the masculine energies that reside in both of us. I’m talking otherworldly, transcendent love making.
This kind of magic requires a lot less damsel, and a whole lot more participation on both our parts.
A relationship is not 50/50. It is 100/100, where each individual is taking full responsibility for their own experience. How can I expect him to lead the charge, when I haven’t really saddled up?
In all honestly, I would NOT classify my union over the past 5 months of travel as a “sexless marriage.” That would discount all of the hot and steamy nights in the back of that truck, the countless hotel room beds we broke in and most notably, our versatile and clever usage of the highly durable travel hammock.
But what I will admit to is that even after counting all of those, I still desire more. And I am not going to make myself wrong for that.
Having an insatiable hunger for what I want is what practically makes me female. This is one of the many things that makes the feminine so damn juicy. Our ability to want? Yes! But even more so, our ability to create what we want!
So…if I truly want this so badly in my marriage, what am I willing to do? What story am I willing to give up? What actions am I willing to take?
Well first off, I am willing to write and share this story. I am willing to admit that I want more. I am willing to be vulnerable, authentic and bold.
Secondly, I was brave enough to admit to my husband that I was writing this article about him, us, our marriage and our sex! Eeek!
And you know what happened?…
He agreed! He was thinking the same thing. He had even already reached out to a professional for help with opening the second chakra and sexual center. He has exercises for us, meditations and readings. At the heart of my desire for sex, this is what I truly was yearning for.
Both of us showing up, participating, and connecting.
The otherworldly, transcendent loving making will come, but in the meantime, this is a gorgeous start.
Hallelujah! What an amazing man! I am so grateful I was brave and spoke my truth!
Standing up and declaring what you really want can be terrifying. But I guarantee it is a lot less painful than living your entire life without the sweet fulfillment of your desires.
You will find that your willingness to take action on your own behalf will set something magical in motion.
Taking that first step doesn’t have to be huge or hard, but it does have to be something!
What are you willing to do?