Coitus, Interruptus?

(originally posted August, 2006)

This is a subject that is REALLY near and dear to my heart, especially now that I’ve become a “woman of a certain age” and my priorities have begun to change. I see a phenomenon within relationships that I’d like to highlight and discuss and I REALLY hope that a number of people (especially the married ones) weigh in on the discussion.

My question: How do you handle the inevitable slowdown of sexual intimacy, and why do you think it happens (besides the common factors of children, household responsibilities), or more accurately, becomes the rule rather than the exception?

Allow me to illustrate. I once started seeing someone, and everything started off REALLY well. We weren’t looking to get into anything too heavy, but after a few weeks of nightly phone calls, talking for hours, you know the drill, and I believe four dates, we found ourselves dating exclusively. Sex then fell into the mix, and although the take-off was a little rusty, we found ourselves at cruising altitude REALLY quickly.

I’m not sure who broached the subject first – probably me, but I felt that the discussion was necessary. There were some commitment issues on both sides, and it was time to discuss how our sex life was impacting our relationship, and how to move forward (by incorporating other enjoyable activities). The sex was GREAT, but it sort of took precedence over everything else. Neither one of us wanted to feel like our relationship was based on sex, so we changed up and slowed down.

MISTAKE.

It seems like we went from three or four times a week to once or twice a month. Those who are close to me to know that I don’t take rejection well, and after hearing “No” three times in relative succession, I started going to bed with my panties on (which was always code for “no pussy for YOU tonight”). I tried to understand when he was tired (we were on opposite schedules). He tried to understand when I was busy. The lack of physical intimacy (among other things), of course, then led to insecurity, which led to infidelity (on my part, not his).

Fast forward to today, and feeling like I’m on one of those odd cusps in my present thing. I’ll say that we are CERTAINLY having no problems or compatibility issues sexually, but I’ll also say that considering some of the things I have on my plate (the upcoming move and a serious need to get back into my sewing as a business opportunity, among others) that I see where I could find myself potentially between a dick and a horny place.

(snicker… I slay myself sometimes.)

I swear... I never thought of myself as one of THOSE women… the one who snags the great guy and then lets everything fall off. No more romance, or home cooked-meals or other little endearing things that make a relationship sweeter. And I swear when I hear about people I know who have recently married and go from 98 degrees in the shade to 30 below zero on the sex tip, I REALLY wanna know what’s going on. Surely it can’t just be that folks are faking the funk that hard, can it?

I do understand that as folks get older sometimes there’s a loss of interest in sex. I can also understand how a woman in her 40’s that’s been married to the same guy for probably half her life, and has been washing clothes, playing taxi to soccer practice, checking homework, cooking dinners and cleaning house on top of a full time job is just plain worn out and uninterested in hot, freaky, circus monkey sex.

Then I look in the mirror, and I wonder what the future holds for me. In the past I would have said that optimally, sex three or four times a week is ideal. Now… I’m not so sure, especially after dealing with someone for months or years. Hell, at that point sometimes I feel like I might be doing good to find an hour or two at night once or twice a week just to sit with him on our respective ends of the sofa, sharing space and maybe not even TOUCHING, just being together.

Ye GADS. Who woulda thunk it?

Really though… isn’t it supposed to be about quality over quantity? Does familiarity truly breed that level of contempt where sex is reduced to passing your s/o in the hallway on the way to the bathroom and muttering a disgusted “fuck you!” at each other? Who the hell wants to live like that? I certainly don’t; and at the same time I have to recognize that not every night of my life is going to approximate some steamy scene out a Zane novel.

Damn… I must be the most selfish bitch out here, too because I’m sitting here talking about me, me, me… and suddenly I wonder what happens for my sweetie when my libido hangs a sign on my legs that says “Do Not Open till Christmas?” Is he supposed to just suck that up and keep it bookin’? Am I supposed to take one for the team, wave a flag and say I’m doing it for the Queen?

When I was feeling the pinch of the ecstatic drought, I would have said "YES! He needs to buck up and take it on the chin and lay some PIPE!" Now that I’m in a role where *I’m* playing Miss Iron Box (and if that’s not irony I don’t KNOW what is), or just generally feeling like I'd rather have a V-8, I’m thinking “hmph, he’s got hands…”

I guess it’s just all a part of the system of compromises one is forced to make when you choose to be or remain in a relationship.