It's the middle of the night. William is sleeping. We had a wonderful day today, so I don't want to wake him up to talk about this, but I can't sleep. Thoughts are swirling around and around in my mind. I want to make them stop. So, I'm up here in my living room...blogging.
I have known William for 9-1/2 years. We moved in together after 18 months of dating and got married about 9 months after that. Sex was great in the beginning, but even before the marriage, the frequency had dwindled to about once a week. I was barely satisfied with that, but everything else about William was wonderful, so I didn't push the issue. We are both older and wanted a family, so we started trying right away. If we had know that I would get pregnant on our wedding night, we might have waited, but we were still excited to be expecting. Our son was born very prematurely and we spent 4 months in a NICU about 2 hours away. William and I had had sex the night before he was born and to this day, William believes that may be have been a factor in his early birth. Sex post-baby was affected, I thought, by the stress and strain of our situation. It was not very frequent, maybe once a month or so, but with everything else going on, it was not an issue. When our son was 14 months old, we started trying for baby number two. Sex was more frequent during this phase of our marriage due to our efforts. It took six months to get pregnant, but it did happen...and the sex stopped. Due to our first's prematurity, I had a cerclage put in and the doctors forbade me to have sex; I couldn't even have an orgasm! I was not happy, but William was all right...too all-right. It bothered me a little bit, I remember, even at the time. I had offered to help him out in the beginning, but he said that he would take care of his needs - and I was not thrilled about not being able to participate in the act myself, so I let him. Looking back, it was waaay too easy... After our daughter was born, sex was almost non-existant. The stress of a new baby, the medical issues that continued to plague our son, the stress of my husband's job, etc. All were too easy explanations for why my husband didn't want to have sex. He didn't like sex, he said. When the pressure got too much, his libido was the first thing to go, he said. Several times, I hinted, even asked for sex and was turned down. I could always get his body interested, even when he said "no", but somehow, it seemed wrong to do that. "No" to a woman, always means "no". So I didn't...and got more and more frustrated. William was very aware of this. About every six months or so, I would get upset with him over the lack of sex. In the cover of darkness, in our bed, I would broach the subject with him. It always ended up with me in tears, asking "why?" Why don't you want to have sex with me? Am I too fat? Am I too ugly? Are you gay?? What is wrong??? And nothing ever changed. But our life outside the bedroom was great. William is a wonderful husband and father; he was affectionate outside of the bedroom with kisses and hugs for both me and the children, so I decided that I should be happy about everything else and let the sex go. It festered, though...and about every six months or so, I would blow up at him again. I am ashamed to say this, but it had gotten to the point where I consciously considered having an affair. I didn't do it, but I was unhappy enough that I had also decided that our next mid-night conversation would include this "threat." I hated myself for that - I'd like to think that I really wouldn't have done it, but if the situation had gone on for years...who knows. Anyway, it's moot now.
So on Sept 17th, I discover "the reason why." Why my husband didn't want to have sex with me. It was because he was having sex with himself. Two to four times a week! He may have only dressed once a month, but the rest of the time, he masturbated to photos of himself dressed in ladies lingerie with wigs and make-up. He masturbated to videos of himself parading around in clothes, screwing himself with a dildo, giving oral sex to a dildo as he imagined it was his own penis. When he knew that I was unhappy, he still chose to do this instead of making me happy.
William got up and came upstairs to find me. He was willing to talk, but I had blogged my mind mostly clear, so I went to bed. I'm leaving this blog intact because it really helped me to define WHY I feel that he cheated on me. oh, my mind knows that he didn't...but tell that to my heart...