It started out innocently enough. A three month bout of some plague last spring had me coughing my guts out (literally) and was not conductive to sexy times. My mom reacted badly to medication and ended up in the hospital. Multiple week long trips to help care for both parents and deal with doctors, nurses and 24 hour care kept me from our bed too many nights. Even when I returned home, I was consumed by phone calls with my parents, siblings, and nursing homes. Throw in three kids, a crazy schedule, and work and it’s obvious why sex moved farther and farther down the list of priorities.
After a while, I stopped thinking about sex at all. I’d ask TN if we could just cuddle in bed instead. I still needed the skin-on-skin contact (we sleep naked) but it was for comfort and security, not a turn on. I’d lay my head on his chest or shoulder, he’d run his fingers over my back and ass and I’d fall asleep, exhausted mentally and physically.
I realized last week that we’d even stopped snogging. We still had the predictable perfunctory kisses, but I couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had stolen my breath and left my knees weak.
We’ve been down this road before. This new exhaustion is not unlike mothering babies and small children. Everyone needing a piece of me, no time for self-care, burning the candle at both ends. It becomes a sort of survival mode and only the most urgent needs are tended to.
By mid-September, not only did I not care we were barely having sex, I started actively avoiding it. Just like when the kids were small, I’d claim (truthfully) that I was too tired or I’d fall asleep (or pretend to) before he’d come to bed. When we would lay in bed together, I’d be mentally begging his touches to not go to far, for him to not make any move so I wouldn’t have to rebuff him.
It’s somewhat shocking to me how easy it was to fall back to this state. When I had my reawakening three years ago, I swore we’d never get back to this point. Yet here I was hovering on the precipice and part of me was hoping I could just fall into the abyss and not think about our sex life once again.
When we first clawed our way out of the void, TN couldn’t/wouldn’t keep up. Some was purely a mechanical issue, which was an easy fix once sex was more regular. More importantly, I also needed to earn his trust back and prove that my change wasn’t just a flash in the pan, but truly permanent. I did and things were on a steady, upward path. However, the process of basically starting over (for him) was slow, and I’m nothing if not impatient. A kinky friend I met even before Twitter recommended I track our sexual exploits so that when my brain started freaking out about another massive dry spell, I could see that in reality it had only been a few days. I’ve continued that tracking the past three years. Well, I did until the summer, when it became just too depressing to even open the file and and see the long list of ticks in the Nothing column.
If I dig deeper into those feelings, I’m certain a lot of it was guilt. It was the same way back in the dark days. My mind would suppress just how long I’d been avoiding any sexual contact with TN so that I could avoid feeling guilty for rebuking him yet again. Out of sight, out of mind was never so true.
Last week Andy from Ruffled Sheets started talking about a month long chastity celebration he’s calling Locktober. Chastity is not something TN is remotely interested so I knew we couldn’t do that, although I did suggest it. As expected, he laughed that off. However, he was more enthusiastic about my next suggestion. Since we had spent the month of September chaste, albeit without a cage, I suggested a full month of at least one orgasm every day. Happily, TN agreed. We didn’t specify who gets the orgasm, but odds are on a day where we’re both too tired, I’ll be the one to take one for the team. I’m calling it Rocktober.
We discussed this on Saturday morning and began our streak on Sunday night. It’s amazing how just talking about it and making a plan has changed my thinking. We kicked off Rocktober on Sunday night and it was a-fucking-mazing. Ten orgasms and a thorough fucking later I was in that post-coital haze of happy hormones wondering why I always forget just good it feels. I have no real answer to that other than perhaps Newton’s First Law applies to more than just physics.
I know this isn’t some huge revelation and that it does indeed take work to maintain a happy, healthy sexual relationship with a partner. I also know I’m not the only one out there who struggles like this. I’m making no promises to post every day about the transformation in my thinking and my actions, but I have good intentions to write and reflect about how my life and attitude change during our little challenge. I hope that sharing some of my experiences will help my friends out there who know what it’s like.