Cheese pizza is not enough

Plain and simple: I love having sex. Not one night stand kind of sex, but I enjoy habitual and recreational sex with a partner. Prior to marrying GH, I had an active and satisfying sex life. Being a serial monogamist, I had the opportunity to explore and get to know my partners desires and together we had hours of entertainment creating and living out fantasies. I’ve had my share of taxicab confessions, public romps, and intimate moments that were nothing short of spiritual connections. I am capable of giving as well as receiving. But there comes a time in a woman’s life when she wonders, “do I still have it? Do I turn him on and does he want me like he used to?”

We’d gone out for drinks. One drink led to ten more and we’d have some version of sloppy drunk sex. After a few weeks of doing this, we found out we would be parents.  Immediately, I quit drinking and soon my body changed and morphed into that of a woman who was carrying a child and was eating for 2 linebackers.

Our sex life ceased to exist and we focused on pregnancy and all the life changes that were occurring. After our son was born, my body returned to its prior state. Our sex life was monotonous. When we would have sex we were always in our bed, we’d kiss, then fondle each other, get undressed, he’d get on top of me, then a few minutes of thrusting he’d be done. He’d go to the bathroom, find a washrag, and wipe himself off and put his sleeping clothes back on. Often I would roll over and look out the window and think, “is this it, I could have done a better job on my own. I have got to fix this.”

What had I done to make this man, the father of our child not want to have passionate porn star sex with me? We had a child and I was committed to resolving our differences so that our son could grow up with two parents, so I wanted to reanimate our sex life and take it to a place that I had been before with others. I knew I had it, so I just had to fix myself and get it back! I studied self-help books, relationship books, and sex books. I subscribed to blogs and looked forward to every Saturday when I would get an email from WebMD. The topic, “sex and relationships” seemed to hold me captivated for hours. I read every article that was published, looking deep within to find the trait that I had to fix. I obsessed over the articles that were published. Titles ranged from, “10 mistakes married couples make,” “Relationship mistakes and how to avoid them,” “how to improve your sex life by having more sex,” “what men want but are afraid to ask,” “when enough is enough,” “Communication styles,” the list goes on and on. For years, I read obsessively about sex and relationships. I bought books with titles like, “We love each other, but…” and watch Dr. Phil and Dr. Oz. I read Cosmopolitan and discovered, “men’s secret g-spot.” I listened to Oprah as she profiled couples that weathered tough times. I would listen attentively and think, at least my husband doesn’t beat me or rape our children. Thoughts of, “it could be worse” dominated my consciousness.

Somehow, I would use all my new found knowledge on how to make a relationship work in combination with some new exciting locales and sexual fantasies that we would play out. I believed I could catapult our relationship to the place where it would not only be fulfilling but that we couldn’t imagine any other way of life.

Truly, my idea of marriage was to have first and foremost a best friend. Where at the end of the day, we’d share our stories of the mundane and dream and scheme toward a grandiose future. We would make love intimately, passionately, and at times in a dirty, raw and uninhibited manner.

All the articles I read discussed that for a productive discussion you should, ‘tell your partner what you need but don’t nag, beg or blame.” So I needed to rephrase my rant from, “Our sex life sucks, you treat sex with me like a chore and speed through it with the enthusiasm of a child being forced to eat brussel  sprouts. I am lonely and alone and I want you here with me, physically and emotionally. I want you to love me, cherish me and I want a more frequent and adventurous sex life.” After consideration, I decided to dumb it down and go the route of analogies. “You know, I love pizza. Sex is like pizza – even a not so good pizza is still better than no pizza” He looked at me expectantly and a long, uncomfortable pause hung in the air. Clearly he wasn’t taking the bait to have a talk about sex.  I carried on, taking my analogy further. “Some times a cheese pizza is great. It is simple and gets the job done. But other times, you want to jazz it up and add a few toppings that you are pretty familiar with. But did you ever think, maybe, ‘tonight I want to try the things in the column that we never order.”  He says to me, “what else would you want on your pizza other than pepperoni and mushroom.” I think to myself, “he’s really talking about pizza, and He likes Pepperoni and mushroom. I hate pepperoni but get it to not argue with him.”  I ignore his comment and think that possibly, he understands I want to talk about sex, but just will not participate.

“So, when we have sex, we are always in our bed. It is always at night. You kiss me, I kiss you, we face each other and stroke each other, then one of us gets on top and then shortly it’s over.” His blank stare indicates he doesn’t care or is shocked that I care. I continue, “our sex life is like cheese pizza from Pizza Hut – it’s generic and unexciting. It’s predictable. Don’t you ever want to order a “supreme” pizza from a locally owned joint that was made to order, just for us? I want artichoke hearts and sun dried tomatoes. I want exotic mushrooms and truffle oil. What do you want to try?” The silence hangs, so for clarity’s sake, I add, “sexually. What do you want to try sexually that would be something new and exciting.”

Confusion sets in because all of my reading didn’t prepare me for a conversation that was met with any response other than some variation of and enthusiastic affirmation. His line was supposed to be, “that is awesome. I am glad you want more sex! Lets stop talking now and go do it!”  I am shocked that I had to drag this analogy to a painful climax and spelled out, specifically what toppings I wanted.

In retrospect I understand why GH didn’t think the frequency and quality of sex with me was important. He thought attendance points in the bedroom was sufficient. He showed up and he performed. But he also really, really enjoyed Pizza Hut pizza with just pepperoni and mushrooms.

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