Well, at some point it was going to come down to this. I am nothing if not honest and brutally honest at that. Mostly because I don’t care and also because what do I gain by not telling the complete truth – or something that at least borders the complete truth. There is only one person in my life that knows everything so I guess I need to hold back at least a little something from the rest of you. We’ll see.
Here we go.
As a woman who has lived with domestic violence since the age of 17, which for most of the female world coincides with a blossoming libido, what is one to do? If you’ve been reading the story as I’ve been laying it out there for you, you must know by now my husband was not my first. Neither was my Ex (although he should’ve been). No, I started young. Younger, I should say because let’s face it 17 is pretty damn young in today’s day and age. However, in the 80’s, mid teenagedom was just about right. At least for my group of friends and honestly for most of the people I knew in the neighborhood. Even as we became adults and reminisced about our youth and “first time” we were not that far apart from each other when we started. It seems no one really waited until they were out of their teens much less waited for marriage. Point being, I sewed some oats.
In case you are not familiar with my story, my husband was a (22 year old) virgin when I started dating him. Nothing is wrong with that at all, in fact it was surprising in a good way. It just didn’t fit his bad boy persona so that was the only reason that it seemed odd. After two months of dating we finally took the big step and after seven months of dating I was pregnant. In that time frame, he also started to hit me. I was just so wrapped up in being his girlfriend that I didn’t really dwell on that. It would happen, he would apologize and we’d move on. Obviously, over the years we continued to have sex because I had two more children.
Over the years, he never really seemed overly excited about sex. I always thought it was because he knew he wasn’t my first so in his mind he may have been wondering how he compares. Of course, I couldn’t give pointers without it being obvious that I knew more about it then he did. So it was always somewhat awkward – at least until I lowered my expectations. After a few years of intense fighting – things stopped. Not so much the sex part but we stopped kissing somewhere around year two or three. Like…stopped. No more “making out” with your significant other. For those of you who have ever been in love or just love kissing in general…can you even imagine? On top of that because I am hating him for the way he is treating me I stopped the “I love you” bullshit as well. So barely into my early 20’s and all of that is done. However, I still have sex with him if for no other reason then to have one less thing to argue about.
Two kids and 20+ years later, I hate him more than ever. Most of my close friends know I can’t stand him. They have no idea of the abuse just in the loathing. It seems not many people are too thrilled with their husbands either. The differences being, as far as I’m aware, they are not being abused and they are also not having sex. And when asked of me they are shocked to hear…yes, I’m still having sex. Has it gotten better over the years? Thank the Lord, yes. Do I still hate him? Absolutely. But I have needs too…and I can imagine being with anyone else while he does his best. And the end result, it is still one less thing to argue about.
This brings us to our current state of affairs…I have cut his ass off. I have no desire to be touched by him no matter how hard I imagine I am with someone else. We don’t really sleep in the same room anymore which has helped tremendously. Not for lack of him trying either. He usually brings it up within 15 minutes of being home from work. Usually stating…tonight’s the night. And I laugh and say, yeah…okay. But more so because he falls asleep on the couch and I leave him there. So we’ve now come to that point in time where he is getting pissed off about it. He decided he wanted to argue about it last night telling me…”You better stop doing what you’re doing” as in – holding out. I looked at him and matter of factly said…”What I’m doing? You must be kidding me!” And I quickly run down the list of complaints from his less than exciting repertoire starting with not being kissed for 23 years. From there on you can see his facial expression quickly change from demanding to oh damn, she can do better. He huffed and puffed about it for a couple of minutes more and then shut the fuck up.
Seriously, I know (especially for any man that might be reading this) no man wants to be held out on – most especially from his wife, but this one needs to get used to it. It would be so much more helpful if he would go out there and find a girlfriend but it’s clear he is insecure on so many levels of his manhood, thus the physical violence. He would barely know how to approach another women let alone actually bed one down. No worries about me though. Luckily, women are resilient and I am oh so fine. It helps that I am starting to get regular visitation with the Ex and of course sexting does wonders.
I’m not really sure what the point of my story was. I guess, unfortunately, I am aware that at some point before I am out of here I will have to give it up if for nothing else but for leverage out of an argument. Bleh.