I was talking to my husband this morning; one of those talks when I try to be intimate with him, by way of words. I told him that I had given him a very hard task in life really. He wasn't expected to be just my husband, but also my father, my brother; my dominant lover. I acknowledged that it can't be an easy task.
Of course, I did have a father and I do have a brother, and I'm loved, but neither man loved me in such a way as to want to nurture me, I think. I don't think about it too often because it is simply my reality; a reality I can't change. Still, I wanted to acknowledge to my husband that there hadn't been a male figure in my life in a family sense who could aid my husband to nurture me in any way. This had probably made his role all the more difficult.
I also shared with my husband a situation that had occurred during the week. Lorraine (not her real name) and I were the last two women to leave a group of women having coffee after an exercise session. Lorraine wanted to share with me details about her marriage of 37 years which ended in divorce 6 years ago. She wanted to tell me of her experiences at dating since the divorce and her man of the moment who appears to have no assertiveness. She wanted to know what she should do. She's spent the majority of her life with an assertive/take charge man and was it even possible that she could come to enjoy a much quieter and less assertive man; someone who after four months of weekly dating still hasn't got beyond a kiss goodnight?
"Is it me?" she asked me.
"You want intimacy. You want to be as close with a man as you can. You have a particular nature and it is hard for you to be the instigator of things. I understand that," I replied.
"Yes. I do. I may be 61 but I want intimacy and I am used to a man taking charge of the situation."
It was my pleasure to talk with her. I don't mind at all listening to people express themselves, but it did occur to me that this happens to me quite frequently and it causes me to reflect. Any emotional anguish I experience takes places behind closed doors and here in this web journal. So, to meet me what you see is a well dressed woman who smiles frequently; a woman who appears happy, content, stable, financially secure and happily married. I guess I must also come across as non-judgmental, open and willing to listen, but not smug, or so wrapped up in her own life that I am at all a threat.
For instance, a woman, a stranger to me, did the same thing yesterday afternoon at the afternoon tea after a funeral where she told me, over the course of an hour, about her son's autism, the behavior training methods they had used and so on. I did share a little bit of my own knowledge - I happened to know an autistic boy who snow skis with her son. However, what I shared did not relate to questions she asked me about myself because she didn't ask me any questions about myself.
Rightly or wrongly, my emotional pain takes place with myself fairly exclusively, except on those rare occasions when the distress spills over in my own home, or occasionally over coffee with my mother. Even then, I recover as fast as I can because what alternative is there? What ails me has no solution, it would seem, which is galling because I do love to say to the children, 'Every problem has a solution.'
In a nutshell my problem is that is I need a large helping of intimacy on a regular basis. To be more specific, I need my intimacy in a particular way. To explain that a bit more, I enjoy instruction. I enjoy the discipline of receiving instruction. I don't so much enjoy to initiate myself as I enjoy that someone takes from me. This is the transference of energy from them to me that I crave.
When intimacy is available to me and I can bunker down into that deeply meditative and blissful state of being 'taken', my spirits rise and life becomes easy. The emotional pain I might have been experiencing is washed away. I am able then to offer kindnesses and compassion; to be, in essence, the initiator after that. However, without some dominant display I remain, as my husband likes to say, "the dolly on the shelf." I can't come down until I am brought down. Conversely, I can flirt, but when I feel the dominant energy is present or will be appreciated.
Alas, I'm all too aware of this failing of mine. It might be early morning and I contemplate waking my husband with some advance, but if his dominant energy towards me has been absent, a move in his direction is like asking me to put my hand out and pat a poisonous snake. I am just not going to be able to do that and so I remain 'on the shelf', perpetually in wait. I am hurt really. I feel rejected and abandoned and in that state of mind it's awfully hard for me to ask for intimacy.
Randomly, this week my husband told me he had read of anal stretching being associated with an increase in oxytocin. Of course, we all know that sexual pleasure is a wonderful way of relaxing the body and the mind, but anal intercourse or use of a largish anal plug can create feelings of euphoria that, in my experience, go beyond your everyday orgasm. Whether it is oxytocin or something else entirely I cannot say but my body certainly creates some sort of pleasure drug. I refer to it as being "opened". My body and my mind are opened up in very special ways and these experiences are very happy ones for me wherein any sort of identity is simply unnecessary and unwanted. I'm in a state of objectification, something I do for myself, that makes it possible for me to flourish as a human being. My mind is opened to all sorts of perversions. Gosh, I love that. And, my body is tuned and turned on in a way that makes me feel totally alive.
I'm well aware that with a deeply perverted man I truly would flourish. He could buy me masks that cover my face tightly. He could put me in a latex dolly suit and watch my identity melt away. He could call me his doll, his slut, his fuck toy, it, or 'hol' and I'd not just be okay with this. I'd relish it. I'm so aware of all this potential inside me for delicious debauchery; objectification; the possibility to let go in the deepest way and just enjoy whatever comes. I'd adore him for it. He could do what he will to me, and as a result of that intimacy, that care and trust, I'd hold him in the highest esteem. Truly, I hunger for that outcome every day of my life.
And yet, here I am, faithful to a man whom I love, and with whom I expected to spend my days until death comes to me, who is experiencing a malaise that makes very little of this possible. I struggle. I struggle to accept these limitations and restrictions. I wonder how I can go on, knowing all the infinite possibilities for peace and bliss, for intimacy and care, yet denied them. Where the answer lies, if there is indeed an answer to my dilemma, I just don't know.
Of course, I did have a father and I do have a brother, and I'm loved, but neither man loved me in such a way as to want to nurture me, I think. I don't think about it too often because it is simply my reality; a reality I can't change. Still, I wanted to acknowledge to my husband that there hadn't been a male figure in my life in a family sense who could aid my husband to nurture me in any way. This had probably made his role all the more difficult.
I also shared with my husband a situation that had occurred during the week. Lorraine (not her real name) and I were the last two women to leave a group of women having coffee after an exercise session. Lorraine wanted to share with me details about her marriage of 37 years which ended in divorce 6 years ago. She wanted to tell me of her experiences at dating since the divorce and her man of the moment who appears to have no assertiveness. She wanted to know what she should do. She's spent the majority of her life with an assertive/take charge man and was it even possible that she could come to enjoy a much quieter and less assertive man; someone who after four months of weekly dating still hasn't got beyond a kiss goodnight?
"Is it me?" she asked me.
"You want intimacy. You want to be as close with a man as you can. You have a particular nature and it is hard for you to be the instigator of things. I understand that," I replied.
"Yes. I do. I may be 61 but I want intimacy and I am used to a man taking charge of the situation."
It was my pleasure to talk with her. I don't mind at all listening to people express themselves, but it did occur to me that this happens to me quite frequently and it causes me to reflect. Any emotional anguish I experience takes places behind closed doors and here in this web journal. So, to meet me what you see is a well dressed woman who smiles frequently; a woman who appears happy, content, stable, financially secure and happily married. I guess I must also come across as non-judgmental, open and willing to listen, but not smug, or so wrapped up in her own life that I am at all a threat.
For instance, a woman, a stranger to me, did the same thing yesterday afternoon at the afternoon tea after a funeral where she told me, over the course of an hour, about her son's autism, the behavior training methods they had used and so on. I did share a little bit of my own knowledge - I happened to know an autistic boy who snow skis with her son. However, what I shared did not relate to questions she asked me about myself because she didn't ask me any questions about myself.
Rightly or wrongly, my emotional pain takes place with myself fairly exclusively, except on those rare occasions when the distress spills over in my own home, or occasionally over coffee with my mother. Even then, I recover as fast as I can because what alternative is there? What ails me has no solution, it would seem, which is galling because I do love to say to the children, 'Every problem has a solution.'
In a nutshell my problem is that is I need a large helping of intimacy on a regular basis. To be more specific, I need my intimacy in a particular way. To explain that a bit more, I enjoy instruction. I enjoy the discipline of receiving instruction. I don't so much enjoy to initiate myself as I enjoy that someone takes from me. This is the transference of energy from them to me that I crave.
When intimacy is available to me and I can bunker down into that deeply meditative and blissful state of being 'taken', my spirits rise and life becomes easy. The emotional pain I might have been experiencing is washed away. I am able then to offer kindnesses and compassion; to be, in essence, the initiator after that. However, without some dominant display I remain, as my husband likes to say, "the dolly on the shelf." I can't come down until I am brought down. Conversely, I can flirt, but when I feel the dominant energy is present or will be appreciated.
Alas, I'm all too aware of this failing of mine. It might be early morning and I contemplate waking my husband with some advance, but if his dominant energy towards me has been absent, a move in his direction is like asking me to put my hand out and pat a poisonous snake. I am just not going to be able to do that and so I remain 'on the shelf', perpetually in wait. I am hurt really. I feel rejected and abandoned and in that state of mind it's awfully hard for me to ask for intimacy.
Randomly, this week my husband told me he had read of anal stretching being associated with an increase in oxytocin. Of course, we all know that sexual pleasure is a wonderful way of relaxing the body and the mind, but anal intercourse or use of a largish anal plug can create feelings of euphoria that, in my experience, go beyond your everyday orgasm. Whether it is oxytocin or something else entirely I cannot say but my body certainly creates some sort of pleasure drug. I refer to it as being "opened". My body and my mind are opened up in very special ways and these experiences are very happy ones for me wherein any sort of identity is simply unnecessary and unwanted. I'm in a state of objectification, something I do for myself, that makes it possible for me to flourish as a human being. My mind is opened to all sorts of perversions. Gosh, I love that. And, my body is tuned and turned on in a way that makes me feel totally alive.
I'm well aware that with a deeply perverted man I truly would flourish. He could buy me masks that cover my face tightly. He could put me in a latex dolly suit and watch my identity melt away. He could call me his doll, his slut, his fuck toy, it, or 'hol' and I'd not just be okay with this. I'd relish it. I'm so aware of all this potential inside me for delicious debauchery; objectification; the possibility to let go in the deepest way and just enjoy whatever comes. I'd adore him for it. He could do what he will to me, and as a result of that intimacy, that care and trust, I'd hold him in the highest esteem. Truly, I hunger for that outcome every day of my life.
And yet, here I am, faithful to a man whom I love, and with whom I expected to spend my days until death comes to me, who is experiencing a malaise that makes very little of this possible. I struggle. I struggle to accept these limitations and restrictions. I wonder how I can go on, knowing all the infinite possibilities for peace and bliss, for intimacy and care, yet denied them. Where the answer lies, if there is indeed an answer to my dilemma, I just don't know.
Hang in there kid. A good marriage grows from a little skiff to a mighty ocean liner as you collect memories and intimacies along the way. The bigger the boat, the steadier it is in the water but the longer it takes to turn.
ReplyDeleteI understand your frustration and will to get onto a different tack. I am in a similar boat. There are times when my libido longs for a change of pace too. It is good that you recognize that need and that you listen to it. Patience and perseverance is the key. You seem to have found a means of communication that works with your owner and husband. Stick at it.
rollymo: Thank you for the encouragement. I've been thinking about that word "libido" since your comment came in; thinking about it in terms of 'libido for life' because in this case at least I think the diminished lack of libido is part of an overall lack of libido for life. I've noticed, and I've brought it to the attention of my husband, that he has much reduced interests his life. He was an extremely enthusiastic Rugby player when younger and after that finished he was a keen cycler, a runner, and a regular at the gym. He used to play golf and tennis. No more. In fact, over the past few years he has become more and more of a home body. I suggest and organize a good 95% of the social things we do.
ReplyDeleteHe said to me on Friday at a funeral that I had become wonderful with people, socially mobile. When we met *he* was the more socially mobile and extroverted. He made many suggestions as to what we could do. Part of the attraction for me was that he seemed so able to manage his place in the world and I wasn't that sure.
Of course, I'd love to see his sexual libido return. I'd love him to be hungry again. That's the man I knew for decades. But, I'd also love to see him comfortable with his life again - able to more easily enjoy life. It's hard work trying to stay uplifted around someone who tends to talk the woes of life rather a lot.
It sounds like depression, doesn't it? It certainly looks like depression and hence chances are that it is depression but he has resisted every effort I have made to get him help. It's terribly hard to know what to do next for I feel my own well being is at risk. At some stage here, he really has to help himself.
It does sound like depression though there is no simple diagnosis. It tends to be diagnosed on a range of indicators. When I suffered with depression I lost interest in food, found myself quite able to fall asleep but would wake in the night and be unable to sleep again. I was irritable, unpredictable and had great trouble concentrating on anything. Something that would normally take 30 minutes to think through took 3 hours. Little things like a piece of music or art would set me off in uncontrolled sobbing. I never contemplated suicude yet felt no will to live and found no pleasure in living. It felt like I was constantly watching a TV drama that didn't interest me in the least but from which I could not escape. I had no energy or appetite for anything. My sexual libido completely vanished.
ReplyDeleteThankfully I sought help from my doctor and was prescribed antidepressants. I was on them for 6 months and in some ways that was just as bad. They prevented me feeling so low, but they also made me unfeeling and uncaring, even reckless. I didn't consider the consequences of anything I did nor the impact of my actions on my loved ones. I took some crazy risks. Perhaps it wasn't all caused by the meds, perhaps I was just incredibly selfish. But the meds just made me feel I couldn't give a hoot about anything or anyone.
It was a dark time in my life and I don't enjoy looking back at it now. But it taught me that if it can happen to me it can happen to anyone and that I could not fight it alone. I think that's the big lesson and the biggest mistake someone can make is thinking they are strong enough to beat it on their own. When you're depressed you simply can't help yourself. Having been there I am now wise to the early signs and know when to reach out for support from those around me. That's the battle almost won, right there.
rollymo: Thank you for being so open about your past depression. It can indeed happen to anyone.
ReplyDeleteI am sorry for your struggle, Vesta.
ReplyDeleteSusan aka July Girl
Susan: That's very kind. It's a few days beyond writing this post and I see that my objectification needs were a desire for a more peaceful mind. Time on my own has allowed me to settle the thoughts down and I'm feeling better all the time. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteI could get into the objectification thing, to a point. The idea turns me on. I think it's partially because we so often hear that men just "want a hole to stick it in." So, in my fantasies anyway, it turns me on that the man is getting what he really wants. I realize that's not what ALL men want, but a lot of them do. I'm not turned on at all by things where the man is doing stuff specifically to please the woman.
ReplyDeleteTiklish: Thank you for your very interesting comment. I love it when people reveal something of themselves in response to my writing. I am working on the basis here that you very much love to please and so if a man wants to bring the experience down to that physical level, then this is a turn on for you. It's not so much the act itself perhaps (and here I am making a whole of assumptions about your words) but the fact that he is happy and you are the one who has made him happy. If you knelt on all fours and acted as a table for his drink, would you get into that too? Something to think about it.
ReplyDeleteSometimes, my husband wants raw sex; to put his cock into my vagina, take his pleasure and roll over to sleep. Sometimes, it is a turn on and sometimes it is not. It can leave me awake for hours while he sleeps soundly, which can be a drag for me. That's the reality of the situation.
When I talk about 'hol' I'm personally (and each to own, absolutely) often not thinking about the sexual act at all, although on wonderfully special occasions I am experience being 'hol' in the state of sex (but even then I have little association with my body because I am in a 'state'). "hol" is a state of mind; a complete (and I do mean complete) letting go of my sense of identity and 'personhood'. In that state, I'd not think of saying 'she' or even 'bimbo'. I just say things like "hol beri happi" (although, words don't come easily in these times) because I'm in a mind altered state. I have never taken drugs but I imagine it to be like someone who has taken opium, perhaps. My mind is there somewhere but I've no desire or need to think. I'm free of all pain. I'm just...awareness; awareness of bliss. I try in my formal writing to put these ideas into words but the big problem is that these experiences defy words of explanation. All one can do is write scenes of what happens and given that this is such a public space, I haven't felt it is the right space for that. So, I am reduced to words of description to describe the indescribable.
Your last sentence had me remembering a time when my mentor sent me a photo he knew I would appreciate. Days later he admitted he sent it for me; that he was going through a patch where it did nothing for him. All interest on my part was then also put on hold. I think we all look to the other for their desire. Our desire (and I mean dominant and submissive) is in the others desire. We desire desire. It's why we do what we do, in my opinion; it's the reason why we make the connections we make.
No, the being a table thing doesn't work for me. The thing is too, being as if I'm just a hole for him to put it in isn't even about me being the one making him happy. I'm just turned on by the idea of the man enjoying sex that way. Kind of like, he's being real, not putting on a "sensitive man" show to please the woman.
DeleteTicklish: Jeet Thayil (poet and novelist) said this: "Women are more evolved biologically and emotionally. That's well known and obvious. But they confuse sex and the spirit, they don't separate. Men, as you know, always separate. They separate their human and dog natures." Sounds to me like you have an instinctive understanding and appreciation of that.
Delete