The Sexual Tug of War

I’ve been reading some other OD entries and realize that this sex thing is a pretty pervasive problem. What I see mostly (and it comes as no surprise) is men frustrated with women’s lack of desire. God sure played a bad joke on all of us, didn’t he? Why did he create such completely different creatures? Couldn’t WE (women) have gotten a touch more of that testosterone, just so we could keep up — you know? I wish I had some answers… Shoot, I wish I had some injectable testosterone for myself.

Going off this Welbutrin is already helping. I’ve been moved to something called Celexa. We’ll see what happens. But at least I’m not feeling so angry at everyone since I haven’t taken the Welbutrin for a couple of days. Sometimes this whole antidepressant thing seems like so much bullsh*t to me, but I know it made a difference for me before… changed my life, actually, so I have to keep reminding myself of that and be patient while I wait for this stuff to kick in.

So now, it’s not that I haven’t got an interest in sex, it just hasn’t been, well, convenient. I know that’s a pretty flimsy excuse, but that’s really how it has been. Our son has been around or climbed into bed with us, or our hours have been unaligned. I will have to make a special effort to get us synched up because I don’t want to lose the desire now that I’ve got it. My problem is more, again, the “me” that lives when I get sexual… the person that becomes immersed in sex.

Once again tonight I thought about continuing my brief career as a porno writer. I was always so ready when I was writing. But, as you’ve heard me whine and whine before, I don’t want to screw up my relationship with God… shakey as it is right now.

When I was younger I used to be such an “exhibitionist.” I remember riding in the car out to the end of the island (Long Island). I was topless in the ocean air and the wind on my face and body was the best foreplay possible, not to mention the knowledge that there were eyes on me as we whipped down the highway.

Later on when we lived in Colorado, the mountain air acted as an aphrodisiac (and still does when we visit there), and I used to love to lay naked on a blanket in the forest and feel breezes caress parts of my body that are usually enclosed. The thought of somebody stumbling accross us only made me needier as I seduced my husband.

Now, I feel too old and undesirable to ever be that bold. I remember seeing Something About Mary. There is the part where he was spying on her with binoculars and views the saggy wrinkled breasts of her neighbor, staring down to the ground, made everybody gasp and groan with disgust. I, too, gasped; but then I wondered about “breast-ly” history. Suppose those breasts had gently nurtured children, or been happily caressed by a loving husband. At one time they might have been “perky” or like a ripe apple, blushing and firm. Was it just the breakdown of muscles and the wrinkling of skin that turned them in to something so repulsive?

When I was a little girl my grandmother came into the bedroom wearing just her bra. It was one of those “girl” times when my Mom and I were getting dressed for church or something and my grandma fit right in. I looked at her and her breasts seemed like two partially filled water balloons to me. I was horrified then, thinking that someday my breasts might end up like that (and here I was, no more than seven, contemplating the future of my mammaries). Why does it matter so much to me?

I am so lucky to have a husband who is nothing like me. Somehow he sees beauty where I see sag. He sees sexy where I see fat. He sees sleek where I see cellulite. Love isn’t really blind, love is a visual filter that turns an ordinary middle aged woman in to a sexual siren heating the night. I love to be with my husband because then I can pretend I still look appealing.

This brings us back to the beginning of this entry. If I feel unappealing, I feel very unsexy and uninterested in sexual things. Maybe all of us “middle-aged” women walk around like that and some husbands are not as good at making the wife feel desirable. If a woman just feels the guy is horny and she’s just a release, it’s going to turn her off. But if a woman feels that SHE is the one you want, that her allure is what has sparked your interest, then it’s a lot easier for her to get interested. At least, I think that’s the case. Who am I to speak for all women? But I would guess I’m not alone in this frame of mind.

I guess we all want to feel desirable, don’t we?