Three years on...

It's amazing to me that it's been three years since I took my vow of celibacy.

Life has changed so much in that relatively short time.

For a year I trained myself -- cold turkey -- out of my libido.

Then Sue and I reconnected a bit and talked about it. We had several long conversations. Well, they didn't feel hugely long to me, but by Sue's standards, they would have been marathons!

The upshot is that Sue felt the best way forward was to try to "prime the pump." She still had no libido, but she wanted to reawaken it. So we discussed that we would... be intimate... every couple of weeks.

What a disaster!

She clearly did NOT want to be there. And if she didn't want to be there, I didn't want to be there, either. And I most certainly did not want her to be there when she didn't want to.

It felt terrible!

But she bit the bullet and insisted that this was what she wanted to do. She wanted to be intimate without any libido in the hopes that the physical intimacy would re-spark her amorous feelings.

She tried the classic, "lie back and think of England" thing.

I was reminded also of the old joke:

Q: what does the young bride say during sex?

A: "faster, faster!!!"

Q: What does the mistress say during sex?

A: "Slower, slower...."

Q: What does the wife with no libido say during sex?

A: "White! I think I'll paint the ceiling white!!!"

She wanted to do this, despite her lack of libido. She made that abundantly clear. And yet I still felt a bit of a rapist. She was so clearly, so very, very clearly not present in her body, in the moment, with me.

It felt so... exploitative. And not the least bit enjoyable. For either of us.

This went on for about seven months before we finally gave up.

We tried having her give me back rubs for awhile, as a more low key way of making a physical connection. (She wouldn't have her back be rubbed. She had no desire to be massaged or touched at all.... whether back, foot, hand, scalp or wherever.)

Well, that didn't last long. It was a bit forced.

Strike that. It was VERY forced.

I guess she liked the idea intellectually, but emotionally she dragged her metaphorical feet to the "task".

So that fell by the wayside after two or three massages.

@@@@@@@

So, there we are in May or June 2010, back to celibacy, back to a complete lack of physical intimacy.

It dragged on and on and on.

And I'm used to it now. It's no longer a huge deal for me. I don't expect sex with her, I don't anticipate it, I don't even hope for it.

It's simply not on the cards.

And that means I no longer get rejected, and I no longer feel hurt. I no longer lust after her. We have become more and more like roommates.

And so it has been from then to now.

There is more to say: about how she told me, quite bluntly, a year ago that she wanted us to split up; about how I still have a libido, even if neither the same sense of frustration nor of hope; about how our difficult children are getting easier; about how I upgraded my professional status and my car (two things she was very keen on me doing), and how it "went down like a cup of cold sick".

I could go on and on and on.

And, like it or not, gentle reader, I shall! ;)

I have reread almost all of what I wrote in 2008 and 2009, and I am amazed at how much I have forgotten: Thoughts that I had had; incidents that had occurred; patterns that were entrenched even then.

This last point -- the entrenched patterns -- is a serious wake up call for me.

We had a series of major natural disasters in our town over the last year, turning life a bit upside down. (Can you be just a bit upside down?!?)

And I find that I have been retreating mantras that were near identical to forgotten mantras from three years ago.

Three years ago, it was: "Ok, you can do it. Just ten more months, and then things will be better. Ok, you can do it. Just six more months, and then things will be better. Ok, you can do it, just three more weeks and things will be better."

It was like waiting for Godot!

And what strikes me now is that I am waiting in much the same way. "Ok," I think, "just wait til the first anniversary of the last natural disaster. We've all been affected. We all need to clear our heads. After that, things will be better."

In the immortal words of Yogi Berra: "It's like Deja Vu all over again!"

So, for me, this is no longer a blog about sex, celibacy, intimacy and lost libido. For the moment, at least, all of that is so far off the chart as to be irrelevant.

Now I am thinking about things like: loneliness and love; our children; whether she will ever snap out of the depression she seems to have fallen into; whether I can do anything to help; and how I can best look after myself through all this mess.

Ok, it's late. I'm tired. More on this another time.

making love or having sex?

I could had sex tonight. It wouldn't have been that hard to nudge Sue along in that direction. Nudge her just over the edge on which she seems to be sitting.

I decided not to.

Why not?

Puritanical self denial? Obsessive compulsive determination? A loss of my own libido?

No.

The real reason is, I don't want to go back to the chaser/chasee cycle that Sue and I were in for the year or two (or more) before I took my private vow.

After all this time, I could get her into bed, and she would be wanting to go there to please me, to move on, to move this all forward.

But she wouldn't want to be going there for herself. It would be starting off on the wrong foot; taking a step in the wrong direction.

Making love to a woman who isn't REALLY there -- who doesn't REALLY want to be with you, who is not sharing the experience with you -- that's not making love. That's not even having sex. It's masturbating into someone's vagina.

Sue and I had the BIG talk (though with much yet to say) a week or two ago.

Things are changing for the better. Glacially slow, but changing nonetheless.

Until then, I want to wait until she is ready to make love to me. Knowing that I could persuade her to have sex just isn't good enough.

empowered in passivity

My last post received a very provocative and thought-provoking comment from "anonymous". My response was so long that I've had to make it its own post.

Here is Anonymous' comment first:

I don't mean to discourage you. Quite the contrary, I think your situation would be helped by your having some clarity. It seems like you are in denial at this point and not wanting to face reality. Why were you expecting a "pot of gold"? What made you think that something would happen arbitrarily at the end of a year?

It is bad enough that you are in a marriage without sex, when it is clear that sex is something you desire in your life. What is really tragic is that you are in a marriage where there is so little communication.

Human beings have needs that go beyond food, clothing, and shelter. You are literally be starved and it is killing you. What would you do if you were not getting enough food to sustain your body? Would you just let yourself die? More importantly, would you starve your wife of food and just sit back and impassively watch her become sick and die?

You are being abused and I think you need to face that.

You--and only you--have the power to change your life. I think you have to ask, why are you doing this to yourself? Why do you think this is what you deserve?

When you respect and care enough about yourself to take of your needs, you may find it is a wake-up call to your wife, but don't count on that. In significant ways, she has already left you and abandoned you. I know you said that she had some abuse in her childhood that caused her to be like this, but the fact is that she will not get help for herself. You are just making yourself another victim of the abuse that she suffered.

Life is short, my friend. You only get one chance to live. Don't waste it.

And my response:

Your thoughts are challenging, provoking, and thought provoking, and I that's a good thing. It really gives me something to chew on. I think there can be a fine line between being a "nice guy" and being a spineless, wishy-washy one. I need to make sure for myself that I always fall on the right side of that line, and your comment is a very salient reminder of that fact. Intellectually, of course, I knew that the end of the year would not mean a magical end to all of these issues. On some level I knew that the end of the year would be hard. And, thinking about it now, actually the end of the year really only means that things will get harder, in that I am no longer putting this issue in suspended animation. I want to be actively working through it with Sue, which means work. But on some subconscious level, yes, there was definitely a fantasy that at the end of the year, my vow and forbearance would solve all of our problems, and Sue would not be able to keep her hands off of the guy who made such a grandiose gesture on her behalf. That fantasy, along with a bit of stubbornness and a bit of pride, helped keep me going. Do I want sex? Back in December, I could think of little but sex at times. I wondered if I were a sex addict. Now I could see myself being like a friend of mine, and quite easily going for 20 or 30 years without sex. It is no longer a gaping hole in my life; an unquenched thirst; a driving desire. Nonetheless, I am not just going to give up on it. Despite the fact that I don't feel a need for it on a day-to-day basis, I am still sure that Sue and I would both be happier if we were able to connect in that way. I have wondered, at times, what would happen if we couldn't get this solved. Would it be a deal breaker? Would it need to mean divorce? I never answered that question for myself, but the very fact that I asked the question of myself means I was open to the possibility that it could mean just that. I have a good friend who has had a number of long term relationships all of which have ended for various reasons. But the one he is in now he is so happy with. He feels he's finally met the right woman for him; and he seems to think that the rest of us who have imperfect relationships just need to do the same. The funny thing about that is, I felt exactly the same in the early years of my relationship with Sue. I looked to my unhappy friends and thought, "why are they slogging their guts out trying to fix a relationship which is simply with the wrong woman in the first place?!?" In fact, I effectively asked that question of a friend of mine not long ago. His response: "what choice do I have?" This came not from a place of disempowerment ("no one else would have me") but rather from a decision to fight life's battles and solve life's problems. Looking back on my life, I can see that there are times when I really grabbed life by the proverbial cojones and had a great time. There have been other times when I have hunkered down, closed my world off and have not thrived the way I should. I guess part of this year long experiment was to change a negative experience into a more positive one. Rather than just hunkering down in the face of our disintegrating love life, I decided to reify it. To make it into a challenge and a blog. In some sense and on some level, doing that put me back in the driver's seat. I was choosing to wait, I was choosing how long to wait, I was choosing to anonymously express myself to the world about these most private things. But your point is a very, very good one, as -- especially now that the year is over -- there is a risk that I shift from making this a personal challenge of growth and learning. Instead it could become a shutting down of self, a closing off of possibilities and passions. I think it's a knife's edge thing. As long as it is a project, a challenge, an endeavour (rather than a mere condition to be endured), then I can feel like I am choosing it, that I am living life on the front foot. But I must be ever vigilant that I never let it become an inevitability that I passively and begrudgingly accept like death and taxes. As soon as I do that then, yes, you are completely right, I would become a victim of her abuse. Thanks for your provocative post. Keeping this distinction in the forefront of my mind will help keep me on the right side of that divide, which is something that I need now more than ever.

One year three weeks and two days without sex

But who's counting?

The drought goes on.

Hey, that's not what was supposed to happen after the end of a year!

Where is my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?!?

We have talked, which was a great breakthrough. Not as big as I would have liked, but real watershed stuff by Sue's standards. (More about that another time.)

She tells me her libido is inching back to life, and that in the not-too-distant future she will come to me...

So for now, I continue to wait.

Trying to push things along would be counterproductive, so what other choice do I have?

Since Feeling Is First

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

e.e. cummings

thought for the day...

thought for the day: "You Can't Change Someone Else."

Second thought for the day: "Bugger!"

the future of nonogamy (sic)

So, I decided to push some boundaries tonight, and started to cuddle her as we watched a movie together. She let me, but didn't encourage or reciprocate. Then we went to bed, and I tried to cuddle her some more. Uh-oh! That was a cuddle too far. My feet were cold, she said. She got her nose out of joint. "No more cuddles!"

"Can we talk about it?"

"Stop interrogating me!" came the reply.

Hmm. That took some digesting.

We couldn't discuss it any further -- talking of any sort felt like interrogation to Sue.

Naturally I disagreed, but that's how she felt, so fair enough. She wanted space and wanted to drop it.

But I also wanted to tell her how I felt: that she never wants to touch me; never wants to be touched by me; never wants to talk about it; and never wants to do anything about it.

She said that was unfair and untrue.

"Fair enough, but that's how I feel," I replied. "Can you tell me how you see it differently, so I can understand where you're coming from on all this?"

"Stop interrogating me!"

That was the end of that. She agreed to tell me at some indeterminate time in the future.

We both stared at the ceiling for some minutes. The she picked her book back up and started reading again, and I went and brushed my teeth.

It wasn't the seamless segue from radio silence to openness that I had hoped for. But then, I didn't wait for just the right moment as I had originally wanted.

I waited for a year already, so there comes a time that perhaps a non-sexual cuddle is just not something you have to wait for the stars to align for.

I don't think anyone would accuse me of being impetuous (!) but perhaps it was not the most politically savvy thing in the world.

Then again, my life is not the high-drama of parliamentary politics. This is my wife, my intimate partner, we're talking about here, not SALT II negotiations nor the Great Game.

********

I have been celibate now for just over a year. Although celibacy was not part of my original public vow, it was a private one I made to myself. It is the longest I have been celibate since I first became sexually active in my youth. I even had more sex when I was single!

Which reminds me of a radio interview I heard with Noel Biderman, the creator of a cheating-facilitation website, Ashely Madison. Noel contended that his website was a good thing because it could help make marriages last longer. He pointed to France, Japan, Italy and other countries where affairs are more tolerated and more common -- and the divorce rate is lower.

No, rest assured gentle reader, I am not contemplating an affair in any way, shape or form. But his idea makes new sense to me. Sue and I are both in our marriage for life. That's the way our parents were, that's the way we are, and that's what we want to do for our kids.

Hollywood thinks of marriage as being about love, passion, and all kinds of romantic cliches. That's all great, but what do you do after the first few years when s/he loses all interest? What if one or both of you is unfulfilled despite all sorts of good faith efforts to get things back on track again? The D-bomb: divorce.

I wonder about political marriages that were made amongst the families of the aristocracy back in medieval times. A marriage was not a source of personal fulfillment, but a strategic alliance and a source of children.

Personal fulfillment, happiness, self actualization, and perhaps even a satisfying sex life were found elsewhere.

I prefer a society that smiles more readily on a marriage with infidelity, than on a divorce with fidelity. I don't live in a society like that, and I don't want to have an affair regardless. But I can see that it makes sense to have society allow another option besides either being joined at the hip with your spouse for life, or getting divorced.

I hesitate to publish this post, as I can see so many ways that it could be misconstrued as condoning inappropriate, unhealthy behaviour: sex addiction, deceit, betrayal, self-indulgence, even simply infidelity itself.

So be it.

*************

Monogamy without sex, touching, or even going out seems more like non-ogamy.

Neither a bang nor a whimper

Several times in the last few weeks and months, I longed to reach out to Sue. To talk to her about Stuff. But I didn't. I held my tongue and kept my vow. No matter how perfect the timing seemed to be, no matter how right the chemistry between us, no matter how aligned the stars of conversational success.

So, now the time has come. It was a year ago today that we were last "together" in the marital sense. (I must be feeling coy today to use such a quaint circumlocution!)

But today was not our day. The conversational stars were not aligned, the mood was not right, spring was not in the metaphorical air.

I've waited 52 weeks and said nothing. A grandiose gesture that could be taken crudely (my hard-headed plan to get laid!), nobly (my self sacrifice to give my lover the space to heal), or somewhere in between (me groping in the dark (so to speak) trying desperately to find some way forward for both of us).

Which of these meanings is true for me? I could write for hours on that, and perhaps be no closer at the end than at the beginning.

More to the point, which of these meanings will be true for Susan? How I am able to express myself to her will make all the difference.

Some messages can't wait, like "duck!" or "it's a boy!" or, "your father just passed away."

Others are best served up at the right time so the meaning is clear, and the impact is as is deserved: "I love you"; "Marry me"; "about this whole celibacy thing..."

I have put in the hard yards of silence and celibacy, whether for better or worse. And I don't want the effect of that to be undermined by blurting out at the breakfast table, "there! I made it! Now are you going to screw me, or what?!?" (Though the thought of it makes me smile; it would certainly be a memorable scene.)

So, I will wait a few hours or days more until the conversational stars are again aligned and I am feeling as if I almost have to physically restrain myself from brining it up.

And then, I pray, the words will come bubbling out naturally, comfortably, honestly and thoroughly. I pray we will have a meeting of the minds. That she will see the best in my motivations, not the worst. That we will be brought closer by it. And that we will, at the end of it all, choose to walk together on the lifelong journey of increased intimacy underpinned by healthy independence.

fake non-orgasms

So, tonight marks the 364th sex-free day.

Life has gotten comfortable.

Sue is happier, I'm happier, the kids are, mostly, happier.

For the past few weeks, life has been so busy (in a good way) that I have barely thought of my vow or this blog.

Susan continues to act as if nothing has changed between us, never acknowledging that my behavior around her has changed.

And I continue in the same vein, never explicitly suggesting that there is anything happening below the surface for me.

I am not sure what to say; or when; or how.

But I realized today that rather than her being grateful that I've done this, she may well be a bit pissed off: "You mean you DO still have a libido, and I DO still have to deal with all that male crap?"

Perhaps I've lulled her into a false sense of...? "Security" doesn't feel like the right word. I hope that her husband actually having a libido wouldn't make her feel unsafe!

I am not sure what to expect. Maybe it's easier to think of what I DON'T expect! Well... I certainly don't expect a prize, or overwhelming gratitude. (It would be nice, but somehow I doubt it's on the cards!) And I don't expect an exuberant three-day-long love making session. Again, it would be nice (albeit exhausting!), but undoubtedly not on the cards.

Maybe she'll feel the way I did when she (finally!) admitted to me that, no, she actually didn't like me touching her breasts, and never had (and presumably never would). And that, no, she didn't like kissing, and never had. And, actually, wasn't really interested in being touched much at all -- or in touching others.

I was disappointed; let down; depressed at the thought of it. It seemed that the light at the end of the tunnel that I had been looking for for years had just been not extinguished, but at least dampened down.

So maybe she will feel as if the light at the end of her tunnel has been moved further away from her as well. But I hope that she, like me, will be hopeful that somewhere in that long, dark tunnel of asexuality, we can meet in the middle.

Some women fake their orgasms to please (and hurry along!) their husbands. Husbands may find pleasure in the experience, but disappointment, even in the realization that it was all a sham. Susan may just feel the same about my faked lack of libido.

We'll soon see.

Freudian slap?

Ok, it didn't really feel like a slap. And maybe it wasn't Freudian. Who knows?

Sue dreamed last night that I was lying on top of her, and that her whole body ached as a result. And when she woke up, her whole body did ache.

Of course, the ache was caused by her migraine, and partly as a side effect of her medication.

She teased me a bit about her dream, and I tried to ask without asking whether there were some deeper meaning to this dream.

Sue is not really a deeper-meanings kind of a girl. She insisted that the whole cause of the dream was her mind trying to explain why she had a sore body.

Fair enough.

But any number of things can cause a person to be sore all over, especially in dream world. Why not a steamroller running her over? Or the after-effects of running a marathon? Or being burried in a pile of books?

Why did her subconscious chose the explanation of me lying on top of her?

I haven't done that for almost a year! :)

Is it about sex? Our relationship? Power?

Sue thought it was just about a headache.

Maybe she's right.

5 weeks to go!

47 weeks down and five to go. And, truth be told, it's getting harder. I am no longer "standing still in stasis" but am now seeing the end, thinking about what I will say, looking forward to new discussions, and with them, the chance for new emotional and physical intimacy.

And with that anticipation, I have to try all the harder to bite my tongue!

So I am working hard not to think about it.

Things were really good between Susan and me yesterday. The time would have ben so perfect to at least tentatively broach the topic. But then my silly vow reared its ugly head again, and I shut up.

Ouch!

In my minds eye, everything would be "happily ever after" once the year was up.

In reality, I can imagine her saying, "well, yes, I do have some issues there. And I need to work on them. So let's not have sex for a few months while I process the whole thing..."

In the good news department, Sue was being SO positive yesterday, and it was SO nice. And she was pointing out to me the importance of looking on the bright side of life, which was a bit of role reversal for us -- and a welcome one at that!

So perhaps some seeds that I've been planting over the last few years and few months are starting to sprout.

And maybe it will be the same with our sex life: the seed gets planted; tended; watered, and then at long last, a sprout comes up... and then a few years later, some fruit!

Will my year of celibacy be the end of this process -- the pruning just before the picking of the fruit?

Or is it more like merely tilling the soil in preparation for planting the seed?

Realistically, I am sorry to say I suspect it is more the latter rather than the former.

Some not-quite-random thoughts for the day:

You can't change someone else. A person has to want to change themselves.

Change is slow. Change is hard. That's why it's so difficult to lose weight, to take up (and keep up!) exercise, to quit smoking.

But change is possible.

"Neurons that fire together, wire together." -- this is the source of both our problem, and its solution. As a sexual abuse victim, Sue's neurons for sex, pleasure, pain, love, hate, fear and disgust all fired and wired together at a tender age.

"If men want women to want sex as much as they do, they must make sure that women enjoy it as much as they do." -- True, I'm sure, but only part of the problem with me and Sue. I don't think that it's the pleasure that's the problem, but the pain. More pleasure won't mask or erase the pain. Somehow those negative associations need to be erased independently. That is something that I can do little to nothing to influence. It's up to Sue and, if she choses, a good counsellor and/or support group.

I wonder if my silent vow of celibacy will have made it easier or harder for Sue to un-link those neurons that fired and wired together so many years ago. Sure, her life will have been easier, not worrying about me pestering her about sex. But that might have helped to make her mind associate in a different way: Sex/incest/dad/family/pain/bad; Mark/husband/celibate/family/comfort/good.

Of course, I would like her to be able to take sex out of the first paradigm, and put it into the second. But my being celibate with her may make it harder, not easier, for her to associate positive sexual feelings with me.

Perhaps -- and I am only speculating here -- my celibacy is unhelpful to her in the same way that staying away from a horse that you've just fallen off is an unhelpful way of preventing a fear of falling off horses.

On the other hand, perhaps the core issue here isn't sex, but power. And maybe my silent celibacy has helped make Sue feel empowered and confident in herself, and in our relationship.

I wonder if I will ever know the answers to all these questions?

False dichotomy?

They say that the endorphines and hormones released during sex can create intense feelings of love. Is the reverse also possible? If sex can create love, then can love also create sex?

I took my pledge of sexlessness over ten months ago now, and here I am 10 months in and going strong.

In the first few months, it was all I could do to hold my libido back: to bite my tongue, cross my legs, take cold showers.

But then it got easy, at least most of the time, and life returned to normal. I was happier in a lot of ways, because I wasn't being constantly rejected when making amorous overatures to my wife. (And, yes, of course it was ALWAYS me making the overatures.) Life has improved since the whole complicated "sex thing" has been taken out of the equation.

So, somewhere along the line, after getting over the idea that sex was a normal part of my life, I began to change the focus of this blog, from coping with unrequited lust to trying to improve our relationship.

Deep down, I guess I thought that if we were madly, truly, deeply in love (or as madly, truly, deeply in love as a couple can reasonably be after ten years of smelling each others morning breath, hearing each others bathroom noises, and being witness to other similar sins of familiarity that cohabitation inevitably produces), then the sex would inevitably follow.

Somehow, on some level, my task has shifted from "coping with sexlessness" to "trying to make the relationship thrive again."

A thriving relationship is, of course, good for all kinds of reasons, no t the least of which is to be able to cope with sexlessness.

I think a relationship can be successful without sex in much the same way that a meal can be excellent without any salt or sugar used in the cooking. That is, sure, it can happen; it just takes a damn site more planning and effort. A bit of creativity, determination, and gustatory good humour.

But the best meal in the world without salt and sugar will not, of itself, make the salt (or sugar) spontaneously rematerialize on the table.

And so I am coming to see that creating the best relationship in the world without sex will not, of itself, bring the sex back.

Nearing the finish line

Things are getting vaguely interesting again in this whole experiment thingymagig. A couple of months ago, I had gotten used to celibacy and felt like I was just marking time until my magic 12 month deadline rolled by.

Now at a mere seven weeks away, the end is in sight, and I am starting to take myself off auto pilot.

I need to start seriously thinking what I am going to say to Sue, how I am going to say it, and what (not to) expect in response.

Someone emailed me some excellent suggstions along these lines which, if she'll permit, I will share here. (I haven't asked her yet!)

Perhaps she's assuming that my libido has just died a death, in which case when I tell her the truth the might just react with "present face"

Well, I don't really expect that, but after seeing these delightful comedians on Sungold's blog, I couldn't resist the temptation to put in one of their videos.

And perhaps there will be a bit of "present face" after all. Or, at least, a face of awkward uncertainty of someone who doesn't know how to react or quite what to say.

All the more reason I will need to be clear in my own head what I think, feel and want.

On Death and Dying and Sex

Sex has been the last thing on my mind in the last week. It was a week ago today that I heard the fateful but expected news from my mother-in-law: her husband of 50 years had just died.

Sue and her mother are both "soldier on" types, and soldier on they did, with sadness, yes, and a few tears, and certainly a lot of lost sleep. But mostly it was graciouness, smiles, poise and grace. They did really well.

The funeral was a memorable affair. So odd! Held at a funeral parlour rather than a church, the ceremony was a bizarre mish-mash of Christian, new-age, secular and Buddhist philosophies. I couldn't get my head around it. A service conducted from the point of view of any of those philosophies would have been fine with me -- it would have felt honest and earnest. But a service from the point of view of ALL of those philosophies felt... a disengenuous, confused mish-mash of an affair. The celebrant had only met with the family for 10 minutes before feeling she had enough information to deliver her homily about the man whom she never met. Cliché after cliché came out. The best was: "He packed more into his 72 years than most pack into a lifetime!"

Huh?!?

The service was, of course, more than just this. It was a place for the family to mourn, a place and time for visitors and extended family to come together, a time where we could all get up and say what we admired and remembered fondly about "dad". I shouldn't encapsulate the whole experience by one thing that I found a bit off-putting.

And so it was, I found myself thinking, about Stan's life.

Everyone kept saying all these wonderful things about him, remembering the good times. There was a tinge of realism to the family's comments, though the celebrant really lionized him. But I kept thinking, "and he was a sexual abuser."

And it was tempting for me at times to think that all those good things that were said were a load of codswallop. That here people were honouring this man who was nothing more than a pedophile.

I looked across the room and saw his two granddaughters, both of whom he had abused. Sue was next to me, and all three had tears welling up in their eyes. Sue's sister was a row back, and I couldn't see her face. She, too, had been his victim.

It drove home to me that even a serial abuser like Stan is more than "just" an abuser. He was, also, a working man, a husband, a father. Like the service itself, Stan could not be said to be all bad or all good. He was a part of our family, and there will be an emptiness at future gatherings, where his laugh should have been. And he was also a pedophile who, thankfully, will never again damage another young soul.

It's amazing to think that it's not just "young souls" that he may have damaged, either. Stan's abuse has put a strain on my relationship with Sue, which in turn has had an effect on our children. If we can't sort it out, then it may be that his self indulgent actions from 30 years ago could result in our divorce, and have a major effect on our children -- and on their future relationships. Where does it end?

How many abusers, like Stan, go to their grave as a family secret -- never publicly accused. Never pilloried. Never divorced or even completely estranged from their victims. The secret, I suspect, will die with Sue, her sister, and the (now adult) grandchildren. Will anyone else ever find out?

One of Stan's uncles came and stayed with us. He was the picture of sweetness, helpfulness, and unobtrusiveness. He is a very elderly man, now, and very affectionate to our children, giving them hugs and pats on the back, motivated, no doubt, by warmth and affection.

Was that what motivated his brother, Stan? A need for affection that knew no quenching? Not a power trip, not a sick fetish, but a profound thirsting to be loved? A thirst so big that it turned fatherly affection to damaging, hurtful, amorous acts?

I make absolutely no apology for the man or his actions. More than once while he was still alive did I entertain fantasies of confronting him -- hitting him, punching, kneeing in the gut. I also had fantasies before and during the funeral of the truth coming out. Not to shame him or his memory, but to be honest about it. A funeral, though, is a ritual. We come together to ritually lionize the dead, to comfort the bereaved, to leave unsaid those things best left unsaid. An hour for a glimpse at the casket, a hug, a few words from speakers, a ceremonial carrying of the coffin to the hearse, a cup of coffee and a muffin and see you at christmas. Grief for a rushed society.

I went to a funeral once that lasted three days. Everyone who came from outside the village was welcomed one at a time, with long speeches and greetings. Then their were hours of talks in the meeting house, where every person was given the chance to say their peice about the dead man.

Much of the ceremony was conducted in a language I didn't speak, so I don't know exactly what was said. Perhaps it was the same plattiudes as I heard (and spoke) at Stan's funeral, just repeated over and over.

But I would like to believe that there was scope over such a long funeral to speak the truth of a man. To remember his attributes as excatly what they were: some good, some bad, some sublime, some nefarious. And perhaps if we knew, at least at his death, the full truth of each man's life, then the shock of it would not be so great, the scandal not so scandalous, and the healing, therefore, not so tortuous.

@@@@@@@@@@@@

As for Sue, we mentioned the abuse once, a night or two before the funeral. I asked her how she came to find out that her older sister had also been abused. She started to tell me, then snapped at me angrily to drop it. I don't know what angered her about it: reflecting on the memory; besmirching a deadman's name; or merely a topic she had grown tired of.

She told me it came out years later. Something her sister's husband had said to her mother. But she had told me long before that, although she didn't like the abuse, she had also felt rejected because her father abused her sister more than her.

It looks like Sue, who is normally very honest, lied to me. Perhaps that's why she snapped at me -- so I wouldn't ask her questions that would mean she would have to tell more and more of a lie. Thirty years on, and she's still not comfortable enough about the whole thing to merely say, "hey, I'm not really comfortable talking about this. Can we drop it?"

@@@@@@@@@@@@

Sue has seemed in quite good spirits over the last week. She has mourned, to be sure, and is very sad at the loss of her father. But nonetheless, she seems somehow more laidback, more relaxed, a little freer and happier.

It might just be her week off of work, and the implicit permission that a crisis gives us not to worry about the normal routines. Or maybe it was because I was making an extra effort to look after her and do my bit around the house. Perhaps she was just putting the best face on things. Or perhaps, on some level, her father's passing was a release from her childhood abuse, and all the unhappy feelings she had from him in her youth -- his yelling, his indifference to her academic achievements, his complete incapacity to do housework or look after himself. All this was on top of the sexual abuse.

Does the death of an abuser help their victim get over the pain? It could be a release, of course. Or it could also mean that she could never get closure with him, now that he is not here to hear what he did to her, to apologize to her, to ask her forgiveness.

@@@@@@@

Too soon:

I got some books out of the library. Laura Davis' "The Courage to Heal" and "The Courage to Heal workbook," self help books for adult victims of childhood sexual abuse. I asked Sue months ago if she was interested, and she said yes, she'd have a look at them if they were from the library. She would buy them if they looked worthwhile.

So, I had some free time in the days between Stan's death and his funeral, and I got them out. Now I have them hidden in a stack of books, waiting for the right moment.

She has enough on her mind right now. I'm worried that if I gave her the books now, she would think I had a sexual agenda: "Your dad is dead, so now can I bone ya?"

On the other hand, this could be perfect timing, while all the emotions are fresh and raw. The books could help her find a healthy step forward and help heal newly reopened wounds.

But when a woman doesn't talk about her emotions, the man in her life is just flying blind. There is only so far you can get with deconstructing gestures, and parsing tone of voice. So who knows.

9 1/2 years without sex???

So, "Brad", my younger cousin, is going through a rough patch in his life. I have been supporting him for a wee while, and I thought I knew him very well. So I was amazed to learn that he and his girlfriend of 9 1/2 years (they've been living together for 7), have never had intercourse.

Why?

She has no libido.

What's odder still about this is that she is his first girlfriend. So... he's a virgin. Well, they do have sexual relations of a sort, just not normal intercourse -- so I guess it depends on what your definition of virginity is. It's something she doles out to him as a sort of favor once or twice a week. She's bored by it, and so he's none to thrilled with the experience either.

He hopes to have children with her one day. I wonder how that is going to happen?

I am reminded of a couple I read about who actually got married and were together for some years before they had sex for the first time. She got pregnant, and that was the end of it. A couple of years later, she wanted another child, so they had sex again. She got pregnant, and that was the end of it again.

She had been badly sexually abused as a child, and had never recovered.

In the end, he left her and married someone else. They started a new family together, and had a normal sex life.

So I am left wondering... where do we draw the line? Should men in long-term sexless relationships cut their losses and find someone they feel more comfortable with? Or should they put up with years of frustration and lack of sexual fulfillment? And if they (or, rather, we) should put up with it. . . then why? To what end? We should live unfulfilled lives because our wives no longer have libidos and aren't willing to do anything about it?

Of course, there may be good reason to stay in an imperfect relationship. Kids; a family buisness; the reality that no relationship is perfect, etc. And, of course, it's different if the woman (or, for that matter, the man -- low libido can strike men, too!) is willing to get medical and/or psychological help to work her way through the block to her libido. But when her response is "shrug -- like it or lump it honney, it's who I am, what I am, where I am" then a man surely has to consider his options.

I am nowhere near the point of cutting my losses, but 9 1/2 years?!?! I mean _wow_! Just how long is a boy supposed to wait?

There's more to say on this, I'm sure, but it's late and I'm tired and losing my train of thought.

"Say goodnight, Gracie."

"It's not you, it's me"

A woman wrote in to an advice columnist recently, complaining that her husband had pulled back from the relationhip. The columnist replied that that was perfectly possible, and that the husband might be depressed. She should discuss that with his GP. BUT, the columnist noted that it was also possible that it was the woman who had changed, not her husband. If so, she needed to find other outlets for her energy (a hobby, new friends), rather than turn to her husband to make her life be more fulfilled.

This column spoke to me, because I've been feeling like Susan has been particularly absent from our relationship recently. But I've also thought... no, maybe it's me. Maybe I've become clingy and needy. How unsexy is that?!? I've realised I was unhappy with the way things were, and that she was unwilling or unable to meet my needs. So I've been reaching out to new friends, and finding excitement in new activities. I got my cello out for the first time in years, and had an excellent match of tennis with a friend.

It's felt great! So refreshing! So fulfilling! Somehow I was waiting for Sue to meet my needs, but by going out there and looking after myself, not only were my needs met, but, even better, I felt empowered in the process! I once again felt like the captain of my fate, master of my destiny... well, a little bit, anyway! (Being in a family is surely nothing if not a tradeoff between companionship and independence.)

But then I began to wonder about the endgame. Of course, I can go my own way and feel independent, happy and fulfilled. (And a bit lonely -- but that's another story.) But just as it's possible for a couple to be too clingy and codependent, so also can couples grow apart and learn to not love each other, not need each other, not want each other.

Sue and I went through just such a stage once upon a time.

So... right. Far enough apart that we meet our own needs, but close enough together that we don't lose touch.

This life business sure is a tricky one! Why is it that they teach Calculus and French in high schools, but not how to have a successful marriage? I know which is more important to me; which I want more for my children; and which will ultimately make me a more productive, happier, and more well adjusted member of society.

Yes, I can conjugate verbs with the best of them; decline nouns in my sleep; take the second derivative of binomial equations without batting an eyelash. But finding just the right balance between independence and intimacy in my marriage? Now that takes some serious effort!

Is it normal to have sex after marriage?

So, everyone jokes about how little sex there is after marriage.

And sex after kids? forget it!!!

And so we spend huge hours worrying about this. Talking about it. Reading books. Seeing the doctor, the shrink. Taking medications.

All, it seems, in pursuit of the notion that we should all have as much sex as we did in our twenties. Not doing it 2.5 times per week? Something is wrong! Never mind if you're in your 40s and have multiple small children, as well as two careers, multiple bills and the family dog to juggle.

The point is, maybe there is a stereotype that people don't have much sex after marriage (and especially after kids) because this is NORMAL! Now there's a radical thought! Perhaps some (much? most??) of the wailing and gnashing of teeth that we have over our collective lack of sex (ok, that I have over my personal lack of sex!) is based on the entirely false assumption that we should still be having sex like we did in that summer after the junior year of college.

Sure we (ok, I!) would love to be having that much sex again. But I would also love to be as fit as I was back then, too. And to have as good a memory. And as much hair. And... etc, etc, etc.

Of course, couples that are having that extra sex do seem to be enjoying it, (Bully for them!) but that doesn't make it somehow pathological that I am now so chaste.

I can worry all I like about sex, and sure, the topic can wind me up at times. But for a guy like me to worry about it says I am already doing pretty darn well on Maslow's hierarchy of needs.

I mean, I am not worrying about my next meal, my job, my health, my family's health. We live in peace and prosperity and our family is reasonably harmonious. And it is only because of all of this that I can worry about (and indulge myself so far as to write a blog about!) sex as much as I do.

Looking at Maslow's hierarchy more closely, I am intrigued to see that it is not nearly so high as I assumed.

I am also intrigued to see that sex is listed in two different positions: once on the same level as food, clothing and shelter; and then again higher up along with friendship and family.

Hmm. It all seemed so simple when I started this posting. But that hierarchy has got me wondering again.

Sex as a basic physiological need?

Curiouser and curiouser.

This whole sex thing would be pretty hard to figure out even if it were something our society had a healthy discourse about.

As it is, it feels rather like the classic enigma wraped in a riddle, shrouded in a mystery.

incommunicado

How can a woman not want to talk to her husband about their relationship? I thought that's what women were supposed to be all about. Sure that's a stereotype, but stereotypes don't generally come from nowhere. I guess she is one of the outliers.

But, damn, hasn't she ever watched Oprah!?! Doesn't everyone know that communication is the key to a happy relationship?

And, no, we weren't talking about anything sensitive like her personal history. More generic stuff like, "why haven't you built the dog house yet, Mark?"

But getting to that was like pulling teeth. And she was angry that I wanted to talk at all. Asking her why it made her angry made her angrier still.

Whew!

What's a boy to do?!?

Incidentally, I had a paranoid flurry this afternoon, wondering if she had cheated on me. Later on I was up some scaffolding which made me rather nervous. Would those tiny bolts and rotten-looking planks really hold my weight? I walked softly, and my imagination of how I might crash to the earth went into over-drive.

After an hour of walking around, I felt great -- as if I was on terra firma. And the anxieties about infidelity disappeared, completely replaced by the exhileration of wandering around 30 feet up in the air on a beautify sunny day.

And I realized that these two experiences were linked. I had anxiety about heights, which sent my imagination into overdrive, making my anxiety worse. I tested out my theories of plummeting to the earth by walking around. I didn't fall. I gained confidence. And soon all thought of rotten wood or loose bolts disappeared from my mind as if nothing more than a dream.

I think that's why I wanted so badly to reach out to Sue tonight to talk. Subconsciously my anxieties about her fidelity had not yet been tested and disproven. Not that I wanted, or needed, to raise that question with her directly. Rather, I think I needed to reconnect with her emotionally. When I walked on the scaffolding, my fear was that the wood or the bolts wouldn't hold me -- but I didn't check a single bolt, or examine any of the wood. My groundless fears were answered simply by walking around and not falling. I came to feel safe. So it was with Sue. I didn't want to probe the technical question of fidelity. I think subconcsciously I wanted to connect with her; to feel safe with her; to form a bond with her. With that bond of communication in place, the anxieties disappear of their own accord. Without it my mind becomes their plaything in which they fester and multiply, driving me nuts, and no doubt subtly undermining our relationship as well, even if I never give voice to them.

nine months in and blah blah blah

So, we're nine months in and three to go.

Long enough to gestate a baby.

And, I'm kind of over it.

I don't have much interest in sex recently. Which is, under the circumstances, an unequivocally good thing!

And biding my time doesn't seem a challenge any more.

I kind of feel like it's all downhill from here.

I can kind of just turn my mind off and wait.

But... that thought is a bit of a worry. Turn my mind off to this whole issue? To tune out to sex and the whole area of emotional and physical intimacy seems so much like tuning out of our relationship in general.

I don't know. I just don't feel like I have the energy to get all worked up about the whole thing any more.

What's a boy to do?

To My Coy Wife

To his Coy Mistress

by Andrew Marvell

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.