Little fragments of the day, not that they cohere into any kind of unified picture. Wife called me at work saying she had a fever and felt like shit, so she would take the boys to their sporting event this afternoon but wouldn't stay there with them. She was going home and back to bed; so could I please make sure to leave work on time so I could get to the sporting event before it was over and pick them up? Sure, no problem.
Of course, as soon as the words left her mouth for my ear, I began interpreting. Roughly put, I could think of three possible meanings for this request:
- Wife was truly sick and meant everything exactly the way she said it.
- Wife wanted to be alone so she could spend the afternoon feverishly IM-ing with Boyfriend 5, probably about something juicy that she didn't want to have anybody else accidentally read (such as one of the boys wandering in to ask "Mom, can I have a snack?")
- Wife wanted to be left alone for sex: either fucking somebody else (less likely, because her current flame is far away) or masturbating (more likely).
And of course I wanted to know which it was. So I left work a bit early and drove home before driving to the sporting event.
When I got home, Wife was in bed. She was alone and not moving, and looked like she really did feel like shit. But I think my guess wasn't entirely wrong, because there was a bottle of personal lubricant on the nightstand. It hadn't been there this morning, and God knows it wasn't there on my account: it has been way too long since we fucked last, and I don't expect that to change any time soon. My guess is that she was using it by herself, especially since I could see that the storage box where she keeps her vibrators looked a bit rearranged. And it's important for me to add that this is no big deal for me. Wife has been suffering from anorgasmia for months; it does not surprise me for a minute that she would be trying her own response to see if there was any sign of a breakthrough ... any sign that she could once again come freely and thoroughly.
All these thoughts took a fraction of a second. But I said nothing about the lubricant and just asked if I could get her anything. Yes, how about a glass of water. I got her the water, leaving the room for about thirty seconds. When I got back, the lubricant had vanished.
Now what was the point of that? Did she hope that I hadn't seen it the first time? How silly! Did she hope that I wouldn't notice it? I notice all kinds of little things -- and the fact that it suddenly vanished called way more attention to it than if she had just left it alone. Was she afraid that I was going to say something embarrassing, or yank back the covers to see if her vibrator was still inside her, or ask to watch? I know she thinks I have the refinement of a Neanderthal, so yes, she probably feared all those things. But I have also learned that our sex life is pretty well a lost cause, so I really had no intention of approaching her that way. (Besides which, I could see her vibrator back in its storage box where it belongs. So I knew that she wasn't really in flagrante delicto.) I guess I shouldn't expect her to read my mind, however.
I don't know that this little incident means anything larger, except that Wife cannot stand to admit that she is ever doing something for pleasure. (I discussed that point several months ago, in this post.) And the inhibition is especially bad when it comes to sex, for reasons that I have speculated about in this post. But you know, this is even something we have talked about. I guess talk doesn't help much when you are facing deep emotional conflicts. But for years I have tried to tell her she shouldn't be shy about my knowing when she masturbates. What is the big deal? Last year she finally countered, fairly savagely, "Well I never know when you masturbate! Why is it OK for you to have some privacy but not me?" Fair question. The real answer is that I usually don't get around to it until I'm about ready to go to bed, by which time she has been asleep for hours. But I could see how this would bug her. So after that I actually made a deliberate attempt (from time to time) to masturbate in front of her, while she was awake, so that she wouldn't think I was advocating some kind of double standard. I think this just fed her belief that I am an uncultured cretin, however. Anyway, I still think it was silly of her to rush so quickly to hide the lubricant. But whatever.
Later on, she bitched at one of the boys for doing something that bugged her. I stepped in to discipline him, hoping (at some level) to get at least a little recognition from Wife that I was on her side. No such luck. She carried on as if I had done nothing whatever. This made me mad and I barked some things I didn't mean. But later I tried to explain to her that I was sorry for yelling at her, but really all I had wanted was a simple "Thank you" for taking her side. What I got instead was a refusal to recognize that I even existed, and of course that hurt like Hell.
And then it hit me: there was nothing at all out of the ordinary or surprising about the way she acted. It was 100% consistent with the way she has acted at other times too. In fact, this is part of why our sex life has been so piss-poor for so long.
Wife's mother -- back when she was alive -- had this weird and highly destructive habit: she was totally incapable of praising anybody who was in the room and could hear her. All the time Wife was growing up, her mother would say "Your sister is so wonderful, why can't you be like her? She's so much thinner and prettier than you are, and she's so popular and charming, and she's always got dates so she won't die an old maid like you will." Wife grew up thinking that her big sister was the favored one in the family, and that she [Wife] was hated and scorned and barely tolerated. But at her mother's funeral, she heard her big sister confide how painful it had been growing up in Wife's shadow: "Oh it was terrible; Mom was always telling us about how smart you were, and about the clever and important things you were doing in that prestigious college you went to, and about how proud of you she was! It was obvious to me that you were the favored girl, and that Mom had no respect for me whatsoever. Can you imagine how horrible that was?" Funny thing, but Wife could imagine it all too easily.
The point is that I think Wife learned from this technique, as much as she also suffered from it. If something is actually good, it is like pulling teeth for Wife to admit it. She would rather be silent. While she can praise trivial shit that doesn't matter, she can't express honest praise or honest gratitude without the greatest difficulty. (Come to think of it, that may explain part of my experience with foreplay early in our marriage, as described here.) On the other hand, when something is less than good, she does not hesitate to slice it to ribbons with cutting invective that is intelligent, colorful, and endless. It is not too much of an exaggeration to say that if Wife is talking, she is complaining.
What does this have to do with our sex life? Well, one of the reasons Wife doesn't want to fuck me is that she thinks I am a complete boor in the bedroom. And, truthfully, she's not that far wrong. Only I plead as an extenuating circumstance that this is exactly how she trained me to be. Years ago I was much more sensitive and patient and caring about lovemaking. And the result of putting in all that effort (sometimes for hours) was that she would either say nothing at all or else complain -- and often, once she had had her orgasm, she would close her legs and roll over, leaving me to masturbate or else to live in frustration! What I learned was that she would punish me for being a caring and sensitive lover. As a boor, however, at least I stand a better chance of getting my orgasm; and really, statistically, she has been about as likely to orgasm when I am boorish as when I am caring. So I can't really see that she is a lot worse off this way, and I know that I am way better off. And that sounds like a win to me. She doesn't like it, but it was at her knees that I learned it.
And we wonder why our marriage is so difficult. Everything that either of us does (so it seems) generates a feedback loop that makes the results worse and worse and worse on both sides. Wife blames me. I guess I blame her. It doesn't seem to get us anywhere.
Do these two stories have anything in common? Maybe not, except they both happened today. And they both illustrate troubles that make our marriage harder than it needs to be. I'd like to say that they also both prove that everything under the sun is Wife's fault and not mine, but I know that nothing is ever really so tidy. Oh well.
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