Perfect Ending

This post, when I originally started it, was supposed to be called The Map. I was going to talk about my great therapy session and how it had provided me a roadmap to figuring things out and maybe even dealing with them. I was going to talk about my decision to provide my wife with 90 days of celibacy. I was going to talk about our celebration of that 90 days as well as my 10th day of sobriety.

I don’t get to write that post anymore. I had started writing during a small break in our conversation. I had just told her about the gift I was giving her- 90 days of no-pressure celibacy. She was shocked. I think she was happy. She might have smiled. She got up and helped one of our kids with something or another. And then she came back.

Upon her return, I began discussing my therapy session.
:::cue the storm clouds:::
I told her how the Good Doctor said that her issue with my privates would like my be cleared up after that 90 day time off. I told her about him telling me that I don’t trust anyone.

:::DANGER, DANGER:::
I should have seen the reaction as it was happening. When the words, “I don’t trust anyone” came from my mouth, she withdrew and lay down on our bed. She stopped looking at me.

Oh, please do continue, dumbass
I told her how I really don’t trust anyone. I don’t trust me, I don’t trust her and I don’t trust God.
:::More Withdrawal:::
“Why do you not trust me?”
The last 2 times we had sexual encounters, you told me just the other day that they were your duty. You keep information from me to ‘protect’ me. You leave out information because you don’t want to hurt my feelings. I see that as deception; lying through omission.
:::Torrential Downpour in 3…2…

It was the part about sex that started the argument.
“I have only been good to you, and you don’t trust me?”
You misled me about the sex.
“No, I didn’t.”

We discussed that duty sex can also be intimate. I didn’t see how.
“I can do something I don’t want to do, in order to make you feel good, and have intimacy.”

This was a long discussion point. I eventually came to her side. That still leaves the omissions…they remain unaddressed.

It was decided that we cannot discuss our therapy with one another.

This conversation was MEANT to be a happy one. I wax excited when I texted her, after my session, that we had a lot to talk about. I stopped and bought a bottle of wine. I had butterflies on my stomach as I drove home. I was do excited to tell her about the 90 days of celibacy.

And it turned into a shit storm.

We tried to discuss boundaries. She listed a couple of things. I listed a couple. I asked what was allowed.
“Kissing, hugging, anything as long as it doesn’t involve making out.”
Define making out.
“Anything I didn’t mention. I am not comfortable with anything else.”
What about French kissing?
“I never liked it.”

I told her that this must have been the case for several years. She stopped doing that, for the most part, as far back as I can remember.

Do you have a problem with my mouth!
“I guess I do.”
What does it make you think of?
“I think of you sucking dicks. Whose did you suck? How many did you suck?”
We need to take kissing off of the table.
“Why? I only think about it when the kissing is passionate.”
I’m uncomfortable with it now.

I got to hear about what she thinks of when she sees/accidentally feels my junk again. And now I find out that when she sees my mouth, she thinks about me sucking dick. That’s a perfect ending to this shitty-ass day. Perfect.

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About MyJourney

I'm a 41 year old married father of 3. I am a sex addict. This blog is to document my progress, recovery and marital growth. Pornography is an evil creation. Let my experiences serve as a warning to all.
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