Last night I wrote a very heartfelt (read: terrible) poem about missing the touch of My Bride. It was brought on by an interaction we had just had, as well as the fact there has been EXTREMELY limited physical interaction betwixt the two of us for nearly 3 months. Aside from the occasional quick hug/peck that I initiate, there ain’t nuthin goin on.
Last night I took a shot. I asked her for sex. I have made ZERO sexual requests since I have been home (June 6, 2014) from our separation. I knew she didn’t want it and has no desire, but I’m a wee bit on the frisky side and was thinking she might be willing to…you know.
We had been in bed for a few moments. Instead of the normal dicking around for 10-20 minutes, I stepped to the plate and just asked. “Can we have sex?” No, I can’t. “How about a hand job?” I can’t do it. “Ok, can we hold onto each other for a minute or two then?”
I had been on my side, facing her. After a few moments of silence, I knew what the answer was; another rejection. I rolled onto my stomach and lay there for a moment. Then the tears began flowing. Huge tears that stung my eyes. They washed down my face and soaked my pillow.
I have no idea if she was aware of my tears. But a few moments into my crying, she reached over and put a hand on my arm. THAT is the state of intimacy in our marriage. She touches my arm. It made the tears increase.
I KNOW I’m in a much healthier place than I was during and before our separation. Before those tears would have turned into weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. Last night, just tears. I felt myself come to the point of going over the precipice, but I realized it and retrained a BIT of composure.
If you’re new to this blog, that’s a major victory.