I’ve Grown, Sexually
But I don’t want to grow out of my marriage.
What happens when you have a truly dead bedroom? As in- my wife and I have had sex three times since April 2022?
What happens when you've grown, sexually and otherwise, whilst your partner has “shrunken”… not passionate about the things in life (sexually and otherwise) that they were passionate about before?
In fact, what happens when your partner just wants to exist, with seemingly zero passions any more? And what happens when it’s that time in life- empty nest now- when you want to branch out and enjoy more of what you deserve, while your mind and body are still (hopefully) being good to you?
And what happens when your partner wants to “shrink” more, or, keep their recently evolved “shrunken state” as their status quo in life?
What happens when they’ve decided that they’re done with certain realms of life, sexually and otherwise? Especially sexually?
And what happens when additionally, it’s that time when you want to take the personal and sexual growth you’ve experienced in life, with your now-matured self-confidence, and expand your wings, to be your authentic sexual self?
What happens when your partner thus seemingly wants to go out to pasture- in middle age, we’re not ancient- when you’re ready to blow out your empty nest status together, and maximize your evolved and evolving life-long fantasies together… and instead of being your partner in this new phase of life, she wants to disappear? And when you seek some sort of flexibility, some sort of freedom on your own, then, you are refused and held hostage to vows?
What happens when you love this person (otherwise) but you can’t go on like this?
Yes, I want to have this expanded journey together. That’s my fantasy. But it won’t happen.
Yes, I’m human and have resorted to friends-with-benefits situations, very sporadically and not often enough, to maintain my sanity. I’ve had to. I’m not going to debate the morality of this with anyone, though. Anyone who can’t believe that it’s kept me sane, will never understand my desperation. I am a sexual individual, and it’s like I’ve been living 30% of my life for years. (I only mentioned the dead bedroom sex-count above since April 2022, but it’s been mostly so since roughly 2008, with one two-year span where things were actually good.)
But my friends with benefits are hundreds and even thousands of miles away, and having extra-marital sex sessions maybe twice a year, even though a partial release valve, doesn’t cut it either.
Plus, I’ve worked from home for years (since way before it became cool) so I’ve got so few women in my orbit… additionally, everyone in the community for miles around knows my wife, and they all recognize me. No way to hide, in my locale. And the online “seeking” world is a cesspool. I’m a veteran of the online hunt. I’m not unattractive, I smell good, LOL, I’m educated, intelligent, and well-spoken, but finding my female counterpart, a female counterpart in the dead bedroom world, has been impossible. So the extra-curriculars haven’t been exactly flowing, and prospects are poor.
I don’t want to end my marriage. At best, my wife would come around to like it was originally, or even during those two good years within the long dead-bedroom era, plus more. At a minimum, some sort of official you’re free, but don’t ask, don’t tell would kind of suffice. (We have a loose and unsettled, provisional version of that right now.) But it’s extremely difficult for solo men out there, in that world that I’d like to explore.
And I need to say this. I’m all about compersion.
Compersion is “our wholehearted participation in the happiness of others. It is the sympathetic joy we feel for somebody else, even when their positive experience does not involve or benefit us directly. Thus, compersion can be thought of as the opposite of jealousy and possessiveness.” — WhatIsCompersion.com
In other words, I get off, hugely, on giving her pleasure, on her receiving pleasure. It’s one of the major things that drives me sexually. If compersive is indeed a word, I’m definitely compersive.
Additionally, as an aside, I’m one of those seemingly rare men that respect women who are sexually free and assertive. I celebrate the slut, and the cumslut. (You want to get gang-banged? After my turn, LOL, I’ll help hold your legs up if you’re getting tired, and bring you a clean towel and a beverage when you need one.) I’m one of those seemingly rare people who do not judge people by their sexual proclivities- if you like to enjoy an orgy in a pile of flesh, I’m all for you (and jealous, can I please get an invite?), and I will only judge you by whether you are a good or bad person, not by your fantasies and how you live them out. I celebrate anything that two or more consenting adults want to do together.
(What follows is an exceedingly short version of a months-long process, but let’s continue.) When we went empty nest, I asked her about us mutually satisfying all of our fantasies together. I know she has (or had) them. I’ve seen the books she’s read, and more. I know what our sexual past was, when it was good. I made it clear that anything and everything she wanted was on the table. No judgment, no fears. Want to get railed by a young guy(s)? Go for it. Anything at all? Go for it. I’m compersive. Her pleasure is my pleasure.
I bared my soul. I offered her a total freedom offered by few.
I followed the advice of swinging or similar couples I had read about and communicated with in-person, who had started around our ages, at our life stage, and their universal mantra was “open up, we never dreamed that our partner was thinking the same way”.
Also, referring to when our sexual times were good, she was always playful, explorational, and sexual, in that sense. In fact, we were once going to go to a BDSM fetish party, but real life intervened, schedule-wise. Kids, ya know, but now we were empty nest.
So after I bared my soul, my ultimate reveal, in one of the most vulnerable situations I have ever been in, I was shot down, but not in the way you might think. She claimed she (suddenly) had no desires to satisfy. Really wasn’t interested in sex that much, if at all, anymore.
In fact, as I stated, she’s passionless about anything anymore. The three times we’ve had sex in memorable history, it seemed more chore for her than enjoyment.
I can’t just exist. I don’t want to give up on us. If I can’t renew her interest and passions, I need a local friend-with-benefits. I want to attend a swing club, I want to immerse myself into an orgy. I want to find out where the good private parties are, and snag an invite. I want to do so many things on my Fuck-It Bucket List.
I’m not shy, my friends-with-benefits opportunities have been varied, adventurous, and quite wild, if rare, due to distance. I’ve even checked a few items off my Fuck-It Lists. But I can’t keep my sanity when sex is rare. I’m not only a sexual person, but a sexually adventurous person.
I’m going to say that it’s not depression, she sees a shrink regularly for preventative maintenance and that hasn’t changed over thirty years, even while our sex lives have waxed and waned, and when it’s been great. She’s a little scared about her job and sexual visibility, but there’s plenty of opportunities to let loose sexually well-outside our zip code, but within an hour’s driving distance. And it’s not a lot of things you may want to suggest or ask me about, because select trusted friends have already asked me about all these possible factors.
I just know that I’m sexual. I need to explore sexually. I need to satisfy the fantasies and Fuck-It Lists. If she doesn’t want to be sexual any more, I need to be fully released to let her enjoy her “sexual retirement” while granting me my sexual freedom.
Not that this is a great solution- as I’ve stated, I still need a friend, a sexual partner for exploration as a sexual couple, even if just friends. (I’ve done that in my friends with benefits situations, and understand respect and friendship can co-exist with lots of sex and not falling in love or anything beyond respect and good friendships.
I have drawn, and know how to draw that line. The story I’ve written here, A Café in Vienna, is fiction, but based on substantial nuggets of real-life truth, especially the respect and friendly relationships with friends with benefits.
I wish I knew where to go from here, but I must move forward. Somehow. Comments welcome.
PS- If you are a woman who may be my dead-bedroom counterpart in South Florida, USA, don’t be afraid to write.
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