i am currently on a romantic date with myself. so far, the date consists of me, a hot bathtub full of bublles, some scented candles, the book cunt,
this journal and pen [i originally wrote this in my journal and then transferred it to my blog], a glass of white wine, and some music [currently “Attaboy” by Stuart Duncan, Chris Thile, Edgar Meyer, and Yo-Yo Ma. i adore this song].
i feel good.
two or three weeks ago, i told my wife that i needed some romance, if she wanted to have sex. it was extremely liberating, though i felt guilty at first. we hadn’t had sex in a bit– after nearly five years, i have finally come closer to accepting the fact that sex happens in waves, at least for us. so while i definitely wanted to have sex, i definitely did not want some quick fuck followed by a week or two of another dry spell- i have learned from experience that that only makes me feel worse in the long run.
what i want is romance, leading up to great sex. i want to feel sexy and warm and wanted, desired. i want her to work for it and i don’t want her to stop at dinner and i don’t want her to stop at dessert; i only want her to stop after i have come at least two or three times and we are lying tangled up naked together, sweaty and pink, looking at each other and really seeing one another.
one of my favorite memories of us is when we first got together, and she asked me if i could come more than once. i said yes. she asked me if i could come more than twice– i, more quietly, nodded and again said yes. i could feel her excitement; i could feel her get hot for me. another favorite early memory of mine is when she made me come and come and come, over and over again. later we counted- seven orgasms. i have never felt more divine. it was sexual and surreal and scary and i felt closer to some type of higher power than ever. i felt that there was a higher power that was somehow inside of me. i was a participating part of the universe and everything seemed to be still and volcanic at the same time. it all made sense.
so yeah. that’s what i want again. it doesn’t have to be that extreme [although if it was, i definitely wouldn’t stop it!] but it needs to be more than a quick wham, bam, thank you ma’am! that somehow leaves me feeling violated. the hottest part of that night wasn’t just how many times i came, but how she wanted to make me come that many times. she didn’t get tired or stop after one or two or even three climaxes– she wanted to make me come that much; she didn’t want to stop. it wasn’t work, it wasn’t excessive, it wasn’t too time-consuming and i wasn’t being selfish.
a couple of times since i expressed my need for some romance, she has said she wants to have sex. now i, for one, very rarely [if ever] say no to sex, but right now i am really trying to stick to my guns. it felt weird to say no, but it would’ve felt wrong to say yes. when she asked why, i reminded her of the romance. she seemed to get annoyed, and it crushed me that my wanting romance irritated her. she said to me, “that stuff will take two days!! i don’t have time for that!” and my heart sank. since when is romance too much work?! we are NOT that couple. we get each other flowers for no reason; i light candles and play music constantly because it just feels good. i was shocked to hear her complain about it and my first instinct was to lash out or yell about how there is NO WAY it would take two days to have a simple dinner at home with a few cheap extras– and secondly, even if it did, i originally mentioned this two or three weeks ago— there have been plenty of “two days” since then.
but i didn’t say that, and i’m glad i didn’t get angry with her.
i used to feel guilty for masturbating, i used to feel guilty for wanting more sex, i used to feel guilty for constantly fantasizing. i thought maybe i was a sex addict, or maybe bisexual, or maybe just really fucking selfish.
i might be doing something wrong; i might be doing lots of things wrong. but at least i know what i want and i’m not afraid to ask for it.