Satisfaction Brought It Back

Let's talk about sex, baby.

I mean, how important it is to you in a relationship? How important is it to monogamous people? Polyamorous people? What is the optimal amount of sex you'd like to be having? What do you do when that need is not fulfilled?

I'll admit it. Sex is pretty important to me. And that makes my relationships kinda tough.

Let me start with my primary relationship: Ark. At the beginning of the relationship, the sex was great: frequent, exploratory, enthusiastic. As we settled in, the sex died down of course, but it still happened often and still retained passion. After we moved away from home and began to experience the real world as a couple (later married), there were moments where the sex simply wasn't happening, but all it would take was for me to bring it up and we'd be having sex again. It wasn't that neither of us wanted it, but that we were too busy or too stressed or too tired to consider it. I felt, and often feel like, I am the only one missing it and craving it back in my life.

But, now, here's a different problem. As sexless time progressed and I explored other avenues, and I wrote in my personal journal and I dug deeper into myself, I came to a few startling revelations. The biggest one being that even though I was still in love with my husband and wanted to be with him, I had no desire for traditional heterosexual sex. What I mean by that is that I just wasn't interested in having his penis in me, and for a while just the thought of it was disturbing and I didn't want to touch it or look at it (though this stemmed from something else entirely). Physically distancing myself from Ark sexually bothered me. I love the intimacy, I love the closeness. Though I no longer crave or enjoy sexual intercourse, I still crave that. I want manual stimulation, oral stimulation, kissing, touching, feeling a warm body against mine, making me feel loved, making me feel sexy.

When we were recovering from the event that put me off sex with him in the first place, I gave him a task: get me off without using his penis. It was something he'd never accomplished before, so I thought it would be a learning adventure for both of us. I even thought it would be something we'd both enjoy and would bring us closer together as lovers and partners.

Well, it didn't quite work out that way. It took a long time for Ark to make his attempt, and it wasn't without a fair amount of prodding. And once he did get me off, it seemed that he immediately wanted things to go back to “normal,” that we would just continue having the same old sex the same ways we'd been having it before—no change, nothing learned, no revelations. The moment where I expected to feel joyful and warm-and-fuzzy was more or less ruined by the expectation that, since he'd gotten me off, now it was “his turn.”

I've only been with one other man besides Ark, and sex with him was also very penis-centric. At the risk of sounding sexist, it seems to me that men are very orgasm oriented. And I don't mean oriented to their partner's orgasm—their own. Sex for them isn't sex if it doesn't include ejaculation. And maybe that's just because it's simpler for men to reach climax, so they take it for granted? The two women I've been with don't/didn't seem to be as focused on their own orgasm so much as mine. And I can honestly say that I am far more interested in getting them off than I am in getting off myself. Sex between women takes skill and practice; the same thing won't work every time.

I feel that maybe our decision more or less to not have sex at all was made in haste. If only I could convince him that sex doesn't need to include his or my orgasm; it doesn't have to include penis insertion; to redefine sex, to start from scratch. Does he remember how to turn me on? Do I know how to make him feel desirable? Does he even want to have sexual contact with me, or is the romantic aspect of our relationship enough for him?

Since we're polyamorous, I don't feel pressured to be satisfied with only one partner. I have the option of seeking out things I need or want from other people. But as I find my sexual appetite exceeds even my new girlfriend's, I kinda start to wonder if there's just something wrong with me? How do I view sex in a relationship and how much do I need it? Enough to seek out many more romantic and sexual partners? I hope not. I doubt I would have much issue finding people to have sex with (in fact I have one or two options already), but I don't really want to have to seek out a new partner every time the honeymoon stage is over and my motor's still running.

So, back to the root of things. How do I view sex? How much do I need it?

I already admitted that sex is important to me. I need it to feel connected with my partner. Long periods of time without sex makes me question the health of the relationship. It makes me wonder things like: Am I not attractive to them? Maybe I've put on weight? Am I too clingy/do I want too much attention? Maybe they don't like my technique? Maybe I'm boring? Maybe I ask too much? Is the magic gone? Is it over for them?

Yes, I really do think all those things. It doesn't take much for me to doubt and feel insufficient.

This feeling doesn't last forever, though—it goes away eventually, once I've reassured myself that most of this is all in my head. At that point, I have to trust that if there is something wrong in the relationship or something wrong with the way we have sex/I do things during sex, that my partner will tell me and I can fix it. I have to accept that they don't want sex as much as I do, or that they don't need it the same ways I do (to feel wanted/loved/needed/sexy). Sometimes I feel disappointment at this (am I the ONLY ONE with a sex drive?!) but again, it's something I get over.

But then, and this may be a defense mechanism, after I accept this and start to move on, my libido drops drastically. So much so that when my partners do want sex, I'm either completely disinterested or I am interested, but can't get my body to respond. It's already hard to get me aroused (the best way: let me get them off first) and hard to get me off. And if I'm really craving a particular kind of sex (slow/fast, manual/oral, rough/gentle, vanilla/kinky) and it isn't what I'm getting, all I can focus on is what I'm not getting right at that moment and I can't get into it. Or if I'm stressed or worried about something... well, I guess those are normal libido killers. Anyway, I digress. Mentally, in order to be happy and remain happy and to not cause stress in the relationship, I pull the emergency brakes on my sex drive.

Communication could solve all of this. Maybe. I did talk about all of this with Ark, a long time ago, and we live now in this strange yet mostly comfortable sexless marriage. Is it fair to ask him to be the lover I want and need, to make love to me, but respect my wishes (sex without penile penetration)? Is it fair to ask more of my girlfriend? (I won't; we're too new, and I still have practically no idea what she wants/likes/needs.) Or should I seek satisfaction elsewhere?

Regress / Regret

I know I said I wouldn't blog about Gabriel anymore. Let this be the last one. I just have to get something off my chest—something happened; something strange and unsettling that I was really unprepared to handle.

I'm no old hat at breaking up. I know that relationships end, but I haven't had very many relationships, to be honest. When I was thirteen I dated a boy for two years before he broke up with me through e-mail. (We're still friends even now!) I then dated Andrew until I was eighteen, even getting engaged, but that relationship ended badly after an unplanned and naive attempt at non-monogamy. Though the end of that relationship was agreed-upon, it was very messy. I turned all of my loving energy into my remaining partner at that time: Ark.

Ark and I opened our relationship after being together for five years, shortly after being married. So Gabriel-then-Kitten was my partner for two years before I ended it.

I needed space from her. I've had little to no contact or correspondence with her short of seeing her while she shops where I work, or her text messages. The space between us has allowed me to soften toward her and instead of thinking about the ways she frustrated me, I can now remember more fondly the reasons why I love her and why I loved being with her. So, my general feelings toward her are more hospitable now, with the distance between us. I'm happy to hear from her now and then to know how she's doing and big changes in her life (she just started a new job), but I'm only flirting with the idea of asking her to meet for ice cream or something small like that. I'm not sure I can handle it yet.

Well, I've written about this before, and though I'm hesitant to write about it again after so much time, but it came up and I couldn't shake it. Recently, Gabriel sent me a text that said, in her own way, that she was glad she knew how to get herself off. I didn't respond to this text, instead choosing to put the phone down and continue what I was doing. But in my mind, I couldn't let it go. I was imagining her doing the things I couldn't talk her into doing while we were together. I was wondering, do her claws leave scars on the sheets as they once left scars on me? Does she bite the pillow or her arm? Does she cry out when she's alone? Does her back arch, toes curl, body quake the way it did when I was making her come? Does she whisper for “more,” even though no one is there to indulge her?

I miss the sex. I almost texted it to her. That was it. It dawned on me suddenly and I was so unsettled by the realization that I had to stop what I was doing to let it process for a minute. I do miss it. All of it. From the slow, sleepy sex in the morning, to the rough sex that often left me battered and bruised and scratched and bleeding but still grinning from ear to ear. Being awakened with her crouched between my thighs—being shoved against the wall the instant I walk through the door—being pulled up by my hair after eating her out because she needed to kiss me, couldn't wait. The sex was one thing that was never wrong between us. It was always explosive, always passionate, always tender (yes, even at its most volatile). And I miss it. Is it okay to say that? Is it okay to feel that way?

I texted Andrew about it. (He's my go-to guy for personal reflection, because he knows me but tends to see me more objectively than Ark because we are no longer involved.) I said, I almost made a huge mistake. And I explained it to him. His response? He asked, “Aren't you and Dawn having sex?”

Well... yeah, we are.

My reply was that we do have sex, but that the sex is different, and we don't exactly have all the time in the world to do it, whereas when I would visit Gabriel we'd have all day and all night together. Dawn and I only get a few hours together alone, and both of us aren't always in the mood at the best time. You can't control your libido (and if you can, WHAT IS YOUR SECRET?!) and basically, the forces are against us! I expect that it will be easier for us once we're all living together (I know I haven't mentioned that yet! It's coming up, I swear!) and we can have privacy whenever we want or need it.

But my point is, my sexual relationship with Dawn is fine, and that is not why I'm suddenly missing the sex with Gabriel. I am satisfied with my sexual relationship with Dawn. I am much better at not expecting too much (sex-wise) from my partners than I used to be. I'm more excited to just be with Dawn, and am not so much focused on the sexual aspect of everything. Okay, so I'm still a horndog and I am always thinking about sex. But you'll just have to trust me that I'm much better than I used to be. Now, I place the responsibility for my sexual happiness and sanity on myself instead of on my partners.

I don't really have much clarity still as to why I miss it. I can only guess. I was in denial for a long time, growing up, maturing, getting older and more knowledgeable. I used to think, and I used to say, sex is not important to me. This isn't true. Sex is important to me. It is an integral part of my romance. I hunger for it, I crave it, I starve without it. It's possibly also true that if I don't get what I need from one source, I will seek out a different source. In part maybe that's where polyamory comes into play. As I discovered and admitted both to myself and to the world that I'm a lesbian, what was there left to keep Ark and I together? Why do we stay together? Because we love each other. Right now there's no sex in our relationship, but it works for us because he doesn't feel pressured to have sex when he doesn't feel like it, and I am free to seek stimulation elsewhere without feeling like I'm not good enough.

The best metaphor I can come up with for this situation is that this is kind of like gorging on a favorite food to the point of being sick of it, then staying away from it for a long time. You know what it tastes like and how it smells and how it feels in your mouth, and after a while, you start to crave it again. Maybe in a different way, maybe not so intensely, but it's something you know and something you love.

At this point, I just hope I retain the self-restraint I need to not go back.