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October 22, 2006 | Category: In My Life

Warning! Explicit Entry. Those who may be related to me may wish to SHOO!

It's my blog. But. I keep dancing around all these thoughts that I won't say.

It makes my legs hurt.


Beth wrote this post last week. About which came first: the chicken or the egg? Except, in this case, the survey was about oral sex and not-just-oral sex.

And it got me thinking. And remembering. About chickens. And eggs. And how, despite all the years of foreplay and the protection and the reading up on it - all I could think that first time was "We can't possibly be doing this right."

Years later, I finally had that morning when I woke up with a smile on my face. I mean, a smile so big that made my dimples sore. And actually said out loud "so THAT'S what the fuss is all about."

(It turns out my main impediment to the glories of sex was having it with teenaged boys. Once I ended this ridiculous habit, things improved muchly.)


I miss sex.

I miss sex.

I've missed it for so damn long that sometimes I want to sit in the middle of the driveway and just scream and cry.

Depression, the kind that attacked this family with its vicious apathy and gaping voids, kills the wants. The desires. The warm skin Sunday morning throw your leg over and be inside moments are snuffed out. Pressed flat into memories.

The medications that treat Depression are evil in irony. The happiness comes back at the same time that desire is surpressed. We can laugh now, and the laughter tickles my blood. I get drunk on eye contact, the big brown eyes and endless lashes that make me want to lick his face.

And then I have to hold myself still. Praying over and over in my head that he'll make the move. No pressure. No anger. It's not anyone's fault. It's not...

The doctor actually said "Do you want to be treated or do you want your sex drive?" As though this is the freaking choice. As though somehow bringing a soul out of the flaming chasm of gray nothing is a success even if the toll is their very bodliness, their skin and sensation and sweaty connection to the romance of their mate.

Every possible drug, every possible combination. Tried.

Hours of reasearch, visits to another new guy, and another.

I want MORE of my husband back.

I want my husband, most of the time.

I want so much that I'll lose track. That I won't be able to count that high. While I still have the youth and flexibility, I want to bend in the ways I can bend.

I want.

It's this undercurrent to my days. It is the remembing what it used to be.

It is the tingle to a Friday, to a weekend ahead. The sly hope of it, the wink of it.

Bombarded by a society that sexualizes every possible product purchase, leaving my tongue bitter and my mind assaulted. With all those lies. People aren't taped into their clothes and then airbrushed. We don't walk over cars to each other. That isn't sex, that's fantasy. That's pictures without pulse.

I want the pulse.

I want the real.

I want the bond of it, the uncontrollable of it, the not quite knowing where he's going to touch or how slow or how fast of it. I want the start and stop of it.

I want the real.

I want the backs of his knees and the hard line of his jaw. I want him to want me. I want his finger wrapped around a strand of my hair. I want his breath on my neck. His palm down the stomach, over the stretch lines that made room for our child. I want his broad shoulders as a pillow, our gasps quiet not to wake the boy next door.

I want the man I love. I want his wanting. Not in these small doses that strike with full moons and found money. No more sips.

I want gulps.

I want what is true between us. The memories of a hundred other times flared up again into our living days.

I love him. I love this man. I love each year of him, each limb. I love the hairs on his tummy, the accent in his voice, the dreams his soul flies on. Last year, I saw the cloudiness begin to fall away from his world. I saw jewel tones in his laugh again.

It is so much, to see this miracle.

I just want more. And often... :)

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Very moving post. My heart really does go out to you. YOu do deserve all of what you are longing for. Arent there any anti depressants that have low sexual side effects? If not there really should be. I hope all of this passes soon.

Posted by: angela on October 24, 2006 07:43 AM

I don't know what to say other than...
The way that you write?
Sometimes all I can do is sit here shake my head. It is so beautiful.

Posted by: Melisa on October 23, 2006 04:39 PM

Ah. I know, I know, I KNOW how this feels, from both sides.

When I was on anti-depressants, I had zero libido. No, more like negative libido. Touching repulsed me. The idea of sex left me cold and low-grade horrified.

Now I'm off the meds and doing great but the birth control pills that control my ovarian cysts have damped my libido down to a glow instead of a roaring fire.

I'm sick of it and ready to risk the cysts again just to get more of that feeling of wanting.

The irony of meds vs. sex drive never ceases to astound and sadden me.

Posted by: paige on October 23, 2006 04:08 PM