Sex, Anyone?

I knew John was regularly telling people I was frigid and didn’t like sex. He even organised an awkward trip with one of his female friends to visit Ann Summers – I kid you not. She was very nice about it, but it was one of the most embarrassing, humiliating times of my life. My husband was telling people I needed help in the bedroom rather than talking to me.

Anyway – John knew when his friend and I were meeting and where we were going and expectantly asked “what did you get then?” when we got back. His friend teased that it was a surprise and he was going to love it. I was being talked about as if I wasn’t there – I wanted the ground to swallow me up.

I did put the outfit on for him later – bunny ears, cuffs etc – it was as far as timid me was prepared to go. I felt stupid, not sexy. I felt like his toy – parading myself in front of him asking silently if this is what he wanted – was I good enough now? He liked it, of course and we had sex, of course. But I lay there afterwards knowing that another piece of me had died.

I didn’t know the extent of John’s porn habit at the time. I knew that the load of unlabelled videos (showing my age) on his shelf were porn and I spoke to him about getting rid of them. He refused.

A few years into the marriage, he did in fact get rid of them and I was so pleased. Naive. The era had changed – everything he wanted was available at the click of a mouse, but I never even considered that as a possibility. Until of course I went on the computer and looked at his search history – and then quickly wished I hadn’t.

Yes, according to John, I didn’t – and still don’t – like sex. When he was telling his friends how frigid I am I can bet he never once mentioned his porn habit or the fact that he was texting a number of women things that a married man should not. I always thought it was me. He told me repeatedly that I had a problem and I believed him. I was a virgin when we got married – I wanted to wait. He pressured me immensely when we were dating to sleep with him, but it was a decision I had made and I was not going to break that promise to myself. I had expected he would take his time with me – teach me, so to speak. Instead he bullied me and made me feel small. My opinion didn’t matter. He would tell me what I liked – which was basically anything we tried – and when I protested, he’d say “You like it really” and continue.

Sex became a chore because I knew it wasn’t me he wanted – it was just the act. I believe I could have been anyone – it didn’t matter.

I suspected he was cheating on me – I knew something was going on. The messages on his phone continued. Sometimes I’d bring it up and he’d apologise, sometimes I couldn’t be bothered to have the same argument again. When I confronted him as to whether he was having an affair, he yelled “So because you won’t have sex with me, I must be getting it somewhere else?!”

Well, yes, frankly.