I read an article recently about couples today. How, according to a ‘major survey’ (or a man wearing a golf sign strapped to his back outside Anne Summers on Oxford Street.) a huge number of married couples are unhappy with their sex lives. This is news? Of course they’re unhappy with their sex lives, they’re frigging married.
The article goes on to interview ‘Cathy and Mark,’ a couple who’s sex life has dwindled to around once every few months in the past few years and around twice a year more recently. As if this wasn’t shocking enough, they actually agreed with the magazine to have their photos taken. Wtf!? In fairness ‘Mark’s’ face is slightly obscured but honestly, what woman, let alone man agrees to poise for a national magazine in an article about their sexual inadequacies and wilting libidos?? I can only imagine that their extended dry spell has obscured all concept they once had of reality and self worth.
Please, people, unless you are a social amoeba who never goes out in public, does not have a job and is planning to have extensive facial surgery in the next few months could I advice that you never ever consider sharing your shit sex life with the entire nation, no wonder you don’t want to shag each other, freaks.
Anyway, as we were, apparently according to this ‘major survey,’ couples no longer have the time or energy for sex, preoccupied with money worries, small children and job loss, the nightly seeing to has been relegated to bottom of the pile. They blame the recession. I blame the relationship, and the kids, oh and that they are freaks who poise for national magazines under headings like ‘I haven’t made love to my wife for 4 years but that doesn’t make me less of a man.’ (You might have an argument on your hands over that one, buddy.)
Don’t get me wrong we’ve all been there when, after a while, the old 3-a-day bonk sessions calm down a bit, when the routine gets set and the thought of anything beyond a quick fuck before lights out makes you want to roll over and sleep for 73 years. That’s one thing (and shite enough) but these people are talking months, nay years, without so much as a blow job.
But then I’m not in a relationship so what would I know? Perhaps it’s all the rage these days to stop shagging the person you share a bed with every night in favour of bickering, school runs and washing up. Who needs spine-tingling orgasms, after all, when you have Britain’s Got Talent and a hot bath.
It’s shit and it’s all an excuse. The work, the kids, the energy. Harsh maybe, but really, you can make time for The Cube and your spinning class then you can make time for a fuck.
The bottom line is this, the spark has gone. Familiarity has bred contempt … or complacency and what once was your lover is now your best friend, the person you are so used to seeing shit and fart and moan that the idea of getting steamy with them seems as bizarre and inappropriate as performing a lap dance for your brother. Sexy underwear becomes funny and come faces, embarrassing.
So what to do? Leave. Or put up with it because of ‘the kids’ or ‘sickness and health’ or because you’ve convince yourself that this is just something that happens to everyone and you haven’t got enough energy to paint your nails let alone invest any time in ‘fun’. You’ve got the kids, the wedding ring and the mortgage, why would you possibly work on a mutually enriching sexual relationship when you could be soaking in the tub with some Neal’s Yard aromatic candles? And then bang, before you know it, it’s too late, your fucked. Though sadly, not literally.
My advice? A sexless marriage is not Ok, it will leave you dissatisfied and unfulfilled. Make the effort, get on your knees, open your legs, get pissed if you must, get naked, just stop making excuses. You are still a woman and he is still a man, I suggest you start treating each other as such.
Or you could watch the Downtown Abbey box set and sell the story of your sexless marriage to a magazine for the nation to laugh at and write blog posts about.
The choice, as they say, is yours.