My husband was my first. He awakened my sexuality, introduced me to those new, good moves. And while he tried to show me and encourage me to a more adventurous, kinkier kind of sex, he also respected my very conventional view of sex and femininity. Today, in terms of my self-esteem, I now understand that being a little more adventurous with husband would have cost me nothing. Quite the opposite, fact.
My husband learned of my affair 18 months after it had ended (sexting and then two physical encounters with a COW). On that day, my life – along with his this time – was smashed to pieces once again (18 months earlier, the realisation and shame of what I had done had already destroyed me).
Shattered in my self-esteem, shattered by the way I now imagined my husband looked at me, I no longer had anything to lose, except the one I love. So I cast aside all my principles, all my preconceptions, my somewhat narrow ideas about female sexuality. I gave myself entirely, explored everything. And what I discovered was so good that I even overcame my fear of a more invasive, but much more liberating form of contraception. Today, I think – not without a little pride – that actually I have nothing to envy porn stars, but that this does not make me a slut. I have enjoyed making this discovery about myself, and was ecstatic to discover it with the man I love, my husband.
All of this, I experienced during this time of truths. And I see that while sex is very important, it is neither a bandage, nor a tool for reconciliation. It is the expression of a desire. Desire for sex, desire for love, for words and gestures, desire for tenderness, desire for joy…
But none of that alters the fact that, when the pain, sadness, anger and all of those feelings take hold of my husband and draw him away from me, when to protect himself, for days on end he does not speak to me, does not touch me, does not look at me, except where strictly necessary… at those times, I too am lost.
CSCE, I have no answer, and often my own despair and shame catch up with me and cause me to stumble. Often, my despair submerges me and I no longer know anything. But I do know that sometimes it only takes something small, just a smiley, a word or a friend to revive me (sometimes I feel like a labrador actually, but I suppose that’s not so bad).
I think that, more than time, more than sex, it’s love that carries me.
Hang in there, if only for yourself.