I just cried through sex.
And not because it was just so beautiful, because there were candles upon candles upon candles, or because I had purchased some gorgeous lingerie which hubs admired for the standard 7.6 seconds and then ripped off… I wasn’t crying because we had whispered sweet nothings to each other and I was just so happy I couldn’t contain it anymore….
I cried because I didn’t want to have sex with my husband tonight. I just wanted to sit on our couch after dinner, chat about random things that happened to us today, laugh at stupid things on Facebook (except for the ads halfway through my dog videos – they are never funny, Mr Zuckerberg) then go to bed, cuddle and cut it off before his 7000 degree breath singed my hair off and go to sleep. With him by my side – just like normal. Like a normal night. That I love – with him. But I have to have sex with my husband tonight. Because infertility.
Being told when to have sex completely removes the fun from it. It gets to the stage where if you are going to tell me to have sex, can you also please tell me the position and how long it should take, so that I don’t have to, yet again, think of this. I cried because sex is getting really hard, and it never used to be hard (pun intended). Sex used to be easy, feel good and something we both enjoyed. And now sex is a job. Sex is something we do when we are told to, and don’t even think about when I am not ovulating because what would be the point? Sex is for making a baby, and we cannot make one of those three out of the four weeks of a cycle so why would we have sex?
I cried because we are running out of positions, our go-to moves are boring and I could not tell you the last time I had an orgasm. I cried because foreplay just wastes time, foreplay is only to get you in the mood and there isn’t enough foreplay in the world to get me in the mood.
Monique Bowley and Rebecca Judd take a look at the many ways of getting sperm into an egg, on the first episode of our pregnancy podcast.
I cried because we don’t have time to take our time, this is a job with a deadline and no time for tomfoolery. I cried because having sex with your husband should not be a job or be hard (well, at least part of it should be hard WINKY EMOJI FACE AND THAT IS IT NO MORE HARD JOKES FROM NOW ON THE WORD HARD LITERALLY MEANS HARD AKA DIFFICULT PROBLEMATIC TRICKY TOUGH AND TESTING YOU DIRTY GUTTERBRAINS).
I cried through sex because we thought we would mix it up and take it out of the bedroom but that means risking getting sperm over another part of the house so quick run upstairs and grab the sex-pillow so we can cover the couch. Then he came back down the stairs and started fucking around with a candle and couldn’t find matches and the tiny miniscule part of me that had revved up enough energy to have sex was gone, it died and now I knew what was coming.
I never thought that emotionless sex was possible when you were having it with your husband that you love, but it is. It flat out should not be a thing but it is.