Israeli-Australian author Lee Kofman dreamed of a love that could coexist with sexual freedom. With this in mind, she decided to experiment with an open marriage. Kofman has since written a book about her experience – including the period where sex become so rare she and her partner Noah saw a sex therapist.
The longer our relationship continued, the more heavily the sex weighed on us.
Sexless doesn’t describe how we were together. Our bodies touched constantly; we’d built our love upon the sensuality of caresses, of a hand in another’s hand. At night, we slept intertwined. When Noah touched me, I often shuddered. He loved it when I covered his wide, brown face with kisses, when I held him in my arms, but my touch didn’t seem to affect his nerve ends the way his did mine.
Rather than being sexless, I’d say we were fuckless. We made love perhaps once a month, occasionally more, but we hardly ever fucked. Noah claimed to be happy, yet I found it difficult to believe he needed so little sexually. In every other way, he was a man of ardour. I loved his energy, his fierceness, the fact that his favourite mode of conversation was argument, whether about carbon reductions or the Magpies.
I loved that his decision-making was quick and his humour dark. He drove like a daredevil, danced well, and generally moved with vitality. His love for me was vital too. You would call Noah passionate if you expanded the application of the word. He phoned to say he loved me during even his most chaotic working hours.