I'm a longtime reader and a big fan. So I've been married a bit over a year, together for a bit over two. Sex has pretty much always been a contentious issue for us; at the beginning, it was great, he was adventurous, he was a considerate and talented lover, and it happened all the time. That lasted about three months, at which point he had what the doctor called a "post-coital migraine" and he thought he'd had an aneurism or something, and he eased up on frequency because he said he was scared of having another, even though it turned out not to be any kind of life-threatening thing.
So then we moved to another town because I wanted to live there, and I sometimes did impulsive shit because, hey, I was 21 so why the hell not? So things were still pretty good, and then we had no money and I was working and he couldn't find a job due to some shitty life circumstances and a learning disability that we're sure he has but costs $500 to formally diagnose, he doesn't have a high school diploma, which makes job hunting difficult when you're in a college town during a major recession. So he said he was "stressed out" and he "just has a low sex drive" and he wanted to fuck even less, and in fewer ways and positions. I come to find out he jerks off three times a day (with a death-grip and no lube, so he has a hard time coming from sex—at one point, I explained that that was bad, and I bought him a bottle of baby oil, which I could tell got used a few times, but then it just sat on the counter with the level never changing), which pissed me off. At this point, we're getting down maybe twice a week.
This rest of this question—be warned: this one is epic—after the jump, along with my response.
So I finally get a job, and I'm going to school, and we finally have money and he still doesn't want to fuck because I didn't clean. Motherfucker, I cook, I go to school and work! Maybe he has a point about the cleaning, because I'm pretty filthy, but I still think he should have done more of it than me, and certainly more than he did. Then we got married. Two weeks later, I find out I'm pregnant. A month after that, he tells me he's polyamorous and he's been flirting with this girl, so she and I talked, and I told her I had some reservations but I was willing to try (I really did have a major freakout because I had previously been in a relationship that I tried to open because I wasn't in love with him anymore but was scared to leave, and totally projected that on my husband, and also I WAS EIGHT WEEKS PREGNANT and HORMONALLY PSYCHO). It didn't work out between them, which he believes is because I scared her off.
Fast forward about eight months, the baby's born, he's had several online romances, but nothing has come of them, we got evicted from our apartment and moved in with my dad. Our sex life is pretty good, maybe a little better than it had been, except that he really only wants to do it one way: maybe five minutes of making out, then he tells me to get on top, we pull our undies aside, and I fuck him as hard and as fast as I can until he comes or my legs give out, whichever comes first (it's usually the latter). But my dad hates him, I'm stuck in the middle, my husband gets mad at me for not standing up for him, and eventually, my dad throws us out.
So we, along with my brother, move in with his uncle at his one-bedroom apartment filled with boxes and boxes and boxes of comic books and anime toys. We've been fucking once a week or less, which he says is due to lack of privacy. Seriously? No. My brother works (as did my husband, finally, but some BS went down and he's got a job but no work anymore), so he's gone a lot, and his uncle is oblivious. Like, so oblivious that when we were first dating, his uncle once walked in on us fucking, and still doesn't realize he did so. And moreover, I started having sex before I moved out of my parents' home; I know how to sneak around! We have a car! With an ample backseat! Seriously!
So one day, when Uncle is working, we had a threeway with this girl my husband said he hated two years ago, but that night he told her he loved her, and then told me he told her he loved her. It was awesome, probably the sexiest thing I've ever done. And both he and she were drunk off their asses. (Yes, I felt awkward for being sober, but they assured me they were okay.) In fact, my honey and I have had some really, really hot sex in the past few months. When he's drunk. When he's sober, it's the same, no-undressing, girl-on-top, faster-faster-faster BS as always, even though he asked me why I didn't seem to enjoy sex so much and I told him. The next day, he is trying to get with this 17-year-old (legal in our state) coke addict (well, former coke addict who just still does coke, if she's to be believed), which I thought was kind of sleazy, but I was willing to let slide.
I have hung out with this girl three times. Here is a list of drugs she has been on in my presence: coke, pot (nearly constantly for, like, 18 hours), sleeping pills, and booze to the point of puking. And that's just what I've seen. She's also admitted to doing E and Adderall. So I told my husband I just was not comfortable letting him be in a relationship with someone like that, even though I do like her as a person. She is really very sweet, but I think she's trouble. He responded with, "She doesn't do that much drugs, you just think that because she's been high every time you've seen her! Why are drugs a problem, anyway? You don't think I'll start, do you? You're just jealous because you know I really like her!" To which I reminded him he had told me he loved the other other girl, and then I watched them fuck, and it was the hottest thing I've ever seen. "Well, I meant as a friend! She knew that, and you should have, too!" Fortunately, the 17-year-old was already kind of iffy on the idea, so she backed off when I told her I'd rather she back off (although I did tell her she didn't have to if she cut back the drugs by about half, and I think it's kind of telling which she chose).
So the other day, we had a tearful conversation about how I feel unloved and unappreciated and undesirable, and he says he never meant to make me feel that way, and that I make him feel good and loved and happy every day and that I'm even hotter now than when we met, and we cuddled, and later, I brought up the fact that he's getting increasingly unwilling to have any kind of sex that isn't a chore for both of us unless he's drunk, and that maybe he can use some of that energy he uses to lock himself in the bathroom for an hour two to three times a day on me instead of his hand and the nice ladies of Burning Angel, and he responds with, "Well, maybe if you didn't piss me off all the time, I wouldn't see it as a chore!" and when I got upset, he said, "Well, what did you expect to hear? You're just like your mom, you try to start shit and then you get all upset and sad when shit gets started!"
I guess basically, this is a very long-winded way of saying, what the fuck is up with him focusing all that sexual energy on porn and other women and not on me unless he's drunk, and what should I do? It's gotten so bad that if he so much as kisses me with tongue, I can pretty much guess that he's got some rum in him. And it's not like I've gained a ton of weight or lost a boob to cancer or anything; I weigh about the same as I did when we met (and he's gained 40 pounds, although it's not so noticeable on him, because, well, I've attached some pictures of him from around the time we met, which you are not to
publish, please). I get that we don't have much privacy, but he's always had excuses for not wanting to fuck me, and he always makes it my fault! I'm contemplating witholding sex from him to see how he likes it, but I worry that he won't notice (or worse, he'll be relieved!)
In other ways, our relationship is great; he's a devoted father, and he very much wants to support me and give me and our baby a good life, but honestly, I can not have sex with hot guys anytime I want. I did not get into this relationship to not have sex with him. I'm willing to concede that sex is not the most important thing in a relationship, but goddamnit, it's important, and I am not, contrary to what he has told me, a pervert for believing that!
Green Valkyrie Needs Dick Badly
Here's what you should do: jump in this time machine with me, GVNDB, and we'll go back to the sixth month of this relationship—three months after the sex went to shit—and you'll break up with this guy before you move to a new city with him, before you marry him, before you get pregnant by him, before he announces that he's poly, before you move in with your dad, before you move in with his uncle, before you have that threeway, before you buy that neglected bottle of baby oil, before you go on that road trip with a drug-addled teenager, and before you write me this letter.
Full disclosure: I don't actually have a time machine but, holy shit, could I ever use one. I get so many questions from people who first torment me by claiming to be longtime readers (but who've nevertheless made such appalling messes of their romantic and/or sex lives that I'm tempted to put coke, pot, sleeping pills, booze, and baby oil in a blender and treat myself an end-it-all smoothie) and then go on to lay out a problem that can only be solved with a working time machine.
Anyway, GVNDB, here's what you're going to do until I can get my hands on a time machine: you're going divorce this man, however lovely a father he might be. (When exactly do you guys find the time to take care of your infant in between all road tripping, arguing, trawling of the internet for teenage drug addicts, masturbating, and writing epic letters to sex-advice columnists?). You're also gonna start listening to your father (he's right about your husband), you're gonna find a new place to live (a place of your own, a place for you and your baby), and you're going to stop being such a filthy pig (no kid should have to grow up in squalor).
And finally, GVNDB, should you ever find yourself in need of advice again, you're gonna write me at my top-secret private and personal email address.
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