Personal Dead Bedroom Story

My story began 14 years ago when a lovely young lady entered my life at a friend’s party. It was like at first sight. There was something about her that appealed to me, and as the party ended, I felt I wanted to see her again.

As many of us know, some women attract attention instantly. Some are all legs and boobs. Some have hair that floats as if controlled by a magic hand. There are other women whose haunting eyes mystically lure men with a single glance.

Sam wasn’t any of these types.

With little makeup and average height, she looked naturally lovely, but she says she’s no runway queen. She’s more comfortable with an office compendium than wearing a pair of heels.

That’s her below. The photo was taken last month for a corporate financial report.

Although my blood is as red as anyone else’s, I rarely choose women on appearance alone. I look, but I listen carefully, making assessments after significant contact. I prefer substance and intellect over looks and falseness. And she looks great, right?

Well, she does to me.

Sam and I made some great contact that night. It was a perfect first-time connection. She made me smile. I felt comfortable in her presence. We had a pleasant time.

I offered to drive her home, and when I got her there, she asked me to call her sometime. I took it as a sign that the night went well for her, too.

Before you get ahead of my story, ‘contact’ does not mean that I slept with her. We talked. We talked so much that night that we forgot the time. I was supposed to drop her off, but instead we sat in my car out front of her parents’ place talking. We got to that point when we realised the sun was lighting the sky again. I didn’t want to go. I don’t think she wanted to leave either.

No, I didn’t bed her. I enjoyed her company.

A week later, I picked up the phone.

Calling her wasn’t easy. It’s not that I didn’t want to, but my previous relationship had some leftover residues. Rushing wasn’t preferred.

I wanted to be fair to Sam. I hadn’t let go of Nina.

Going backward wasn’t an option, but I needed time to move forward. I needed clear space between the past and what would become the future.

I didn’t want to dump old garbage on a new girl.

I decided I’d ring Sam, but if we were to date, I’d prefer to take the whole thing slowly. She agreed. She even liked my suggestion. I think she felt I was being responsibly sensitive. It also suited her, for reasons which will be explained next.

The topic of sex didn’t arise again for another three months. When it did, a discussion of religion immediately followed. She’s Catholic. Church meant a great deal to her. I respected her Faith and her wish to remain celibate. At the time, it didn’t matter. It worked well with my go-slow approach. At least we knew the deal, and we’d begun planning for a future.

Two years passed, and I was ready to proceed again.

Yes. I’m a patient man.

Love had grown, and I was certain she was the one. My motives were honourable, and I felt my conscience was clear. By this point, we’d spoken of sex many times, increasingly frequently, too. I made my move. That move was rejected. The reasons mentioned above remained unchanged. She wanted to wait until we were married.

What do I do?

My mother had two simple rules for me: Never ask to be picked up from the police station, and when a girl says no, it means no.

I loved Sam, but I couldn’t love her that way until after we were married (it would be another five years away). She smiled and said, “Don’t worry, it will all be perfect then, I promise.”

I was deflated. As you can imagine, I was frustrated too.

But I was optimistic… a promise is a promise… and she was always good with promises.

If you love somebody, then it shouldn’t matter, right? Sex is only a part of life, not all of it. Relationships built on sex rarely last. I know. That’s what I had with Nina. What we had burned brightly and then burned itself out. We had nothing left.

Besides, I would’ve felt superficial to abandon this relationship over sex. A deep and meaningful relationship is built on things more important, like respect. Respect begins and ends with trust. She trusted me, and I trusted her. I had no reason to distrust her.

Was it too long to trust her?

The wedding night wasn’t perfect.

Anxieties that’d been around for almost a decade prevented her from relaxing. I didn’t like hearing her screams. The tears made it worse. It wasn’t the magical moment we’d dreamed it would be. I took it slow, and she tried so hard, but it wouldn’t work.

That’s when I heard my mother’s voice: ‘No means no.’

I stopped.

It seems that stopping worked better than moving forward. So we stopped. And that’s the way it has been ever since.

We left it too late.

Long-term abstinence had turned sex into a monster. The habit of avoiding sex was so ingrained in our routine that we knew nothing else. Not going there was practised so much that we were good at it.

And no means no.

This year now marks the 7th year of our sexless marriage, seven more if you add our dating years.

There’s an absurd twist to this. She wants a baby.

I know what you’re thinking: she’ll be onto it, and these troubles will be over.

That’s where everything gets super weird; We agreed we want to have a baby. She’s telling her friends about it. We changed our diet and are getting healthier by the day. But it’s a joke. There’s still no sex. She thinks pregnancy is going to happen by a miracle. I’m sure of it.

I’m in a joke where there’s no punchline.

Now I’m bitter and disappointed.

I hate myself for letting it go for so long.

I hate feeling like I was fooled.

I hate her for not taking the same care of me as I did of her.

She used religion to cover closeted asexuality and then lied to me to sustain it. She broke her promise. She breaks it every day.

-K