Thursday, June 5, 2008

Everything Changes

When I started this blog, under the name "Mister Nice Guy", many things were different. For one thing, I thought I was a much nicer guy than I do now. But that's hardly the most significant.

Some of the changes have been in me: when I started this, I said firmly that nothing could ever break me up with my wife. Since then, two women came into my life who made me rethink that, and one of them is still in it.

Some of the changes have been in the people around me: my lover R wanted a child, and I helped her conceive one. At the time, I was comfortable with the idea of that child's being out there in the world with his single mother, but now I have the prospect of being an actual father to him, and I find it...not unpleasant.

Some of the changes have supposedly not been changes at all: when I started this blog, partly in order to search for a sex partner, I was under the impression that my wife's sex drive had vanished during a long illness and had never returned. Now my wife tells me that her sex drive did indeed return, and that she tried to interest me in sex to no avail. I have a hard time accepting that -- "Mrs. Psycho" was the best lover I'd ever had, and I love her very much, yet supposedly we slept side by side for over a year without her being able to get my attention? But that's what she says happened.

Now it's time for more change, and I'm not at all sure I'm ready for it. But I have little choice. The world moves on, with me or without me.

1 comment:

NWKathe said...

So, “Doctor,” disingenuous much?

I’ve been coming back to look at this about once a week, and thinking about whether to answer it. I think, on the whole, yes, I should answer it. In case anyone is reading this, they should hear both sides. You may “have a hard time accepting” -- I know we’ve argued about it enough – but that is what happened. And it was not “over a year.” Or rather it was, but to put it that way seriously minimizes the problem. To recap: I had the operation on my shoulder in December of 1999. For the first several months of 2000, I was recuperating, not from the operation, but from the infection. Remember that? I was perfused with an antibiotic, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, by a pump in a fanny pack. The same set-up that they give cancer patients. It wasn’t just “a long illness,” I was gonna die. Seriously. And after I got off the antibiotics, here’s what happened. I made two separate attempts to resume sex. That is, I asked you to have sex with me. And you agreed, sort of. I have to question the depth of your agrement, considering what happened. It was quick, mechanical, and you didn’t like it, as evidenced by the horrible face you made when you left the bed without a word of – what? Hope? Consolation? Promise to try again? Following these two disasters, I tried for at least six months to get you interested the old-fashioned way; that is, I tried to make love to you. You were resolutely not interested. On the one occasion when you slipped up and showed a little interest, you apologized. Apologized! I said it gave me hope, you heard me, but chose to believe that this meant I was not interested in sex. Not? Not interested? How could it possibly mean that?

But fine, have it your way.

This brings us to about the end of 2000. “Over a year,” by about seven additional years now. After 2000, I gave up doing what you seemed to find so distasteful. But I didn’t give up complaining. When you showed me your blog, and the ads you were answering, I pointed out that if you’d been interested, there was an easier way. I asked you why you wouldn’t sleep with me. Your answer was enlightening, if I had only heard it correctly. I asked you why you would have sex with these other women, but not with me. I thought your answer was “Because they make me feel desired,” and I was infuriated that my begging you for sex did not apparently make you feel desired. Now I realize that what you probably said was “Because they make me feel desire.” Okay. That I can understand. I’m still infuriated, but I can understand that as a reason.

However: note that you said " 'Mrs. Psycho' was the best lover I'd ever had." What was it about me that was so good? What made me the "best"? And where did it go? What did I lose, or how did you lose the ability to desire me? Because clearly that is what happened. It’s plainer than ever now that we are having sex again. You’re willing to fuck me, but you’re willing, as you have explained to me, to fuck any woman who’s willing to fuck you. You do not desire to fuck me. And there, my friend, is the very heart of our problems.