I have a confession to make.
In the past two months, I've had sex all of twice. The most recent time was a quicky the day after Christmas.
It's not for lack of trying, but for lack of a sex drive.
The last time we tried to have sex, I'd warned him that I was having trouble, but wanted to try anyway. We cuddled for a while. I absolutely ADORE cuddling, but he's got limits on how long cuddling is fun if he's in the mood for more. He finally started getting upset and asked me if we were going to even bother, because if we weren't going to try, he didn't want to be taking a nap, he wanted to be up doing stuff together. That really hurt, but I tried not to let it show.
An hour later, after endless loving kisses and caresses, I admitted defeat. I hadn't even managed to get naked yet, and I didn't want to. It was all I could do not to break down crying right then and there. He reassured me that even if we hadn't gotten anywhere, an hour of half naked caresses was as fun now as it was when we were first dating. He tried to convince me that he didn't care if we hadn't had sex, "as long as I've got my hot girlfriend almost naked next to me here in bed with her hands all over me."
That afternoon, I gave the first true pity-blowjob of my life.
And all I could think about was how it tasted like stale sweat.
I did it because I love him, because being intimate makes us feel closer, because I love making him feel good. Usually I love giving blowjobs, and an "I'm sorry I'm not in the mood right now" blowjob ends up turning me on, and I all but jump him after. This time I just wanted to be done, and get dressed, and cuddle on the couch in front of a good movie.
It makes me feel terrible, because I'm wondering where the happy, sexy, sex-crazed me went. Nothing's been the same since I went on that pain medication last fall, but I'm not sure I can really chalk it up to that. Maybe it's the stress of ripping up my career plans and starting the planning process over. Maybe it's the stress of worrying about my health, about my grades, about my research. Maybe it's from realizing that I've grown up a lot faster than he has. Maybe it's yet another birth control pill morphing from Wonder Drug to Libido Killer a year in (it's happened before). I don't want to think that it's because I'm just broken. I can't let myself think that, or I might start to really believe it.
Thinking back on it, I wish I'd been more insistent about that last quicky. He was the one who insisted that we had to just take a quick one, so we wouldn't get caught having sex in a house full of religious family. I was all but begging for more sex. Now my body's all "Eff you, we're closed". Maybe I should have tied him down and demanded more sex, since it was the last I was going to get for a while.
Or maybe I should get really drunk, and see if that helps.
But that would be about as healthy as having sex while loopy as hell on medications, which happened too many times last year. It was the only time I felt healthy and pain-free enough for sex, so can you blame me? Maybe that's what got all this started, if that skewed everything around in my head. I can still orgasm. I can still feel arousal. Hell, I can even get myself worked up a bit about going and having sex with my boyfriend. Then, when it comes down to it, and we're there in the bed... nothing. I don't even want to get naked. Or touch him, or touch me. I just end up wanting to cuddle instead.
Then we're back to square one. He wants to have sex, or talk, or go do things, and I just. Want. To cuddle.
Because when he holds me, for that moment, everything is right in the world.