Backstory: Clarification

Digger assumed in the comments to my last post that my anger regarding the enforced celibacy was given voice on my wedding night.

As I responded. . . it most certainly was NOT.

He also asked whether I was into self-denial or anticipation. Fair questions.

I find pleasure in both things. Intense physical and mental longing is deeply stimulating and erotic.

Feeling disregarded and inconsequential, however, isn't.

The problem in my case was not the celibacy itself. It was the way in which the decision was arrived at: "I've decided." The supporting argument, "Because of God," is not one that allows for negotiation, even if I were a skillful enough negotiator to wrangle any concessions from The Boy. Which. . . notsomuch.

If The Boy had come to me and said, "Hey, I was wondering if you'd consider. . . ," the celibacy outcome would've been no different. But it would have allowed the situation to be one where there was more room for anticipation (there was anticipation at the time, but it was, admittedly, crowded by other feelings), and room at all for SELF-denial.

If I'd felt like the impact on me was considered, even if it did not ultimately hold the greater weight in the overall decision, the experience would've been entirely different.

Backstory: The Beginning

Once upon a time, there was Ms Apple and The Boy. They met, and were best friends for many years. They started dating. Ms Apple moved away. They stopped dating. Ms Apple moved back. They resumed dating.

Their relationship was deliciously twisted and physically compelling.

But.

The Boy had suffered a sexual/emotional mauling. He'd been saving himself for marriage, as all good Catholic boys are taught to do, made the command decision to "gift" his virginity to the woman he thought he would marry (all previous to his pairing with the lovely Ms Apple). The gift was presented, tragically, during a period of time whe she was accepting a similar gift from another acquaintance of The Boy.

The acquaintance informed The Boy that it was Boy's sexual inadequacies that drove the young lady out of his own arms.

The Boy also had something of a porn addiction. Unknown to Ms Apple.

So The Boy was, shall we say, a bit hung up about sex being "bad." And about being bad at sex. Combine that with a noggin stuffed full of images of women who earn their living by appearing as though they crave fucking like a fish craves water.

Stir with an obsession with managing outward appearances.

The Boy and Ms Apple decided to marry, as foolish young people are wont to do.

Several months before the wedding, The Boy approached Ms Apple with a proposition. Because he wanted to enter into marriage in a sinless state of grace, they would stop engaging in one another's tasty physical delights until such time as they were One Under God.

Ms Apple was shaken to the core. How do you argue against religious conviction? How do you reconcile beauty being rewritten as disfiguring all in an instant? How do you overcome the feeling that you are the "bad" one, the "impure" one, the one in denial of her need of redemption?

You don't.

You weep. You mourn. You doubt.

And then, you get married. And when The Boy comes to you on your wedding night, panting for your wet pussy, you get deeply, viscerally angry.

At least, that's what you do if you're Ms Apple.

Thus begins a marriage.

Moving In The Wrong Direction

Even if it does result in a really hot, sweaty session with the husband, spending the evening in progressively more suggestive electronic conversation with The German probably doesn't bode well for my whole "faithfulness" campaign.

It's come to this.

I can't afford the time for therapy. And it seems so self-indulgent anyway, yes?

I am not allowed to shatter the perception of our perfect-couple-hood by airing this dirty laundry in public. And anyway, who would understand? The woman who can't get hot for her Good Guy husband, but gets wet just thinking about the guy she just met in a bar?

Such a cliche. Such an embarrassment.

And now. I find myself looking forward to conversations with The German in a way that I know I shouldn't. I think about what he'd sound like, what he'd murmur in my ear with his arm wrapped around my waist.

I need a good defense. Save me from myself.