I want to fuck my wife.
Yep, I said it. I want to fuck my wife.
In fact, I’d prefer to be doing that rather than writing this post. But unfortunately, no can do.
And that’s the problem right there.
I realise that many of you are now hurriedly backing away from your screens at this point, but I really need to talk about this.
OK, here is my problem:
Since I got sick three years ago, my wife and I haven’t had sex.
Yep, you read that right. Three years.
My wife and I have discussed the lack of sex in our relationship during this time and she is not unduly worried. But it’s starting to bug me out a little.
I was late to come to the sexual table. My first sexual experience occurred two weeks before my twenty-fourth birthday. Up ‘til then, I had been non-sexual – it just didn’t cross my mind to do anything with anyone.
I’m not kidding. For my twentieth birthday, my mate Gus gave me a book on how to masturbate because she couldn’t believe that I wasn’t at least touching myself. (Nice one, Gus. The book’s been really handy over the years 😉)
When I hit twenty-five, my body awoke to its sexual self and the journey into pleasure and intimacy kicked off.
I was surprised to discover that not only did I enjoy sex, but I was also more experimental and voracious than I would have ever given myself credit for.
And because I was blessed with lovers of a similar vein, I was able to explore all the elements of the sexual arena that drew my interest.
By the time that I reached my mid-thirties, I was fully conversant with my sexual self and had found a woman who was not only a natural redhead, but who had (wondrously) agreed to share my life despite my tendency to hump her leg at inconvenient times (Does life get better than this?).
My high sex drive has been a constant amusement for my wife and me. So much so, that I sent her this card:
The message I wrote inside was:
Because I thought you would appreciate being propositioned by someone other than me for a change.
P.S.: I plan to get my share after the postman.
And I don’t care what you wear.
Then in early 2011, I got sick with Functional Movement Disorder. The illness affects my ability to stand, walk, speak, see and coordinate my movements.
And because my body spasms a lot, my wife has had to avoid close contact lest I inadvertently punch, kick, elbow or scratch her in the process: which seriously put a dampener on opportunities for me to cop a feel.
Eighteen months ago, we were sitting chatting on the sofa and I somehow managed to turn our conversation into innuendo. This was such a miraculous event in itself – what with my medications either leaving me zombie-like or with no short-term memory so that I repeat conversations – that I decided to try make a move.
I looked over my shoulder coquettishly and decided to lean in slowly to plant a kiss.
I put my hand down on the sofa between us to close the gap, leaned in and there then followed several hours of clothes-tearing, heavy-breathing, “Take me now, I’m losing my mind on lust” fornication.
Or so I wish.
What actually happened was this.
I looked over my shoulder coquettishly and decided to lean in slowly to plant a kiss.
I put my hand down on the sofa between us to close the gap, leaned in and then my wrist, elbow and shoulder joints collapsed – causing me to fall forward and head-butt the wife’s lap sharply enough for her to cry out in pain.
Three and a half hours later, I once again become aware of my surroundings; to find myself slumped across the sofa, hyperventilating.
My whole body is transmitting pain in excruciating detail and urgency.
My mouth is doing a solid impression of the Sahara.
There is drool running down my chin and pooling on the seat beneath me.
I look up to see the wife sat on a folding chair opposite me with an anxious look on her face.
Turns out I had a series of episodes simultaneously – which looks like a cross between an Epileptic seizure and Stroke.
And the icing on the cake? I had pissed myself during all the palaver, so the wife’s put down towels to soak up the spill.
Seriously folks, it doesn’t get sexier than this.
We then had to wait another hour for my shakes to slow down enough for me to be extricated into the wheelchair and then wheeled down to bathroom to be washed and changed.
After which the wife had to clean up the mess that I’d made on the sofa.
I think it fair to assume that this incident will not be making it onto either of our lists of 100 Horniest Nights of My Life.
Damn it! There was a time when I could make three and a half hours count for something!!
If I’d had my way, the wife would have been too exhausted to say her own name. Instead, she spent the evening monitoring me to ensure that I was able to breathe and swallow; and feeding me water through a straw!
Anyone else see what’s wrong with this picture?
Even so, that’s more than we’ve managed since then.
For over a year, I haven’t even felt horny.
To be precise, I haven’t felt anything – besides the pain, that is.
And when I say “anything”, I mean any. thing. Most of the time, I’m unable to tell when someone/something is touching me unless I am actually looking directly at the point of contact.
I even tried masturbating to see if I could overcome the loss of sensation. And it was like …
Do you know how disheartening it can be to touch yourself and not be able to feel anything at all?
I got so tired of these tumbleweed moments that I just gave up.
But there is good news, Ladies and Gentlemen. Over the last couple of months,
my horniness has returned!
OK. I probably didn’t need to write that so large, but I got caught up in the celebratory moment.
I’m very excited by the possibility of having sex again. But there is some anxiety too.
I mean, it’s been three years. And so I’m wondering;
What if I have forgotten what to do?
That may seem like a silly thing to worry about, but the thought keeps coming back to haunt me.
I mean, before I got sick, my bedroom skills were solid. What I could do to a woman’s body was amazing. My skills with the male body weren’t on the same level, but that was because I hadn’t spent as much time practising.
But I was proficient and received high praise from those I’d fucked and those who’d watched me fuck.
And now, what: I’m to return to virgin status and relearn something that I used to know and was good at?
selfish unrealistic whatever, but following the long abstinence, I was kinda hoping to jump back into the sexual pool with abandon and revel in returning to a familiar comfort.
And that’s not the only problem.
My physical stamina isn’t what it was. I have real problems sustaining any physical activity for more than ten minutes at a time.
That doesn’t leave much time for foreplay. Or much of anything at all.
I can just imagine it now: things will have just started to get interesting and I will be hyperventilating like a beached whale and have to ask the wife to bear with me as I roll over and take a couple of hour’s nap just to recover from the exertion of having undressed her.
In addition, I can’t sustain holding myself up. So either the wife takes all the responsibility for positioning, or I’m gonna have to take the crutches to bed.
I guess we could do it with the wife straddling me on the wheelchair, but I have visions of us tipping backwards and breaking it.
And those things are not cheap to replace!
But that’s not the worst of it. My illness means that I don’t know if I am capable of movement until the moment that I try. And then, my body may move in a way other than intended.
So that means we are going to have to plan sex.
Seriously now: before we can have sex, we have to think about things like:
- Whether I am physically well enough to even give it a try;
- How to position ourselves so that I don’t injure her in the process if I suddenly spasm;
- Whether I can physically sense it when she is touching me or when I am touching her;
- and blah, blah, blah …
Knowing my luck, even if I am able to act on the intent, the short-term memory loss will probably kick in part way through.
And then I’ll come to to find the wife knocking the top of my head and asking what happened.
And I’ll look at her blankly and ask: “Where am I?”
Maybe I should put together an A4 brief bullet-pointing what goes where? You know, just in case…
Seriously, I hadn’t realised that getting horny would raise all these considerations.
I just want to return to that sexual being who enjoyed exploring my wife’s body and seeing what pleasures we could bring to each other.
Is that too much to ask?
But this is the reality of my illness. We can’t do things with the same fluidity that we used to.
In order to regain the lost elements of our lives, we’ll have to rethink the situation and come up with alternatives.
And I’ll just have to deal with my frustration at not being able to do things the way that I would like.
I’ve done the best I can do for now:
- I’ve told the wife that my horniness has returned.
- I’ve told the wife that I plan to get a leg over some time this year.
- I’ve told the wife to prepare herself.
It’s not much, in the scheme of things. But she has been warned.
Related Posts (if you need further proof that I’m this shameless all the time)
- The Book of Secrets
- Her. In Detail
- Coitus Interuptus
- Pump Up The Volume
- Seeking Forgiveness
- Freshly Pressed Wheelchair
- afterwords: Sex and the Wheelchair
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AUTHOR: I am might war. I have a love of music, the written word, travel, Anime, polar bears, people and “sticking and colouring”.