What if…?

This post was submitted anonymously.

---

I don’t even know how to start. Should I go for the sensational: I want to rape my wife. Should I ease into the subject first: Understanding different libidos and how it can impact your life. Should I just start typing and see where the words take me: I don’t even know how to start. We’ve established that already.

It would be a major understatement to say I like sex. I would be content to never leave the bedroom (for simplicity sake, I’m leaving this to one room in the house) if not for those minor annoyances needed to stay alive: food, work, cleanliness. I like the connection of it, the intimacy, the quiet moments before and after, the exploration, the act, the feelings, the emotions. I like sex. Yes, that is an understatement and I’ve said it anyway. Does it really need to be quantified more specifically than that?

Our society seems to have a crush on it as well, since it is prevalent in everything we do. From billboards on busses to advertisements next to articles, it is in our face, and in our heads all day long. It is inescapable, which makes it difficult to not dwell on continuously. It is nearly to the point where it should be added to the constants of this life: death and taxes and some sort of media selling something via sex. Spend five minutes channel surfing, or flipping through a magazine, or listening to music and sex will come up.

And when it does, it makes me think of my wife. Which means that whatever they are trying to sell they haven’t because rather than focusing on the product, I’m thinking about having sex. Wanting it. Looking forward to it.

And, yet, not everyone seems to be as affected by it as I am. They seem to go through their day to day life ignoring the images and ideas and pressures. They don’t care about sex. They don’t want it. They don’t need it.

My wife and I have very different desires here. I would have sex every day if I could. She can go months without ever wanting it.

I don’t remember the first time she gave into me and I realized that she was only going along with it because she knew I wanted it. It was long ago, early on in our marriage. Sadly, I didn’t realize until later what had happened. She wasn’t into it. She didn’t want it. She’d said yes, but… it felt like rape all the same. I’d pressured her into saying yes. I’d made her feel like she owed it to me. How many times had that happened before and I’d missed it?

I can’t describe accurately how horrible that felt. And I vowed immediately to never pressure her again. I could wait until she was ready. I could be patient until she wanted it as much as I did.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve broken and renewed that vow. More than I’d like to admit. More than is reasonable.

Is there something wrong with me? Am I addicted to sex? Should I see a specialist of some sort? Should I be on medication? Am I terrible person?

We’ve had honest conversations about our different levels of desire, our different libidos. But these discussion don’t solve anything. She is where she is, and I am where I am. And I’m not sure there is anything wrong with that. We’ve made it work so far and it is truly such a small part of our relationship, who we are as a couple, and what we mean to each other, that it shouldn’t matter. Sex does not define our love.

However, in those moments when my sex drive kicks in and she has no interest… Once she has said no, I would never actually do anything, but the thoughts are there anyway. Sometimes they lurk on the edge, and sometimes they hit me full force. It troubles me that the thoughts are there at all. What if I should lose control? What if I were drunk at the time? What if…?