On day four of our exchanges I couldn't take it anymore, and lucky for me my wife, PW, was in agreement. I couldn't wait another day. So that afternoon we walked upstairs, entered our bedroom, removed our clothes, and made love on our bed. 30 minutes of rich, warm wonderful love. It's hard to believe that just 1 1/2 weeks prior to this day we had sunk to hell and had admitted that our marriage was a sham
For more years than either of us could remember, our marriage was on life support. We were two miserable people living together in the same house, and were fools for calling our relationship a marriage. Let's be realistic: same-sex marriage does not destroy the institution of marriage. Many, many straight couples have destroyed that sacred institution long ago. For the last 28 years PW and I stayed together. Since PW had been through one other divorce, we had promised each other that we would remain in this marriage, no matter what. We had begun our lives together feeling in love. But now, close to 28 years later, even though we had convinced ourselves that the love we now shared was "Agape," I now gag when I think that I dared to compare our miserable existence to the same love that Christ had for the Church. Such belief was hypocritical at best and heretical at worst. This wasn't Christ's love. We had long given up our marriage vows, and were merely tolerating each other. We had gradually grown apart, and neither of us helped the other. I like to have fun, but my fun would often move over into what I would call playful teasings. These "teasings," however, were more cruel than I cared to admit. She shunned me. She turned to criticising me opening in front of family members and church family alike. I was hurt by her jabs, but she was hurt by me as well.
Our physical needs were still present, but were rarely consummated. PW went to bed earlier and earlier, while I stayed downstairs to watch tv. Sometimes I'd just fall asleep on the couch. Other times I would go to bed with her. At times I would sense the need for some sort of touch, some intimacy, but it took a lot of nerve for me to approach her. On many nights when I reached out my hand and touched her on the shoulder, she would grab my hand and very violently push it back. On those nights I would usually pleasure myself. Porn was not much of a problem, but I did have a vivid imagination. On the rare occasions she would give in, and I would practically devour her like an animal, I was so hungry for her.
I wanted to save our relationship so badly, but didn't know how to go about doing it. I naively thought that if I could give her enough erotic physical pleasure it would at least help our relationship. I studied up on how to stimulate her clitoris. I "found" the G spot. I studied how to use my hands, fingers, tongue. I took myself over every possible square inch of her body. She was, in fact, enjoying it once we got more into it, which encouraged me. I saved penile penetration until after her climax, as I often lasted just seconds after being inside her before ejaculation. We both experienced orgasms. And yet, sadly, when we were "finished" (quickly, of course), it wasn't a good, blissful feeling. Embarassing and shameful was more like it. . We didn't talk. We cleaned up, and went to sleep on either side of our king-sized bed. I was miserable and I knew she had to be as well.
But God wasn't finished with us yet.