. . . in which Husband becomes a eunuch.
Mr. Hawtness admitted to me today something that I have known for a while now. He is becoming asexual. Which in proper perspective is really great, because that means his loins don’t burn quite so hotly for anonymous hotties in the hotel sauna. Which in another perspective totally sucks because I’m a (mostly) young woman who likes to have the occasional opportunity for sexual expression.
It isn’t that I haven’t been thinking this for a year now, or that I haven’t even tried to get him to admit it. It became pretty obvious that when he admitted that he was actually in charge of his actions, and that it wasn’t aliens usurping his moral agency and taking over his body to act out with random guys, that he would have to rein in his desires- to douse the flame, so-to-speak. I knew that this would adversely affect our “relations,” but secretly hoped that somehow the little *teeny*tiny* flame that bore my name would survive the dousing act. Yeah, I’m dreaming that there was even so much as a flickering ember with my name on it, but a girl has to have some story to tell herself.
So I’m married to a eunuch. Maybe I should change my blog name. (He actually isn’t totally a eunuch, his bits and pieces are still intact. In case you were worried.) And I still hope- like an Elvis fan, waiting at the gates of Graceland for the King to walk up behind her and whisper in her ear that he really is still alive- that there will be something there, someday in the future. I still feel the sparks of arousal with every smack on the rear, and every kiss on the neck. These are just routine to him, but last night as we lay in bed and he lightly stroked my hand, I soaked up every tiny sensation as if it were the *real* act itself. I have to. It’s all I’ve got.
Is this pathetic? Is this sad? I don’t think so. I think more relationships would survive and even thrive if partners were willing to accept whatever the other has to give. It would be unfair of me to expect more of him than he is able to give. It is in the act of accepting what is, and letting go of what isn’t that brings us closer than any old orgasm could ever do.
So I take a moment to thank the gracious God above for the goodness I have been blessed with, and I take another moment to thank Husband for giving up something and giving me what remains, and I move forward with a full heart.
I think I made the right choice.