How to Avoid Having Sex

There's food on my vibrator.  BBQ sauce, splatters of hot chocolate... Sounds kinky, right?  You might question my gastronomical discernment (BBQ + chocolate?) but sex and food just go together.

You might think so, but you would be wrong in this case.

There is a certain skill that I have acquired over the years.  The act of sex, the lead-up to sex, even the thought of sex is so mixed and often so unpleasant, that one of the most critical coping skills I've learned is how to make things that are sexy, not be sexy anymore.  

It's not an option to just say "no" when Chris makes a sexual advance.  For one thing, saying no too often leads to all kinds of corollary damage.  It's not just the sex that's being rejected, it's Chris.  Whether I mean to or not, that's the way it comes across.  For another, saying "no" forces me to confront the issue.  Sexual dysfunction can arrive suddenly or it can creep up slowly, and either way it is not something easy to face or pleasant to deal with.  So there needs to be an alternative.

Thankfully, it's not that hard to makes things not be sexy.

First, you take something that is naturally paired with sex, such as food, lingerie, stripping, or kissing.  Even something as seemingly unambiguous as copping a feel.  

Then you slowly, methodically, consistently pair that thing with something that is the opposite of sexy.  You wear your lingerie when your partner has made it clear that sex is not on the table.  You turn away from a kiss to burp, or giggle, or make an inappropriate joke.  You flash your partner at odd times.  

If there's the threat of sex, it is not uncommon to hear "Do you wanna see my boobs?" and see me hoist my shirt over my head for a second.  It serves two purposes.  One, it is not sexual at all and two, more importantly, when I put my shirt back down I can do it with finality and then I can turn away.  Rather than acknowledging the sparkle in my love's eye, I can defuse the situation before it goes too far.

Which brings us back to the food on my vibrator.

I didn't actually realize what I was doing when I plugged my vibrator into the kitchen outlet.  I guess I just... well, I don't know what I was thinking, but I wasn't thinking about any kind of systematic de-sexualization of my vibrator.

I'm in a dangerous position right now.  I'm thinking about sex more, I'm writing about it, even watching it.  I'm reading about it both in the "heal yourself" books and the "get off quick" books, neither of which have delivered on their promises as yet.  Still, I remain committed to the process.  My arousal level is higher than it's been in years.  

But things are still not okay.  Chris and I had sex the day I watched the porn.  It didn't hurt much, and it was actually pretty awesome.  It felt good, I felt good, I know Chris felt good.

Half an hour later, I crashed.  I didn't want to touch Chris, didn't want him to touch me.  I felt sad and lonely and worthless and overwhelmed.  When we have bad sex I just feel bad, and in some ways I would have preferred that.  This feeling of dread and impending humiliation was more than I could handle.

I know that it's part of the process.  That the problem is not that I don't know how to be sexual, the problem is that I know exactly how to be sexual - inside out and backwards.  I'm not a blank slate, beginning my sexual education.  There are deep patterns engraved in my behaviour and my emotions, and they won't change overnight.

So plugging the vibrator in the kitchen outlet, and asking Chris how I look right before telling him I have to pee... those things, dysfunctional as they are, serve a purpose.  They help me avoid the situations I can't handle yet.  I just hope I'll be able to recognize when those behaviours are no longer needed.

I'm moving the vibrator up to the bedroom.  It's not much, but it's a step.