Playing it cool as best I can, closing the window, typing something into the address bar, trying not to look flustered, meanwhile probably looking furtive and guilty like a schoolboy. My wife however either not noticing or choosing to let it pass.
Doing such a thing being impossible, however, the response being knowable in advance, namely, she’d be upset at the suggestion, and upset at the invasion of her household by an ugly and unwelcome infestation.
In fact, thinking about it, the snag for her isn’t the pornography, she isn’t a fool, she knows that it exists, probably knows too that most men watch it. The snag is that she doesn’t want to be confronted with it. She’d rather have her life organized in such a way that pornography is ringfenced out. A perfectly understandable preference.
Well, she can run her life her way, I’ll run my life mine. It seems like that’s how it is with things sexual, there’s a clear but unspoken boundary. Do what you like but don’t foist it on me.
Maybe that’s how all marriages turn out. Well, maybe not the ones where husband and wife are always and unwaveringly in tune sexually, for what, thirty, forty, fifty years. How many of those will there be? A small minority if that.
Sounds like a mature and considered conclusion. Let’s be grateful for what we have, let’s coexist happily. Meanwhile, In the awkward, chaotic, crazy part of ourselves that we call sex, you do your thing, I’ll do mine, let’s not rub each other’s noses in it,
Maybe my wife has arrived at the same conclusion, that’s why she didn’t get involved in my online perturbation.
