Reaching across my chest, my hand stroking hers in response. A soft warm exchange, affirmative of affection.
But entirely unsexual. For me, the natural path would be to extend the stroke, caress her neck, maybe touch her breasts. Not with particular intent, more an exploration of the moment, reaching for a latency, seeing if it blossoms, fine if it doesn’t, fine if it does.
Remembering, the first time I recognized the fact of her unsexualness, the slight shock, realizing that I’m in a situation that’s foreign to me, that not everybody is the same as me, that this is a cold reality I’m going to have to get used to. A watershed moment. Innocence lost and maturity achieved.
After that, applying mild tests. As now, responding warmly to physical touch but not sexually. Trying to be unforthcoming. Feeling strange, as if becoming cold. Surprised to see my wife responding well, a weight of expectation removed.
So now we have mellow companionship and occasional warm gestures, and exchanges of affection. Probably as much as can be hoped for, there are plenty of people who’d love to have that.
And for sex I have Jenny. Or if I want someone new, a thousand women waiting on a website, ready for me to phone them.
Lying in bed, thinking, this is fine, it’s how I now prefer it. Endless sex with the same woman, even if it never faded, which perforce it does, maybe after seven years, ten if you’re lucky, but even if it didn’t, is that what I’d want? Sounds an impoverished way to spend a lifetime on this rich earth.
The room slowly getting lighter, my thoughts becoming less sleepy. Well, of course, one thing I could do, explain this all to my wife, keep things open and honest. Such a course of action, something I might once have naively done. But my thoughts going back to that moment of maturity, recognizing that other people aren’t the same as me, remembering the corollary, you can’t explain to people who can’t understand.
Better to treasure the warm companionship, share the things we can, shield out the things we can’t.
