Years ago I was struggling to work through my disastrous interactions with my wife, whom I shall refer to from now on as Gospodzha. I cut up a number of old Peanuts comics to make illustrations of my interactions with her, and I found them rather satisfying (in no small part because we actually kind of look like Charlie and Lucy).
I came out to Gospodzha before we got married, and at first she seemed receptive.
Now, to be clear, I don't believe she did any of this out of malice or a desire to see me hurt. She thought she could handle it, and that turned out not to be the case. I have some ideas as to why, but they're part of her story and not mine and I can't go and tell someone else's story like that without consent.
But her frustration at how badly it went built more quietly. I couldn't bring the topic up without seeming to hurt her, and she could tell my confidence was shattered. She then gave me the worst possible advice for the situation.
I will never take anyone seriously when they tell me to "just be spontaneous" ever again.
Years later, after marriage and a child and some harsh words at my reluctance for vanilla sex, I thought I'd try again. After all, I'd probably gone too far too quickly, hadn't I? What if we could just start with some of what I like to call "French Vanilla": things that are sexy in a mainstream way.
It really didn't matter. I couldn't tell you where things begin and end any more, but it's clear that if there's anything that arouses me in the slightest it makes her uncomfortable. I don't know if it's associated in her mind with the weirder stuff, or if it's just that turning the lights on is too much and anything I suggest will by definition be past her limit. Either way, it ground everything to a halt.
I spent a long time thinking and writing and exploring my feelings and my identity. I decided I was going to have to face celibacy, but I still need to be understood and loved by my partner. I don't need participation, just acceptance.
It's been years again, now, and in 2016 I finally told her that since she seemed unable to love the part of me that is my sexual identity, I didn't think we could have sex any more. It was hard, and she still tells me she wishes I'd "change my mind" when she thinks I'm asleep. But that's where we are, now. We love each other, and are tender and supportive and kind and I would even say intimate in some ways. It just never goes past a certain point.
All I want at this point is for her to just want to get to know me, to understand me, and to hear my story instead of presuming. I think it hurts her too much as well, or she would ask. I can't keep pushing on this, when every time I have done in the past it has hurt her. Withholding sex also hurts her, I know, but everything I see makes it appear that it is less painful than the alternatives have been.
And that's where the comic falls down. It felt like she set me up to fail each time she told me to try, but I think the failures were just as much a shock and surprise to her as they were to me. She wasn't trying to trick me, and I don't think she took any delight in how things ended up. The images helped me work through my frustrations at one point, though, and I go back to them occasionally to help me remember that time.
