A couple of weeks ago, Mark accused me of wanting to have “meaningless sex.” Actually, he said that he feels that I want to have two lives: one that includes my marriage to him, my role as mom to our three kids, and preserves our lives intact exactly as they are now. And another that lets me do as I like, with whomever I like, sexually and otherwise.
I do want that.
At the same time.
It’s impossible, right?
I’m selfish and horrible for wanting it, right? It’s too much to expect. I should feel bad.
I do. And I don’t.
Here’s the thing. I love Mark. He is what I’m most certain of in the world. No one else could ever compete with the boy on the hill at my fifth birthday. No one. No one else could ever come close to being the guy Mark has been throughout my life, the guy who has given me everything I’ve ever asked for, hinted at, or thought of. No one else could ever complete me. Mark has already done that.
He’s just right the way he is. I love that he likes us the way we are, I love that he thinks I’m perfect the way I have always been. I love our family together, the way it is, right now. I don’t want to change any of that.
But I want more. I have spent almost two decades shaping myself to him, deliberately hoping and trying to fulfill him. Taking responsibility for his happiness.
I still want to make him happy. But I want to find fulfillment by myself, too — on my own. I want to experience myself without him as a mirror, as a gauge, as a counterbalance. I need to. This is my life.
And meaningless sex? What is that? I think it’s sex where each party is free of responsibility for the other’s pleasure. Not free of wanting to give pleasure, no. Free of being solely responsible for it. Meaningless sex is sex that’s fun purely for the sake of being fun. Or maybe not fun at all. It’s sex where each person can be free to feel whatever they feel without (over)regard for each other’s feelings.
Meaningless sex isn’t really meaningless at all. Still, Mark says he doesn’t want it.
So what am I to do in this situation?