Sex means different things to different people. I had always imagined sex to be a divine experience that I wanted to share with my soul mate. The day came when I got engaged to the man that I had begun to consider the man of my dreams. We used to chat for long hours over the phone through the night as we had a long distance relationship before the marriage. We started off with little chit chat about the day, meals and other irrelevant things, and soon moved to important topics like family, friends, our plans and finally, sex and children. I still fondly remember those night-long chats about how we wanted our sex life to be. What would we do in certain situations, how would we behave when in a certain mood, and so on.
Then came the wedding night: I don’t know about him, but I had loads of butterflies in my stomach! As the hour approached, I felt more and more jittery and unstable. Soon came the moment when we were left alone inside the room. Gosh, I couldn’t even look him in the eye, I was so shy and embarrassed. He was the one to break the ice by starting off with something about his hectic day while he casually ran his fingers down my arms, and I felt ripples of excitement radiating down my nerves. We spent the night talking, and finally hit the sack. But I still remember the combination of excitement, fear and pleasure I felt every time our bodies just brushed against each other. Those were the days I still recall fondly.
The honeymoon was when we attempted to have sex for the first time. I was a virgin with only a theoretical knowledge of sex. Although I enjoyed the physical connection with the man of my dreams, we ended up with not much to boast about. I was a bit nervous, and sex turned out to be quite painful which kind of put me off. But like every new toy holds the fascination of the child initially, we too tried to practice sex again and again till we gained some semblance of perfection.
Once the honeymoon period was over, the reality of marriage dawned upon both of us. We were no longer the people that looked forward to see, talk and simply be with each other. The pressure of domesticity and our responsibilities towards our families weighed us down. We started fighting for no reason at all. Every look, every word, every family member’s actions contributed to our war of words. Sex simply flew out of the window. Love, it seemed, was never there between us at all. What was there was ego, anger, and lots of sadness.
Sex at that time, at least for me, was an acknowledgement of the relationship we shared between us despite what was happening in our lives. To some extent, it was just lust, even for me. But I suppose men are as different from women as chalk and cheese. My husband would extend his anger and disappointment to the physical aspect of our relationship too. He used to give me the cold shoulder.
It was quite upsetting, and extremely humiliating. More so because, after one night of cold treatment inside the bedroom, I made up my mind to never again turn to his side. But I couldn’t hold myself back even for a few moments. I used to go begging to him to accept me physically and emotionally.
Why, you may ask. I don’t have the answer. I didn’t have it then and I don’t I have it now. I just wanted to be accepted by him. Those days were straight out of hell. They seem unreal sometimes.
It is in such times you look for a shoulder to cry upon. I had a trustworthy network of family and friends with whom I would share my innermost feelings and seek solace. Trust me, it did wonders for my emotional well-being; provided a crutch through all the stress and sadness. But for my acquaintances, I don’t know where I would have been.
Tune in for Part 2 tomorrow!