![]() Strangely enough, my first instinct was to comfort him. And then he flat-out said it: "I can only get turned on if I am in women's clothes." I could barely get the words out over the lump in my throat. We were laying side by side looking at the ceiling after another quick and unsatisfying interlude – which I'd gotten used to, somehow. We were still in the honeymoon phase at this point, literally and figuratively. "There is something I need to tell you – something I have never told anyone before," he said. It was like sex wasn't even an interest.įast forward several years, and the conversation that ended our marriage began like this: "This will be so much more comfortable," he told me. ![]() ![]() But instead of breaking in the bed, he drew me towards him in a way that can only be described as chaste. ![]() I imagined him reaching out to me in passion – and he did. We carried the new double mattress up three narrow flights of stairs and he flopped sweaty and red-faced backwards onto it. ![]() As time went on, we'd made it to our 30th date, when we bought a mattress together. The beginning of our relationship was all roses and walks on the beach. I was in bed with my ex-husband, with six years of sub-par sex playing in my mind like a silent movie. ![]()
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