Thursday, January 7, 2010

So how did we get here, Ivey? Part I

In June of 2009 I decided to take a spa day. I do this once in a while. Head out to a local spa, get a massage, manicure and/or pedicure, etc. I usually take a book or two and hang out by the pool, reading and relaxing while the friendly waitstaff keeps a crisp chardonnay at my fingertips. Sometimes, (oh hell, ALL the time!) I meet interesting people to talk to. I'm not shy. I'm not unattractive, I'm pretty well-read, pretty educated, damn funny, and an all around good egg. I am, in short, a great casual companion.

This particular weekend, I'd shipped Vincent, my uber-fantastic and ridiculously loved husband of more than a decade off to a seminar up north. He's been wanting to take a class that related to a new hobby of his and, being a bit of a work-aholic, he wouldn't sign himself up. So, fabulous wife that I am, I signed him up, signed the check, and put his happy ass on a jet plane.

So, husband up north, wife down south. Cutsey-pie phone calls back and forth Miss you! No, miss you!! Nooo, miss you more!! You get the idea. We love each other. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Terrific friends, fantastic business partners, and lovers though the latter hasn't always been the case. We got married when I was 32 and he was 35 and for about 6 of our 11-year marriage, it was almost sexless. Maybe once a month. I swear there was a couple of years that it may have been once every other month. One year, I swear we had sex three times. I remember. It sucked. And it was my fault.

Before I met Vinnie in '95 I was just coming off of a 2-year self imposed celibacy situation. My last boyfriend before that was the proof that I fundamentally flawed, unlovable, with piss-poor taste in men. I used the two years to get some counseling, work on some self-reliance, and learn to stop trying to get men to love me to make up for the fact that I couldn't love myself. And for the most part, it worked.

When Vinnie and I first got together, we fucked like bunnies. I couldn't get enough of the guy and vice versa. We both fell madly in love. He's Italian, with dark hair and blue/green eyes. He is warm, funny, smart, sweet, and loves me very much. He plays guitar in a rock band. Oh my God, I've died and gone to heaven, I thought. I thought other things too but I'll talk about those in other posts.

Back to married life. The first couple of years were sort of OK but then things changed, and fast. I didn't know what the fuck was wrong with me. No sex drive. Nada. Niente. When we did have sex it was usually because I just felt sooooo guilty. But I hated to be touched. I was embarrassed by what I thought was my huge fatness (for the most part, I wasn't fat), I was wracked with leftover fundamentalist Christian guilt (sex is dirty, if you have sex before marriage YOU are dirty, wives must have sex because God says so.... but it's really, really dirty). Vinnie never complained. And he never had an affair even though their were times when I wished he would, if for no other reason than to alleviate my guilt and punish my "selfishness."

To make matters worse, about three years into my marriage, as I got into my mid/late-30s, my hormones went INSANE and my brain went with 'em. I would have rages, face scarring acne (my late 30's for Christ's sake!), hair loss, constant fatigue, and worst of all, weight gain. At the time I worked in entertainment and being fat was a career ender. Again, Vinnie was practically perfect. He tried to help. He was patient beyond reason. He endured sobbing, self-loathing melt downs. He faced a psycho raging woman who he didn't recognize. He held me every night and cuddled me to sleep, reassuring me, telling me he was happy and that he loved me.

Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, knew or knows about any of this. Nobody would've guessed by looking at me or at us that sex was a problem. To the outside world we were the perfect couple -- totally in love, creatively challenged, financially stable while growing our business. And all of that was completely true but....

There was this "sex" problem.

And a few of years ago, I decided to literally get the fuck over it.

It took lots of hard work on my part and more than that of determination and courage, but over it I got... with a vengeance.

As I turned 41 we went from having sex once a month to once or twice a week or more. We expanded our repertoire of sexual positions beyond basic missionary. I rediscovered my ability and enjoyment of blow jobs. I went to my first "sex toy" home party given by a friend of mine. Of course, I bought books -- positions and "how-to's".

I "decided" to stop waiting to enjoy my body and to stop withholding it from my husband because I thought it was repulsive. He didn't think I was ugly, in fact, he thought I was pretty damn pretty. And he told me so. At the age of 42, I bought my first sex toy -- online, of course -- a vibrator. I learned to ask Vinnie to try new things. (I found out later that all this, though welcomed and wonderful, was tougher for Vincent than he let on, but again, I'll post about that another time.)

That same magical year, I finally made peace with my body weight. I'd left the church philosophically years ago but I finally recognized then jettisoned garbage that had been left in my head. And when I finally did those two things, the lid blew off.

Back to the spa....

So with my newly awakened sexuality and confidence, my newly rejuvenated marriage, and my growing desire to stop missing out on life, experiences, and adventures, I met two people who changed my and Vincent's lives -- Rick and Leah.

Through the course of our day, hangin' by the pool, sharing lunch, conversing, I discovered that Rick and Leah, happily married for 26 years, roughly Vinnie and my age, were Swingers. And they thought I was totally hot.

To be continued......


  1. This is a very intriguing start! I'll look forward to reading some more!

  2. Hooray and amen my sister!!!!!


  3. I need to read older posts on this blog and look forward to learning more....