His back was turned toward me as we both lay here in bed; dressed in our garments. He hadn’t initiated sex in years and I wondered once again if he found me attractive, if he was getting sexually satisfied through other women…or if he was gay. I cannot know the answers because no matter how many attempts I made to open the doors to communicate, he would shut me down.
Since I operated under the belief system that a couple should have sex at least three times a week, I touched him and attempted to arouse him. At first he didn’t respond, but I was persistent. We were allowed only one position (his choice, but I did not know why because it was not up for discussion, yet again)…no variety, no foreplay for me, just me attempting to arouse him. I got the feeling he resented me taking the initiative, yet I was at an utter loss as to what else I could do.
No hugging or kissing was allowed. He had stopped holding my hand, kissing me or hugging me years ago.
In the beginning, when he would initiate, I would orgasm, but anymore, I would fake it, it was easier that way. I craved intimacy. I knew it was possible, yet it eluded me. No matter how many times I reached out to him, no matter how many attempts I made, no matter how many self help books I read, intimacy in my marriage and in the bedroom evaded me every time.
The garments came off; well, almost. I had stopped taking off my garment top, as he would not touch my breasts any more and the energy necessary to take it off wasn’t worth the effort. He climaxed and used his garment top to clean up the cum and immediately rolled back over–away from me.
Once, afterward, he turned toward me. I replaced my garment bottom and turned so my back was toward him and cried and prayed silently to let sleep overtake me, begging for some intervention to my grief and despair. Intervention that never came.
It is now years later…I’m divorced, and in a relationship with another ex-Mormon…
The climax is exhilarating as he kisses me and presses his weight into me. I feel his wet skin on mine and I breathe his scent in as he wraps his arms around me and rolls us both over, pulling me on top of him. I lay my head on his arm and turn my face into his neck, kissing his ear and neck softly. I feel every part of him.
I feel the soft underside of his arm next to my face, I feel his soothing breath as he eases into a rhythm that matches my own. I feel his heart beating and racing from the energy expended from the exhilaration of two bodies climaxing together.
He takes his hand and begins to slowly caress my side, the soft curves where my hip moves into my waist. His hand slowly moves up my side to my shoulder. We are so in touch with each other, it feels as though our bodies have become one. I can feel the imprints of his finger tips and I love it.
My legs are interwoven with his, my foot rests softly on top of his, moving ever so slowly up and down, feeling his toes and the soft inner inner skin of his foot.
As his fingers tingle up my shoulders, I feel them move ever so evenly down the arch of my spine. My nerves and his hands are connected as he moves down and touches my contours. My skin is his skin. My breath is his breath. My heart beat is his heart beat. There is no such thing as time. There is no world outside of this moment. This is all there is; this moment, this experience.
As I lay here, being one with my lover, I marvel at another time when the most important thing was to put on garments after sex. The intimacy I have learned to embrace, I never dared to imagine in my former Mormon life. I have learned to embrace my body, my mind and my soul–and with them, my lover. It is I, who have expanded myself in this new life. I have learned to live in intimacy by being one with myself.
Thank you, Mormon God, for abandoning me, for with you in my life, I could never have known the joy of this moment.