I ended up divorcing my husband because he constantly badgered me for sex. From day 1 all the way thru 10 years of marriage I never had an orgasm while we were having sex. I could do it myself of course, and he could manage sometimes with his mouth - but over time I lost interest in even that as it seemed to take so long for such a small payoff. I became disgusted with the thought of him kissing me afterwards which lead to a general disgust with all fluids sexually related. I imagined that if I parted my legs during the day my co-workers would be able to smell sex on me - I certainly could. I got to the point where I would only agree to sex in the shower so I could wash off immediately. My daughter was conceived there.

My husband worked nights for a while and I would often have to wake him in the afternoons to go to work. Of course he would wake up ready to go and try to grab me - I learned to wake him by standing at the end of the bed and shaking his foot. He agreed not to pester me for sex so long as I would approach him at least twice a week voluntarily. So long as his needs were being met it was ok. I learned to fear his touch - because any kiss or caress was expected to lead to sex and my body would no longer respond. To this day I flinch when a man touches me and keep distance between me and them for fear that any friendliness on my part will be interpreted as a willingness to have sex. Needless to say, it's been a long time, over 5 years.

He gave me the same song and dance about using sex to show affection. I worked a regular job and so did he more or less. He probably did more than his share of the housework since he came from a neatnick family and I came from a packrat family. I know I said I feared his touch - but he never harmed me - it was a sexual thing. I left him and eventually divorced him for many reasons - but I think it was this problem with intimacy that was at the root of it. I had lost my sex drive and he couldn't seem to help me to get it back. I was convinced that he was perfectly normal and that something was wrong with me. I felt dysfunctional because I no longer wanted sex. I went to therapists, I took anti-depressants which lead me to do some irresponsible things yet evidentally increased my interest in him. When I realized what they were doing to me I went off them - he wanted me to go back on - never mind the checkbook - have sex with me! Never mind you're on prozac and your hands are shaking - have sex with me!

I did get to the point where I just wanted him to get on with it because the foreplay was doing nothing and I knew by heart would the end result would be. He'd finish - I wouldn't. He'd clean up and I'd drip smelly stuff all day. He'd roll over and go to sleep and I'd lay awake frustrated. The one time I dared to try to release some tension so I could sleep, he could tell my hand was moving and asked if he could get some of that. I was in my mid thirties at that time and I just couldn't stand the thought of feeling the same way in my mid forties or mid fifties so I called it quits.

Unfortunately it appears now that the problem was with me because he was able to get over his grief quickly enough to find a small skinny new wife 10 years my junior, get his degree and move on with his life. I'm fatter, more depressed (and on a lot of pills for that - oh joy) and am alone and celibate. Have been since the Millenium and things aren't looking up for any changes for the next decade. Now I know the origin of crazy old ladies with lots of cats!