My Journal - May 2003 flashback

I was reading through an old journal on the bus this morning and came across the following entry for early 2003.

I should note that this journal entry was written on a flight home from Knoxville, TN. In the entry I mention that the my major accomplishment for this trip was that I did not go to any strip clubs. I went through a phase in my life and my marriage when I took refuge, and a little comfort, in the strip clubs of the cities were I traveled. I knew it was a bad choice, but it seemed to get me through a rough patch, and in 2003 I decided to go cold turkey and stop going to the clubs.

This journal entry was written in the early days of my "new celibacy."

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Strippers are amazing and wonderful people. For $10-$20, they are friendly, affectionate, and naked. I can't think of a better deal. You walk in dozens of beautiful women are just dying to be with you. It is a huge ego boost at the time because you get to turn down beautiful, naked women. You get to pick and choose, and when you're ready, when you call them over, they are yours, 100% for the next three songs.

When they're done they kiss you on the cheek, squeeze your hand, and call you honey. It’s a great feeling. Of course it's an illusion, but hell, isn't most of our life an illusion, a fantasy we spin to keep ourselves from blowing her brains out?

My wife pretends to love me, and I pretend to give a shit and we move on our way. It's worked for most of the 10 years we've been together, but it's starting to break down. We are starting to tell the truth way too much for either of us to be happy.

Before I left for the trip we had sex, and as always, she started out a little on the dry side. I offered to go down on her, which is one of my absolute favorite things to do. She said no, she didn't like it, but she was uncomfortable with her body, her smell, her taste, and I said, "I don't care."

I told her that I loved everything about her body, after some hesitation I hoisted open her beautiful thighs, and made her cum like an animal. That is what she wanted, and feared.

I really don't know what she is afraid of in bed. She comes easily once she lets herself and, though she isn't very adventurous, she isn't afraid to masturbate for me and she has learned to enjoy the dildo I bought for her a while ago.

Yet, almost every time I ask for sex, it turns into a battle, an argument over something I did, didn't do, or thought about doing.

She has wrapped so much emotional shit around sex that it's never just about getting off. It's always about something and that makes it tough.

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This was written almost three years ago today and nothing has changed. If I still wrote in my journal, I would say pretty much the saaaaaaaaaame thing.