Marriage Growing Sweet as Honey

After my 99th failed attempt to be intimate with my husband, Richard Thornton, I could not help but ask, "Richard, is there something wrong with me? Why won't you touch me after all these years of marriage?"

He was perfect in every other way. He remembered every anniversary and every special occasion. Anything I added to my shopping cart would show up as a gift the next day.

Yet, when it came to physical intimacy, Richard kept himself covered in turtlenecks and long sleeves as if he wanted to shield every inch of his skin from me.

I reached for the obvious bulge straining against his pants. "Let me help you, honey."

Richard turned away with his back to me. After a long silence, he finally said, "Let's just sleep. I'm tired tonight."

In the darkness, I bit my lip and pressed myself against his back, feeling the hard planes of muscle and the heat radiating from his body.

"Don't you want me?"

Before my hand could move any further, Richard pushed me away. "Don't do this anymore."

The words came out cold before he fled into the bathroom, and my hopes crashed once again.

I could hear his ragged breathing through the door. Even with my eyes closed, I knew exactly what he was doing there.

It was like this almost every single night since our marriage.

I stared at the bathroom door. He had left it cracked open, just a sliver. Through that gap, I could see him watching me with burning eyes, his hand moving steadily.

The humiliation washed over me, and anger flared. "Richard, if this keeps up, I'll find another man!"

Richard froze. His eyes were ablaze with desire, but when he spoke, his voice carried a strange note of hurt. "Don't misunderstand. Just wait a little longer."

Furious, I pulled the blanket over my head. He stayed inside for a long time, showing such strong stamina, but it was completely wasted.

When he finally emerged, he stood helplessly beside the bed, staring at the lump beneath the covers. Eventually, his hand came to rest gently on top of the blanket.

Even through the layers, I could feel his palm. It was cold at first, then gradually warmed. Soon, it turned burning hot. I could feel the weight of his gaze, but nothing more happened.

I closed my eyes in disappointment.

Thinking I had fallen asleep, he carefully tucked the blanket around me.

Richard was always like this. Just when I convinced myself he did not love me, he would do something to make me wonder if I mattered to him.

I had no idea what Richard was waiting for.

…

I felt miserable the next day and met my best friend, Emily Jenner, at a new bar downtown.

I downed my drink, feeling bitter and resentful. "Why won't Richard touch me? Everyone says men can't control themselves. Wouldn't any normal man lose it around a woman like me?"

Emily slid a cocktail across the table. "Maybe Richard has his reasons?"

I racked my brain but could not think of a single good reason.

I gave a bitter laugh. "You know what? Last night, he was clearly turned on, but he still wouldn't touch me. If there's anything or anyone he can't forget, it's probably that woman from years ago—his first love."

I knew part of the story. Richard and his first love broke up over a misunderstanding years ago. She then left the country, and no one had heard from her since.

It was something Richard had never been able to let go of.

I used to believe that being by his side would help him move on, but now, it seemed I had lost completely.

Richard probably refused to touch me because he still loved her. Thinking about his coldness in bed made my chest tighten.

I put myself in his shoes. What if I were being forced to sleep with someone I did not love? The thought alone made my skin crawl.

He probably found the idea of touching me disgusting.

My mind went blank, and Emily looked at me with concern. "Are you okay?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine. But I need to divorce Richard. I can't stay in a celibate marriage like this anymore!"