Lack of sex with my husband is driving me to infidelity

Lack of sex with my husband is driving me to infidelity
Bel Mooney

Dear Bel,

On March 21, replying to Rob about his sexless relationship, you wrote that women longing for more physical intimacy are “in a minority”. I am one of those women. Surely the problem is far worse this way round? You asked of a man visiting a prostitute to compensate for a frigid marriage, “who will judge him for that honest transaction?” I doubt you would think a prostitute an appropriate solution for a woman in the same position.

I am 38 and have been faithfully married for 15 years. My husband is 41. We were childhood pals, and are still the best of friends. In the early stages of our relationship the sex was fantastic. But I hate him for inflicting a marital situation on me in which we live as little more than brother and sister. For the past seven years he has virtually never initiated sex, saying he’s too tired (I work full-time, too) or needs to feel good to feel sexual, so it is never on the agenda. When relaxed (eg, weekends, or on holiday) he chooses TV or reading rather than making love. Physical affection between us is minimal.

I’ve tried everything to kick-start our sex life. I make an effort with my appearance — to no avail. I tried waiting for him to take the initiative. The longest wait was eight months, without the slightest indication that he’d even noticed. I have eliminated the possibilities that he’s having an affair or homosexual; he’s just not that interested in sex. He knows how important our sexual relationship is to me and how unhappy I am. But he does nothing to change and I cry myself to sleep most nights.

Now I have met someone else, a colleague from my previous job. In his early sixties, he’s also married with three children, though his are grown-up (mine are 10, 9 and 5). We very much enjoy each other’s company. I find him very attractive because of his age and experience. He asked if I want to go to bed but seems equally happy just to be friends. The promise of a loving, discreet affair with a trusted friend is tempting. Neither of us would have the slightest interest in leaving our spouses but I very much want the comfort of physical intimacy with someone I care about who’s tender with me. I’ve been considering this for three years now, so I’m not the sort of person to rush into an extramarital relationship. I think about sex with my friend every day.

I hate the idea of betraying my husband but how can I reconcile myself to a celibate life in my sexual prime? I’ve considered leaving because I can’t cope with the torture of feeling ignored. Even if my husband, by some miracle, were to change his behaviour now, I wonder whether I could forgive him for so many years of insensitivity to my unhappiness. Could an affair be making the best of a bad situation and save my marriage?
Annabel

You write with one problem, but there are two within your letter, albeit connected. There is the issue of a marriage devoid of physical expression of love, and then there is your question about whether to embark on an affair. I suspect that the unexpected opportunity for the latter has served to intensify your frustration with the former, so let us take each issue in turn.

It was inevitable, after my reply to Rob, that many men would write emotionally to say they felt less isolated to read of another in their situation. The subject lifts the lid on much misery within marriage — suffered by both genders. But proportionately it seems I was right: many, many more letters from men than from women. Still, both the following readers were keen that Rob should understand how some women sympathise with his plight. T, aged 37 and married for 13 years with two children, wrote: “My husband has not wanted sex with me for three years. It was a problem from the start and despite sessions at Relate and private counselling, we seem no further on. I am desperate for some affection and some passion.”

Similarly, M, who is 43, is eloquent about her “virtually sexless and intermittently affectionate marriage” to a “great dad” of their three children. “Periodically I ask why we are living like this; he says he doesn’t know and we must do something about it, but talking is as far as it goes. I’ve had my advances rejected so often that it makes my soul shrivel. It doesn’t seem to bother him that we never make love. He loves me — but I need more. I’ve never felt so lonely as now. I can’t look elsewhere as I don’t want to break up our family unit.” Three others took up the theme.

Writing as long ago as 1949, the great American psychiatrist Edmund Bergler pointed out (in Conflict in Marriage ): “The statistical impressions gained from unprejudiced observers are tragically high: they estimate that 89 per cent of women are frigid, and 34 per cent of men suffer from various forms of impotence”. That acts as a healthy counterbalance to the notion that our society is so sexually obsessed that it makes people feel inadequate; in truth, sexual problems are probably at the root of Tolstoy’s dictum about unhappy families. Few couples can sustain early passion, but if the “falling off” is equal they can settle to a cosy once-a-month sleepy lovemaking and adore their daily cuddles.

But, as shown by all my letters, an imbalance can form a fissure in a relationship which widens into a chasm. If it cannot be crossed it will have to be borne, or else the marriage will (in time) surely come to an end, even if no divorce takes place. It’s a melancholy prospect — and I’d be lying if I offered glib answers.

The advice columnist might recommend counselling, or dressing up to look sexy, or fantasy, or even the solace of masturbation — but what if some or all of those have been tried, to no avail? Any psychotherapist will tell you that problems in the bedroom have their origins years before, before the couple met, so tightly is our sexuality woven with infantile sensations and relationships. Perhaps that’s why Susie Orbach called her 1999 book The Impossibility of Sex .

What seems to wound as much as the physical rejection is the unwillingness to engage with the hurt that’s being inflicted: the turning away of the mind as well as the body. That’s why you imply that it might even be impossible to forgive your husband now, for “so many years of insensitivity”. That there could be deep reasons, that he could (for example) be one of those men for whom the naughty act of sex is split off from marital affection/friendship or that in fact his most secret fantasies do involve his own sex (how would you know?) . . . Such issues may no longer interest you. Certainly the one — male or female — who bewails a sexless relationship seems to reach a point when all that matters is the lack, not the cause.

Which is where a possible lover comes in. M is wise; she equates “looking elsewhere” with real danger. You, on the other hand, show your innocence in the assumption that if you started a sexual relationship with this old colleague both of you could keep it under control. You can’t know that. My instinct tells me you’d be the one to fall madly in love/sex (you’re almost there already) with him, and that the turmoil of emotions would make you unhappier than the lack of sex makes you at the moment.

Now I will shock some people here by saying frankly that were you to go off and have a night of fantastic sex with him — and if you were capable of keeping that in its compartment — it wouldn’t bother me at all, since a part of me would wish that fulfilment for you. If “ships that pass in the night” could remain just that, I don’t see the harm; why, the memory of how he rocked your boat could still make you smile when you’re 85. And — Lord knows — wonderful lovemaking (as contrasted with loveless coupling) is one of the joys of the universe.

BUT I think you have to be aware of just how complicated it can be, just how guilty you would feel, just how frustrating great sex can be, in that you’d want more.

Can an affair “save” a marriage? Sometimes, yes. Do I think it would save yours? No.