Lately, I had become obsessed with sex. Over the last decade, our married sex life had diminished to almost nonexistent. Tom and I were both working professionals and aggressively pursuing our career goals (him in marketing and me in information technology). Then there was the time spent taking our three boys to their various sports practices and school events. And then there were the frequent calls from our parents asking for help ranging from cutting their grass to cleaning their kitchen. Add in some social visits from friends and the too frequent late working nights, and sex has seemed to be the easy casualty of a busy life.
It was not like I haven’t tried. When asking for sex, the answer has invariably been a “too tired” or “not in the mood.” If I insisted, then Tom would sometimes comply but it was clear that he was not into it and just doing his duty to get me off. Afterwards, he would quickly excuse himself, clean up, and then roll over to go to sleep. It was like he couldn’t wait to get my fluids off of him. I suppose I should be grateful as pity sex is better than no sex. But we hadn’t had pity sex in over three months. Sometimes I wondered whether he was having an affair but a covert check of his phone showed nothing suspicious and there weren’t any strange charges on the credit cards or bank statements. He just didn’t seem interested in anything other than golf, the kids, and work. Maybe he was getting happy endings somewhere.