You know, I tell myself that, because it always fucking starts.
There is the first frevor of sex, that time when you haven’t seen each other naked a whole lot so every time it happens, it’s new and fresh and exciting. You can’t get enough of each other and fucking. Sex. Whatever. You hold on to every moment, and it seems like it will never end. You want to fuck every night, cling to the feel of it in the morning and the taste that still lingers on your skin.
Then it becomes that you’re tired some days. You have been busting your ass outside all day or inside all day, and he is too tired because he’s worked all day, and you think to yourself, “Well, it’s okay, we’re tired, normal people don’t fuck all the time. All day every day is too much to last. We can do it tomorrow night.”
And tomorrow night comes, and you fuck and it’s awesome. For about another month.
Then it starts to be three nights in a row. Then a week. Then it becomes an occasion. Suddenly, you’re counting the days since you last had sex. You’re wondering if it’s still there. You’re wondering if it’s become so commonplace or if he doesn’t want to anymore because he doesn’t think the spark is there.
Then it becomes a few weeks between fucking. Then months. Then not at all.
And at that point, you are sitting in bed every night thinking and wondering if he loves your body at all, if he remembers what it was like in the first weeks of the relationship’s consumation. If he sees you as comfort, housecleaning and babysitter or if there’s something still under the surface that’s just not making the trip up anymore.
By the end of it, you are convinced he has no desire for you like that anymore. By the end of it, you wonder why you even tried for so long. By the end of it, your self esteem is so low you feel like you could crawl through the core of the Earth.
That’s not where it is. But this is where it starts. How do I make it where it stops for once?
