3 Things A Wife Shouldn’t Say To A Husband She Hasn’t Fucked In 4 Years

Advice from a husband who carries 95% of the load — without being able to unload.

#1. “I ask for so little in this relationship.”

If you’re a husband who spends more time playing video games than a 12-year-old or would rather spend hours on a golf course than tending to your household, you probably deserve a cutting comment like this.

Do you ignore your wife? No time to be meaningfully engaged with your kids? Well, then, you might be a douche, and your nuts deserve to get stomped.

BUT

If you actually enjoy being a husband and a father, and you accept that doing the lion’s share of the work is part of the deal, then maybe you’ve earned a little grace.

I know I have. I am a good father. I know I’m a decent husband, not perfect, not without fault or room to criticize. I am, after all, hiding over here, writing filthy fucking stories (literally) and occasionally engaging in dialogue with female writers.

I justify that because I need a vent. That energy has to go somewhere, and cyber pussy is much safer and less complicated than trying to run the gauntlet of deceit merely for sex.

Although just the thought of spending a few hours with a woman who loves cock as much as I love pussy does put a stiff pole in my pants, I still can’t bring myself to do it.

So go ahead and lecture, enlighten me on what I’m not doing, or for the stupidity of staying in a marriage that is no longer wholly functional.

I won’t say you’re wrong. All I will say is that the vows I took and the promises I made are not nothing.

There are other humans in my charge. So it’s not only about me, and despite popular opinion to put yourself first — that does not apply.

So why am I bitching about it?

Because when she melts down and I boil over, the steam lingers for days.

Was it always like this?

Nope.

The first half of the marriage was 50/50 with fucking and fun. I could count on her to carry her half. I appreciated and acknowledged it and made sure to do mine as well.

She said thank you. She fucked like a college girl D student needing to nail all her Prof’s for A’s. She was studious about it. Committed. Full scholarship material. She got dressed up for bed. Heels, the slutty make-up, the sheer body stocking.

I was a happy man. My plate was full.

Then POOF! The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

And he taketh the sex. All of it. Every trace, scent, and fleeting sense of intimacy.

It’s not her fault, and it’s not mine. Neither of us crossed a line or broke our vows. The absence and abstinence come from medical reasons I don’t need to get into, and you don’t want to read about; it’s a drag.

But it’s been four years, and I’ve watched all the porn. All of it.

The biggest challenge, aside from accepting that things change and there are bigger things than my sexual satisfaction, is the energy it takes to produce a cloud of positivity continuously.

My wife and I don’t fight often.

I show my kid what it is to be a good partner, even though she knows the equation is unbalanced. I work hard to practice patience and empathy and give support.

But sometimes, my Missus has a meltdown because I cannot join her in her depression. Nor can I allow my daughter to have her mother’s depression dictate her activities or social engagement.

When I hold firm in these circumstances, sometimes, I become the enemy.

It’s a test.

I fail it often.

#2. You don’t support me.

All I do is support her. I do 100% of the cooking — 90% of the cleaning and 90% of the errands. I do my laundry. I vacuum. I mop. I clean our bathroom.

These things aren’t her jobs because she’s a wife. But these things are partly her job because she is a wife.

Her guilt over her inability to conquer small tasks prevents her from giving thanks when I do them.

If a kid comes to visit or friends over for dinner, I do extra to protect the image of a solid family, a happy marriage, and a good wife.

What she has to live with is no joke. I don’t want her to feel embarrassed or inadequate. But, when she has to pull out of her hiding place, it takes all her energy to hold up the façade.

#3. You need to help me more.

What’s left? What more can I do? What less can I expect from you?

Things I Don’t Say — Barely

You ask for so little? How about you give so little?

I don’t want to live in your depression.

The sky isn’t falling; you’ve just stopped looking up.

I want to fuck.

I miss your body.

I miss your taste.

I miss your touch.

I want to fuck.

I don’t highlight her failures or inability to function as a “normal” adult. Those things produce nothing but pain for her; more depression, guilt, anguish, and anxiety send her further into the darkness.

She’s my wife; you don’t do that to your wife.

I’d rather lose if that’s the side effect of winning a point.

But my well of patience does run dry. My needs do call out.

I am fallible. But I’m still here.

The sun has to break through the rain sooner or later.

It’s a summons to do more, try harder, and be stronger.

I’ve dove down to the bottom of the reservoir.

Here I swim in my weakness and indulge in my temptations. Here I can break; in order to survive.

But she won’t see me fail her.

Until she busts me jerking off again.

And in case you do feel the need to reach out and knock me down, rest assured that I am fully aware that I am the captain in a douche-canoe, paddling upstream on a river of bullshit.

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