The Sexlesses. June 22, 2007

We haven’t had sex for two days. 
 
If you knew M and me, kept a log of our sex life for the past two years (except that would make you kind of pervy and I don’t know that pervy suits you), you would know that two days without sex - two days having slept in the same bed without having sex - is wildly uncharacteristic. 
 
“Omigod, we’re the old married couple. That doesn’t have any sex. Except for like once a month but even then it’s perfunctory and I’ll be thinking about the laundry and you’ll be thinking about the bills. OMIGOD. We’re just a stone’s throw away from my vast collection of romance novels, your vast collection of porn and ‘goodnight hun, see you tomorrow’ before turning over onto opposite sides. Omigod.” 
 
“I’m glad to see you’re not at all being melodramatic about this.”  
 
The truth is, I’m scared about domestic life. Excited, intrigued, anxious but also scared. Scared that it will turn us into faded versions of our vibrant selves. I’m scared that there won’t be any sex. I’m scared that life - especially a life filled with kids and obligations and car pools and mortgages - will intrude to the point that we become, essentially, roommates.  
 
It’s irrational, I know. Two days without sex does not a celibate couple make. But it’s easy to get tired and make excuses and then all of a sudden it’s been two months and you’re all, “maybe I should just put out tonight. I feel bad.” 
 
I know what a slippery slope it is because it’s exactly what happened with the gym and me. I used to go five, six nights a week. The cycling room was my second home. I was dedicated, enthusiastic. And then, well, life started to get in the way. I got busy at work and then I got engaged and soon I stopped going. I was “too tired.” Or I “had a headache.” Or I “just wasn’t in the mood.” And now it’s been weeks - WEEKS! - without a single visit to the gym. And I have no intentions of going back. Carving time for the gym is no longer a priority.  
 
See? See how that worked? See how easy it is to substitute “sex” for “the gym”?  
 
“Well,” he said to me this morning as I, fully-clothed and ready to go to work, lay next to him, shirtless and sleepy, “I’d be more than happy to seduce you right now if it means you’ll worry less.” 
 
“No! No! Then we’d be doing it just to do it and then we’re no better than The Sexlesses. Oh, and if you could see inside my head, I’ve capitalized Sexless as if it’s a last name because that’s what we’re going to call the imaginary family that we don’t want to turn into.”  
 
I know we’ll have sex tonight and it will be awesome and I’ll be all, “remember my meltdown? Ha ha ha, I’m so dramatic. We have nothing to worry about.” But still. Slippery slope, I say. Slippery slope.  
 
Note: I should probably be channeling all my nervous energy into worrying how the hell we’re going to help pay for this wedding, but as you can see, I clearly have my priorities in exactly the right order.