Friday, February 1, 2013

Sleeping and Dormant Love

A woman has needs.  I have needs.  And PTSD and TBI and all the circumstance around that robs me of my most private and romantic, or not so much romantic, as sexual needs.

Sometimes it is touch.




Being wanted.  REALLY wanted.

I need hard and rough hands all over my body.  I need pain that begs pleasure.  I need sex.  Not the dutiful, "I'm your wife and this is what we should do", but I need lusty, take me to your bedroom sex.

PTSD/TBI begs to differ.  And I *hate* it.  I'm slaying dragons here, and it's killing me.

My husband came home from the Army in 2006, and we were dating weeks later.  He was strong, he was fit, he said "Yes ma'am" and opened doors, and protected me. 

Let me say that last part again.  HE protected ME. 

There was this part of his body, it would melt me to my core when I even thought about it.  From his ear, tracing down the side of neck, into his shoulders.  His wingspan, huge, engulfing, wrapped around me, safe.  His hands were rough and war worn, but his cadence and demeaner made women fall right over themselves.  But he only wanted me. 

He would look at me in this special way.  It was that half moon eyed, slight grin, right up in my face look.  The "I am so in to you" look.  The "I'm about to take you to my room" look.  I was putty.  I wanted him. In the worst way.

When we would go out, if there were any brawl of any sort, he was right there, breaking it up, the peace keeper, the shit stopper.  And people listened.  It would scare me.  To see him so confident, to get right up in there.  I would shake and once I almost lost control of my bladder.  But he'd fix the shit storm, and place him self right by my side.  Never hurt, never hurt anyone else.  "You okay babe?" He'd say that.  And he'd give me the look, and I'd surrender into his arms.  "I hate when you do that...." 

But as time went on, and all night bedroom sessions of passion and talks, and more passion, and more talks....and "Holy Crap the sun is already coming!" turned into distance, and ice, and a divide I just don't know how to make it across. 

The looks became non existent for a long time.  He was so heavily medicated his affect was flat.  He couldn't recall the "look" when I'd beg him for them.  He couldn't understand why this shift, in retrospect, was so unnerving to me, that I started to pull away, too. 

Now we stand miles and miles apart, and I'm broken.  I really am.  Now we have children, and a house, and a dog, and I'm missing the most important piece.  The man.

The universe has this cruel way of stringing people along.  I will spend days, weeks, even months, craving that touch that only a certain type of male can give.  I can spot them a mile away.  My husband knows this, and it makes him crazy.  I have not yet strayed, but I forsee only trouble if I don't navigate us back together again.

So while I am being miserable and full of want and lusty things that are not mine and that simply would ruin my family, I'll see a glimpse. 

It is so quick, it is like the world saying, "Remember this??? You like this?  Fuck you, you can't have it ever again."  I hate it. I hate it with every ounce of red blood in my whore body.

On two occasions this happened as he was in a friend's wedding, and a cousins wedding.  Perhaps it was the booze, or maybe the tux?  Or the night away from the children, in a hotel.... but dancing together, to a slow song, he gave me that lazy, I've loved you all along look.  This look was so endearing, even others commented on it.  One time he played a country song, and he said, "I always think of you when I hear this"...and we danced in the living room while the little boys watched, And for those nights, at the weddings, and in my living room.  He played our song, "I'll be your lover too" by Van Morrison, and he held me and rocked me back and forth... for a moment I felt like a queen.  I felt like he was my King again.

But returning home, back to doctors, back to children, back to work, back to therapies.... It all went away again.  Sleeping and dormant love. 

I never know when it well happen again.  I never know when he will take control and take ME.  I need that.  Badly.   As I suspect all women do.  But in the meantime I feel like I am fighting dragons and I've lost my shield, I dropped my sword.  I can only now feel the heat from the fire PTSD and TBI blasts me with. 

There is no other way to fulfil this desire, it is a most primitive, carnal desire, and I'm only 32 years old.  I'm in my prime.  So as my body is licked and lashed by the fiery agnst of PTSD and TBI, my soul is burning on its own accord.  I wonder if it will just implode.  Imagine all the tiny hearts that would break from selfish indescretions.  No, that would be my cross to bear.  Not his, he cannot help this. 

Temptations are a powerful thing.  Selfish motives are yet another force.  Yet we are all human.  And these things we fight, in life after combat, are bigger than all of us.  These are giantic, scary, fire breathing dragons. Sometimes we are a fully united front, sometimes we have to fend for ourselves, but the bottom line, is that we promised, we made a deal, that no matter what, we'd always find our way back to eachother.

I can't tame this forever.

Image may be subject to copyright laws, courtesy of Culturewarclasswar.
Music credited to Van Morrison, I'll be your lover too.