Like any person who subscribes to monogamy, I had to give up a few things—and people—when I got coupled up. But as a bisexual woman, I also had to give up whole parts of myself, not because my husband expected it, but because I expect it of myself. And, frankly, I wanted to. No one’s ever thrilled me like he does, and now I’m just not interested in sharing my intimate self with anyone else.
But that doesn’t mean there aren’t things I miss.
Sometimes I wish I could send a ghost-self out to explore the parts of my sexuality I’ve given up. I miss the satin texture of breasts. The smooth expanse of a woman’s back and the curve of a woman thigh. Most of all, I miss the thing I never had: a chance to use a strap-on.
I’ve always craved the experience of entering someone not with hands or tongue but with tools, just to see how it feels to step into that role, and now I may never have that chance. My husband is shy, private, not terribly adventurous. We’ll never have a threesome and he’ll never let me use toys on him. We went once to a sex shop to buy a cock ring. I’ve never seen him so paralyzed with embarrassment. It’s adorable, but very different from my understanding of sex. Still, I think: at least he went. He tried.
It’s difficult to balance acknowledging a wonderful sex life with a feeling of loss, no matter how small. I fill the gap with fantasies and with shopping for sex toys, browsing as though I could find the perfect dong that would change his mind. And who knows? Maybe, as we age, I will.
Alisha K. lives in the Midwest with her husband and a beautiful dildo her son once mistook for a pistol.
Photo credit: Lars Plougmann via Creative Commons