I Miss Her

Every night, I miss her. I miss my wife. I miss her touch, I miss her moans. I remember the way her skin felt when I touched her, how her intimate areas flushed and quivered with my caresses. I long for the scent of her, the taste of her. I mourn the loss of the intimate connection we had, when we lost our sense of self and merged as we made love.

She was the best lover I ever had, the only one I ever needed. The only one I want.

We didn't have a meet-cute. We met on an online dating website, years before smartphones and apps. Her profile pic was dark and not flattering. You knew you were looking at a person sitting on a couch, but no details of the face or body were evident. Her profile was enough to capture my attention as it was well-written and made me smile.

We messaged and emailed and called for months before I (strongly encouraged by her) asked her out.

She was kind and insightful. She was filled with nervous energy and anxiety but calmed quickly when comforted and reassured. She was very chatty yet still a good listener. She was encouraging and complimentary. She was the kind of woman who made you want to be the best man you could be for her.

We agreed I'd drive to her home city of Baltimore from Northern Virginia, and we would have dinner after which she'd take me on a tour.

I remember getting out of my car and as I walked to her place, I reassured myself that I liked her and no matter what she looked like (it was a bad profile pic, please please please don't be a catfish) I would have a great time with her. She had a great personality and seemed genuine. I knocked on the door to her downtown row home and unconsciously held my breath, which turned out to be convenient as it was immediately stolen from me when she opened the door.

The first time I saw her, I learned firsthand what awestruck felt like.

I was a comic book geek, specifically Spiderman, so the first thought I had was of the panel where Peter first met MJ. She told him "Face it, Tiger, you just hit the jackpot."

She was a statuesque 5' 10", with long, straight reddish brown hair with striking ice blue eyes that smiled at me from under her bangs.

My breath decided that it liked its freedom and flitted around, impeding my voice, but I managed to squeak out a hello.

My second thought was "Goddamnit, she's out of my league, but I'm going to ride this wave as long as I can."

Since it was her home city, she drove us around and I learned quickly that she was not a proficient driver as she swerved through the streets of Baltimore. We got lost for a second, then the first restaurant she took me to was closed, and the second had shut down permanently. The third one, a fancy Italian place, was open and delicious. We had a great dinner and then toured the Inner Harbor.

I learned that her smile was bright and made her freckled nose crinkle. Her laugh was full, lilting, wholehearted, and sometimes a little too loud, but never malicious or mocking and always joyful.

She had a youthful heart and an old soul. She was bohemian but not pretentious, flighty but not airy. She was smart, talented, and clumsy. She thought she was hilarious, and sometimes she was.

Our connection before the date was obvious, but after the date it was undeniable. The attraction between us was palpable, buzzing, and both of our hearts were racing. At the end of our first date, standing on her marble stoop saying our goodbyes, her eyes twinkled and she said "I really want you to kiss me."

I lost myself in that first kiss, and I was hers completely. And she was mine.

Our second date was much more formal. I was making good money and had recently moved back to NoVA due to a promotion. I was living with my parents, helping my dad take care of my ailing mom. I had broken up with a toxic ex, and moving out of Richmond was the fresh start I needed. Being single with no rent, and recently promoted, I was flush. I bought a new suit and bought tickets to La Cenerentola at the Kennedy Center. I wanted to 'wow' her as much as possible.

It was my turn to drive, and I picked her up and she looked gorgeous in a little black dress and small heels. With our heels we were the same height, so she stood a little taller than me in them and she was stunning. Heading to the venue, I followed what would become almost a tradition of ours and promptly got lost. We managed to find our way to the Kennedy Center and had a wonderful time.

After dinner and the opera, I took her home. At her door, again with a twinkle in her eye, she said "Stay with me?" Against my better judgment (Propriety! Manners! A gentleman shouldn't take advantage of a lady!) I needed to be with her. To be inside her. In response to her question, I think I nodded, dumbfounded that this gorgeous lady wanted me.

She took me by the hand and led me to her bedroom. We took our time undressing each other, lay on her bed, and started to kiss and explore each other's bodies.

She was a little timid in bed and slightly submissive, but very eager. Less of a pillow princess and more of a willingness to let me move and pose her in whatever way I wanted. Not knowing when she would come to her senses and realize she could do better, I did my best to give her a night neither of us would forget. I felt she was too good for me and amazingly she felt I was too good for her.

Her skin was alabaster, enhanced with patches of freckles - the ones on her shoulders I loved to kiss, a kiss for each freckle. The freckles on her knees and nose came a close second.

Her arms were elegant and warm, ready to give hugs. Her fingers were graceful and delicate and hinted at her musicality. She was a talented pianist and flutist.

Her legs were long and lean, and seemed to go on forever but ended with beautiful and ticklish narrow feet and long toes. I loved to tickle her and make her giggle and squirm, but she hated it. We would play wrestle and mock fight and it would lead to lovemaking.

Her back was broad at her shoulders and narrow at her hips. She had a slight curve to her spine, the remnant of her bout with scoliosis in her tweens.

She had a flower tattoo on her left shoulder, which was designed to cover a name that marked her from a time of youthful rebellion and hopefulness if not foresight and rationality, and now masked regret.

Her breasts were modest, the left one ever so slightly larger than the right. They were the perfect handful, firm and soft with light pink areola and sensitive nipples that loved to be touched, but only when she was excited.

And God, what an ass she had. Full, round, and firm under her soft, pale skin. It was like a magnet for me, I couldn't help but reach out and touch it whenever she walked past me.

We made love, and I was addicted. She was everything I thought I wanted in a sexual partner.

She knew of my high libido, and I didn't hide that I had a rather large porn collection. She nicknamed me Porn Boy, and ironically I gave all of it up after being with her. I didn't need it anymore.

She had scars from self-harming, physical reminders of a difficult childhood, and the ways she had to cope and stay sane. Her mother was a woman suffering from unmedicated borderline personality disorder and had an abusive childhood. Her father was a closeted, drug-addicted narcissist who after coming out left her and her mom to be with his new boyfriend. He took all the family wealth with him and left them nearly destitute. As icing on the cake, she had cancer when she was 12 and only survived by using an experimental chemotherapy treatment.

She had a rough early adulthood figuring out how to manage her bipolar disorder, but by the time I met her, she had become a mature and loving person. Extremely empathetic, and more than a little anxious, but she was the kindest person I had ever met.

Her childhood experiences led to her being insecure about herself. Even though she was gorgeous, she wasn't arrogant or self-centered. She was an ugly duckling who became a beautiful swan and had no idea of how wonderful she was.

We were married in 2006 and had our first child in 2007. Since she had chemo when she was young, we weren't even sure we could have kids, but after some fertility treatments, she became pregnant with our first child. It was a difficult pregnancy with her suffering from preeclampsia. She had a difficult labor, but we had our first daughter at the end. Laura told me she wanted another child. I was unsure and hesitant at first. I was so scared that I might lose her if she got pregnant and there were more complications. She was adamant about having another child and I couldn't say no to her.

In 2008 she was pregnant with our second daughter. It was another difficult pregnancy. Early in the pregnancy, we found out she had ovarian cancer. In a difficult surgery (laparotomy and unilateral salpingo-oophorectomy) while pregnant, she had the cancerous ovary removed. This was the scariest moment in my life. My wife and baby's lives hung in the balance and I was helpless to do anything. Thankfully both came out safely and healthy. Soon after birth, my wife had a complete hysterectomy and a second salpingo-oophorectomy.

She had a large scar from her belly button to her pubic bone that she hated and was insecure about. I viewed it as a battle scar from her war with cancer and her protecting our child. It was a physical representation of her love for us and the pain she endured. Whenever I had the chance I loved to kiss her scar and be thankful for her health and the health of our daughter.

After marriage and beyond, our sex life struggled. It naturally fell as our relationship progressed, as all new relationships do. While trying to get pregnant we had to be nearly scientific in scheduling our lovemaking, taking a lot of the spontaneity out of it but we tried to keep it fun. It naturally fell off during recovery after both labors and after her surgery. In the following years, distance in the relationship, two kids, poor communication, MIL moving in with us, and resentment nearly killed the intimacy in our lives. A loss of trust and respect killed it.

We made love for the last time on my birthday in May of 2014.

I would ask, plead, and beg, but I was turned down consistently. I was understanding sometimes, demanding others, and resentful throughout. I know she didn't appreciate me constantly asking. We went to therapy, scheduled dates, read books, talked, and cleared up a lot of the misunderstandings in our relationship, but intimacy has never resumed. I've stepped up and relieved some of the emotional and mental workload she has, I've changed my job to be more available throughout the week. She's tried hormones but stopped after a while. Going to the OB/GYN causes PTSD flashbacks for her from the last pregnancy. We both tried counseling individually and together, but we always stopped due to cost. After all of that, still nothing. No lovemaking. No foreplay. No passionate kissing. Sometimes cuddles, sometimes hand-holding. Hugs and quick, chaste kisses are all that we share. Something always comes up that pushes "us" to the last priority.

I have looked up information on post-hysterectomy and oophorectomy sex. It seems the common answer is it does decrease the sex drive, and a consensus seems to indicate that a sexual relationship depends on how much the woman wants to continue having sex. I think that tells me everything I need to know. She's not incapable of sex, she just doesn't have a drive and doesn't care. Not caring, that part hurts me the worst.

Every single day I told her I loved her and how beautiful she was. I have tried to show her love in hundreds of small ways. I listen to her and make time for her. I am an active listener when she has anxiety and needs to dump it, and wants someone to hear her out. I let her know how I was feeling and asked how she was feeling.

It has been 9 years. I stopped asking for any form of physical intimacy years ago. I have not had sex at all in my 40s. It doesn't look good for my 50's. I was and still am extremely attracted to my wife. My libido has not died. Her libido has disappeared, but she doesn't see it as a problem. I yearn for her all the time and it is painful to sleep next to her every night and know that she has no interest in me physically in any way. I miss the closeness. I miss the connection, the passion, the tenderness, the exquisite release. I miss being desired, wanted, and needed.

We don't share common interests or hobbies. She doesn't have a passion for food or travel like me. It's hard to develop an intimate relationship without physical touch or sex when we don't have any way to connect that is natural for us. She doesn't have any other interests aside from our children. Our only common interest is our kids.

I mourned the loss of my sex life. The state of Virginia has a term called Constructive Desertion. It is a reason for divorce based on no sex in a marital relationship. I will never divorce her. In all the time we've been married I've only taken my ring off once, when I was forced to due to a medical procedure. I will never cheat on her. I've come to view this as the worst part for better or worse.

As our sex life died, I went back to porn. The more it died, the more I consumed. Now, I feel so inadequate and insecure that watching porn is becoming depressing. The more romantic, intimate, and loving the porn is, the more I despair that I will never feel that again. It makes me feel inadequate. At this point, even if my wife came to me and asked for sex today, I don't think that I could perform since I feel so unattractive and insecure.

This loss of connection for so long makes me feel adrift, separate from everyone else. I feel disconnected. I feel unloved. I know she tries to show me love in other ways, but I don't feel it.

Ever since I told her I needed physical touch she has tried to rub my back more often while we are lying in bed at night. I know that is her attempt to connect, but it feels so forced as if that is the most she can will herself to do. I still melt at her touch and feel angry that it's the best she can do, and then feel guilty and appreciative because at least it's a touch, and beggars can't be choosers.

After nearly a decade and trying everything I could, I stopped trying on June 20th, 2023, almost 6 months ago from writing this. K knowing that she tolerated my touches while I desperately needed hers was soul-crushing. I stopped reaching out and caressing her as we passed each other. I stopped initialing hugs but would reciprocate. I stopped cuddling at night when we went to bed. I stopped asking about us. I stopped wondering if we would ever be intimate again. In all this time, I don't think she has noticed. If she did notice, I don't think she cares. This destroys my heart.

Every night, I miss my wife. I sleep next to her and I feel alone.