Layla, 65
Our chaste public personas actually make us more passionate behind closed doors because what we’re doing feels excitingly furtive
When I met Martin he was a 27-year-old virgin. We were both Catholic, but I had quite a few notches on my bedpost. Martin, by contrast, thought that premarital sex was a one-way ticket to hell. Even after we were husband and wife, he continued to think of certain acts as sinful. For the first decade of our marriage, whenever Martin went down on me, he was stricken with guilt. Oral sex didn’t become a central part of our repertoire until after it was sanctioned by his Catholic men’s group.
Martin has let go of his guilt in increments, and has grown more comfortable expressing his desires. Recently, I came home to find a package addressed to me, filled with half a dozen short, flashy outfits. Only then did Martin tell me he fantasised about seeing me in something skin-tight, with my breasts and legs on display. I put on a fashion show for him that night, walking up and down our hallway in spike heels and jewellery.
I now dress up for him about once a week, and I love how clandestine it feels. If you saw me at work you would never imagine I was capable of owning a lacy black one-piece, slashed at the midriff. Our chaste public personas actually make us more passionate behind closed doors because what we’re doing feels excitingly furtive.
Because Martin has revealed his true turn-ons to me so slowly, it still feels as if we are in an era of sexual discovery. It’s alluring that this man I know inside out is still unpredictable to me. I like that I don’t know every thought that flits through his head, and he certainly doesn’t know all of mine.
Sometimes when I’m having sex with Martin, I’ll go into my own world for a minute or two. I’ll imagine our neighbours are pressing their ears to the wall to listen to the sounds we’re making, and feeling terribly jealous. In reality, we’re not making much noise and the neighbours are doing nothing of the sort. I wouldn’t share a fantasy like that with Martin: it would be complicated to explain and, truthfully, I enjoy entering an alternative reality alone for 90 seconds. Secrets can be good for a marriage.
Martin, 64
She likes me in jeans but is particularly fond of seeing me in a white T-shirt. I’ll slip one on if sex is on the agenda for the evening
It seems bizarre to me now, but at 27 I thought intercourse was the most grievous sin imaginable. I had sex with Layla before we were married, and while I comforted myself that we were headed for the altar, the act itself still felt taboo. Arousal was terrifying: it meant I had to go into the battle against the forces of evil within my own body. Of course, I never won.
I’ve lost my Catholic faith over the decades, which has allowed me to let go of much of the shame I used to feel about my own desires. I’ve taken to buying clothes for Layla – skimpy things I used to feel guilty about liking, such as minis and tight leggings. I enjoy the process of going online and dressing Layla up in my mind, and then waiting for the outfits to arrive in the post. I dress up for her too, in my way. She likes me in jeans but is particularly fond of seeing me in a white T-shirt. I’ll slip one on if sex is on the agenda for the evening.
There have been occasions in the past where Layla has got dressed up as a surprise for me, but I’ve felt too tired or anxious to have sex, and that has made her feel embarrassed and unwanted. To avoid either of us ever being rejected, we have decided to ban impromptu propositions. One of us will raise the possibility of a session in the morning, and then we check in with each other throughout the day, to see whether we are both still on board. We never attempt to seduce one another spontaneously because the possibility of rejection is too destructive.
It’s heartening, in a way, to be married to someone for 37 years and still have the capacity to be disappointed if they reject you. Sex has certainly become less fraught since I lost my faith, but it still contains the potential for emotional turmoil – as well as simple pleasure. The fact that I’m desired is a gift, and I don’t take it for granted.
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This is how we do it: ‘I’ve lost my faith – and with it my shame about sex’ - The Guardian
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