Crushing at Twenty

My husband and I were married at 20. I had returned from a semester abroad, knew there wasn’t anyone else or anywhere to go but up, and I was ready to transfer to my four year university. College life is cheaper when married.  Take married student housing for one, and student loans for those of us who’s parents were the working yet credit poor and couldn’t absorb our loans. It also just so happened that Steve Martin’s “Father of the Bride” was one of my favorite movies at the time. and I really wanted one white wedding dress and the cheaper chicken (please do yourself a favor and watch the movie…it’s amazeballs.)

My first friend made the jump into an early marriage and that was it. My boyfriend would either live with endless innocent manipulation or just agree. What else was he going to do? #NextBestOption Four months later we were married and in our 600 square foot apartment. It was everything I thought I always wanted, minus the financial planning. We were 20! I had no idea how to pay the bills for goodness sake, it’s really laughable looking back.

We did our best settling into married life and I found myself working as fast as I could to get through my two years. During the summer I began working on the cleaning crew for the summer dorm conference system. It was during this time, surrounded by others my age, unmarried,  it hit me, this was it. I was never going to sleep with another man. If my husband didn’t want me that day or night, I wasn’t going to be having any sex. Of all things right? Why did this matter?

Juan was from some Salvadorian country and he was on my cleaning team. We all worked our asses off, cleaning dorms in the morning so that the five of us could hang out and hide the rest of the day in a random air conditioned dorm while we were supposed to be working. Juan had worked incredibly hard to loose over 100 pounds. He ate well, worked out and was humble about it. He wanted to help others get to that same place and encouraged us to try different exercises that worked well for him. He would show us how to crunch our abs, while lifting that shirt of his explaining what we were targeting and as we cinched those abs, he would place those large hands on our core to make sure they were engaged. Oh yeah. They were engaged. No doubt about that. This was like my free zone. Safe from the real world, guilt or concern for my marriage. Instead, it lead to concern for my own needs. What the fuck? I finally have another man who is showing interest in me with touches to my core, smiles thrown to me while walking behind the crowd of us, holding the door open and keeping his arm elevated so that it would happen to drop down onto my shoulder and lazily skim its way down my back. And I was married. I couldn’t act on it. Physically. Let’s not even try to pretend I didn’t go there in  my head and play out the whole scene.

One night, when my husband was working late, we all converged at my house after a happy hour and sat around. Somehow that conversation turned into my headache and Juan suggested I sit on the floor in front of my floral couch and massage my neck and upper back. Totally innocent  for five seconds. The connection was instant and his breathing changed into some sort of thick exchange of air that I wanted to inhale while his head dipped lower towards the area of my neck he was working on.  All our friends were right there, but it didn’t matter.  It took less than 90 seconds for me to relax back into the massage for Juan to realize it was time to stop. I am not sure that I would have stopped if he didn’t. If everyone else had left and we had been left alone, I am more than sure that marriage vows wouldn’t have anything on spicing up this sexually unfulfilled life.

One man. For life. That’s what I signed on for. It was discouraging to think that what I had was what I was going to get. For the rest of my life. I was a crush girl. I saw sex in many men I passed…what the hell was I thinking by getting married to one man at twenty? Ironically, this man I married was the most faithful and loving man that existed. My selfish desires were my fault. I am so grateful someone had common sense that summer. I could have never made it to here and now.

It has been over 20 years. I am happy to report that over these past years of marriage, sex and our love life has changed in amazing ways.  The cliche is true. Things do get better with time. Our kids are past that stage of needing us for everything. We have privacy now. The world around us has begun to change. Sexual exploration has changed in the liberal household with the publishing of anthologies such as the famed Christian/Anna ones.  Sex has become less taboo to talk about at work, with the girls, in conversations with friends.  It’s no longer about  that classic repetitive story line free porn, this is a new type of erotic, a visual or audio Viagra for women of all ages. Suddenly, making this connection between being tied up and the anticipation of having your mate have (safe and consensual) control of your body sparked something different in our bedroom too. Did we jump to butt plugs and spanking? Nope. Not quite, but taking the free time I had during any down time to invest in reading hot romance/erotica about sexy relationships kept those juices flowing (thank you Audible).

We are older, our bodies are literally deteriorating, and life can be really hard. Yet, something happens as you get through more and more years of marriage. You start to shed layers of inhibition. You realize that this is your partner, the one you get to make the most of this life with.  They may see some value in your version of porn. You read your romance, they get laid. Things really do get better. Not necessarily because your body gets better with age, or because you get so close. We are on the same team…”Team Multiple Orgasm”.  I have learned to shed my inhibitions as I expand my reading to more provocative books. Do I do every little thing I read in the unrealistic scenes? Can my husband lift me in the shower…you know what? I’ll let you imagine he can. What I can do is show him how I like him to come behind me and wrap his arms around my waist, rub his fingers along the length of my waist, kiss my neck and turn me into a puddle at the kitchen sink as I finish the dishes.

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