Two months ago, after sex with my boyfriend, I got dressed, drove to a store parking lot, and cried. I had been excited that we were finally having sex again. I had taken the lead, hoping there might be room for what I wanted too. Once he finished, I joked that I could keep going. He said he was already done and apologized. That was the end of it.
I'm 23, he's 27, and we've been together for two years. Until five months ago, we lived an hour and a half apart. Between studying, working, and finding time to see each other, I could explain away the sex that wasn't happening. Everything else felt so good that I didn't want to make this the thing that overshadowed it.
Then we moved in together. I'd blamed the distance, but sharing a home hasn't brought the closeness I imagined. We've had sex only a handful of times since the move, mostly during that first week. Now I lie beside someone I want and feel increasingly unsure that he wants me.
It isn't only how rarely it happens. When we do have sex, there's very little build-up, and my pleasure seems to disappear from consideration once he's finished. I try to bring some energy and attention to him, but I don't feel that attention coming back. An apology afterward doesn't give me the experience I was hoping to share.
I've tried talking about it. He calls himself a private person and doesn't want to discuss sex. I respect boundaries, and he knows that, but the conversation stops there. I'm left trying to understand something that involves both of us without being able to talk about it with him.
Tonight was the first time we'd had sex since that night two months ago. It was over in perhaps five minutes. He apologized, and I made a sharp comment about how it had been a while, then left the room. Later, when I went back to get dressed, he apologized again. I ended up on the couch.
I feel bad about the comment. Anger isn't something I handle comfortably, and the frustration felt almost physical. But I'm also upset that the problem can sound like a complaint about how quickly he finishes. There are other ways to give attention, to stay close, to make my pleasure part of what happens. I'm not asking for a stopwatch to run longer.
What I miss extends beyond sex itself. I want his hands on my waist, a hug from behind, the feeling that he's curious about me. I want us to explore what we enjoy together. Even when I try to satisfy myself, imagining him being more attentive can leave me crying afterward. The fantasy brings me back to what's missing.
I don't think he's cheating, and I don't think he's gay. I don't have an explanation that makes this easier. When friends talk about their sex lives, I change the subject now. Romantic scenes in movies can make me cry. I used to want to dress up for dates; lately, I wonder why I'd bother. We've only been together two years, and I'm already filling my time with work instead.
