This year has been extremely eventful, so much so that I have neglected to update my web audience on my (mis)-adventure. D and I have officially separated. Since the last post, we decided to give couples therapy a real shot, and started going to a therapist about twice a week. Nevertheless, our intimacy never improved. D continued to feel that her sexual desire for me continues to be flat, and I still feel that I had a lot left in me.
What ended up being the last straw was what happened in May. I had to go take a business trip in a northern state. D was home with the kids. I eerily remember that I was locked in a stark, Spartan Hilton room, and patiently counted the number of weeks I have not had sexual intercourse with D. It was 13 and half. I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of sadness, and the unbearable sense of wanting to just say "fuck it." In that moment, I felt my strength leaving me, my barriers breaking down. I called a massage therapist. She was Asian, about 25 years old, and had smooth, silky dark skin that I made my heart skip a beat. Initially, I was just expecting an erotic massage. As her warm palm was touch my back and my pulsating erection was rubbing painfully against the towel on the massage table, I felt deeply lonely. I grabbed her soft, supple breast, lied on my side, and asked, "how much is full service?"
I don't know what came to me. I felt that it was an out of the body experience after that. I was lying on my back as she first massaged me...she's trying to make me climax as quickly as possible so the penetration wouldn't take too long--was the thought flashing through my head. Quickly, almost unnoticed, she took off her pantie, and all I saw was a smooth, round breasts and then--me inside of her wetness. It was almost suffocating, and I felt that I couldn't breath as the semen starts to fill my seminal vesicle, with every thrust, as the inevitable contraction starts to edge closer, as I moan deeply in pleasure, regret and anger--unmitigated anger, as I again had a flash of insight--I was not wearing a condom. But as I yielded deeper and deeper into her movements, I grabbed tightly onto her smooth, tiny buttock, and I groaned deeply as I arrived, in her, faster than my usual stamina allowed, helpless, hyperbolic, pathetically vacuuous.
Of course, the minute she left, I became worried about my indiscretion. Unprotected sex. With a prostitute. What the fuck.
I didn't tell D. Of course not. We didn't have sex. I stopped asking for it because I wanted to be sure that nothing would get passed on to her. I went to a local clinic one day after work, and was able to get a clean bill after a few months of dreary waiting. But I was out of patience, anxious and perilously close to disclosing to my wife my past and present dissatisfactions with our relationship and close that chapter of my life.
As our conversations waned, D finally spoke up. Three months ago she decided that it's time for me to take a temporary move somewhere else. She has not yet come up with a decent explanation for the children. My mother has been involved. Work has been crushing. In the past few weeks, it's been difficult for me to sleep, and I've been drinking a lot more--as I'm typing here, I'm sipping a bitter, cheap bottle of gin. I'm living in one of those inner city apartment complexes. All my neighbors are Hispanic and don't speak a lick of English. My apartment has one twin bed and a used TV haphazardly leaning against the peeling wall. My car broke down two days ago -- it's a German car, and ill fitting in a neighborhood like this.
I feel that my sexual impulses also have worsened. I spent almost $2000 this past month on either erotic massages or prostitutes. The rest of the time I jerk off in front of the computer about 2x/day. Sometimes it's difficult for me to get hard with the massage. My therapist thinks I'm depressed and wants me to go on antidepressants. This past couple of days I can't seem to get the prostitute's body out of my head. I haven't seen my children for a week and half.