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Monday, August 17, 2015

To the Man Who Won't Sleep With Me (Part Two)

Spoiler alert! This is a follow-up story to a blog post I'd written a little over a year ago. This man is now my husband.

What were we thinking? Saving all of this for marriage?

When you got down on one knee almost one year ago and asked me to be your wife, weren’t you worried that we weren’t physically compatible? Weren’t you worried that we wouldn’t fulfill each other? Weren't you worried that we hadn't already ridden ourselves of the mystery so many want to test before they make a big commitment?

(I was, a little.)

That’s why after you proposed I kept asking are you sure? Are you sure?

When you asked my parents for their blessing on our future together, weren’t you forgetting that we hadn't lived together before? We hadn't tested the waters, or entered any other euphemism for making a commitment with a frayed edge? A commitment that could easily unravel with the pull of a thread.

How could you possibly know that you wanted this forever? How could you possibly commit to me without knowing all of the facts? We’ve only dated for two years before we jumped into this marriage.

After all, you signed up to buy a car without taking it for a test run. You signed an irreversible doted line before you even knew if I snored or hogged the covers.

Dismiss the way our culture esteems fifty shades of sex over romance. And that even our moral breeding of not having sex before marriage makes sex all we can think about, sometimes.

Glaze over the fact that I wanted you there. I wanted you there

more than anything.

Should we have absolved all of the unknown bits about each other before you carried me across the threshold after our wedding in July?

Or did you find value in our relationship outside of our physicality? 

Did you enjoy our coffee dates where we talked about everything and nothing? Did you find delight in holding my hand by the harbor lights, or swirling a fresh, foaming pilsner at the cafe across the street? Did you come to value the friendship part of dating. The part that's not a scene from Titanic, or an imprint of a steamy novel, but the actual honest-to-goodness relationship of it all.

What were we thinking?

A few people in my life asked me the same thing. People who I love and trust. Be careful of the man who won’t sleep with you. There must be something wrong with him.

Intimacy issues. Unspoken traumas.

Because what man in his straight mind wouldn’t want his girlfriend to spend the night with him? What sort of intimacy issues does a man have who won’t invite you into his home past midnight?

When you proposed to me in my parent’s home, were you hoping that marriage would mean more to us than mandatory sleepovers? Were you prepared to spend forever with me even if that mean that we’d have to work at intimacy? Even if we'd have to start with a clean slate on our wedding day?

When you told me that I made you happy and that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, were you hoping that this would be a part of forever. And that even if we didn’t get it right the first few times that we’d have ‘til death do us part to work on it together anyway?

See, many others write about these sorts of things. They hook you in with their bait. They say things like “don’t stay pure until you’re married,” and “I’m not saving sex for marriage.”

They, of course, are written with a punchline in mind. They’re meant to tune people in and turn their worlds upside-down. They are meant to show their readers a new way of thinking when it comes to sleeping, sex and marriage.

They don't want you to miss out on the pleasures of life. From the brim to the dregs, they want you to drink life in.

But our lives don’t amount to a simple blog post. Just as our married life doesn't amount to shared duvet covers and pillow shams.

You were content with me and only me. You were comfortable not only taking the slow road but leading me through it. Even when I took offense. Even when I saw it as a sign that you were shutting me out. And that you only wanted me for a few hours before you showed me the door.

I take that as a sign of your commitment and character. A sign of the sort of husband you'll be during the long, slow years, and the sort of father you'll be to our one-day family.

So, to the man who wouldn't spend the night with me before we got hitched, thank you. It's an honor and a privilege to drink in life with you.

photo credit: @sage_solar via photopin cc

photo credit: Shandi-lee via
photopin cc

1 comment

QueenEsther said...

Some things are just SO worth waiting for. You give hope, honesty and something I, for one, can relate to... and believe.

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