I find myself returning to the Reuniting site again and again to read blog updates, check out Marnia’s latest thoughts, remind myself of the wisdom from the past, etc, etc. So, I thought, maybe I would occasionally blog, too, since I am still fascinated by the approach to lovemaking put forward here, even if I’m not wholeheartedly committed to it right now, nor entirely a subscriber to the theory, yet. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy, with my wife, non orgasmic sex, as a choice, almost as often - but not quite - as we enjoy orgasmic sex. On this point, I have to say, our ability to reach orgasm together, through intercourse alone, which was always a bit of a struggle before, appears to have been delivered to us, as if on a plate, as a direct result of us so often placing our emphasis on not wanting to reach orgasm, at all.

Anyway, I have three questions that keep turning round in my head. Someone may have an answer to, or insights into, them.

One concerns the way in which Marnia suggests the genetic urge for hot sex and the pursuit of orgasm leads to men, on a deeper level than they’re aware of, feeling that once they have attained the goal of fertilizing their partner they should look elsewhere for sex, in order to spread their genes as far as possible. I can see the underlying logic of this, from the point of view of the reptilian brain; and for men to become repulsed by what earlier had attracted them, would make similar sense; but for me there is no logic at all in a woman who has experienced a similarly hot orgasm wanting to look elsewhere for sex. Why be repulsed by someone who may have just given you what you need (sperm), but who could be required to have another shot at it a few days later, if fertilisation hasn’t occurred; and why alienate someone who, given the long, vulnerable period of gestation and child rearing in prospect, is ideally suited to provide assistance?

Clearly, this question is meant not sociologically but genetically. If it is the case that messages in our cells make men want to impregnate everything that moves, then one way around getting alienated from a chosen partner is to avoid fertilising them, or avoid the ejaculation that the body assumes means the same thing; but this doesn’t ring true, in reverse.

My second question concerns the vagina. My wife has always maintained that it is only when she experiences orgasm that her vagina fully closes after lovemaking. Is this a general view? Certainly, one reason she prefers the idea of orgasm to non orgasm is that she feels ‘completed’, afterwards.

My third question concerns oral sex. It seems to be considered dangerous territory in the pursuit of non orgasmic lovemaking. I seem to remember Gary saying as much in one of the videos he made with Marnia. I wonder why this is. Some of my fondest oral sex memories are of lying in 69, ‘latched on’, as it were, almost quiescent, with no desire to ramp things up, certainly no desire for orgasm, at least not in that position. For me, it doesn’t seem to be a practice that is any more or less likely to encourage heat and passion than intercourse.

So, those are my questions. On a more directly personal note, I wanted to add this. My wife and I have had for a few years now a difference of opinion about some aspects of sex. This is partly a matter of what we do, and partly the way we do it. It hasn’t been enough to disrupt the frequency and enjoyment of our lovemaking or mess too much with the harmony of our life; but we have found it disconcerting that whenever the topic comes up for discussion, as often as not we will end up in one of those useless arguments where things are said that might have been better staying buried.

Anyway, we decided we would go and see a therapist, as we seemed incapable on our own of addressing this thorn in our side. The first session went okay, with the therapist giving a vague assurance that she was sure this issue could be resolved. We then went separately, me first, my wife afterwards. Neither of us thought these individual sessions were much use. I was disappointed to find myself giving answers to what seemed like a standard set of questions; but I was hopeful the therapist would interpret my responses in a useful way. My wife found it intrusive and rote. There was then a two week gap before our next session. When we arrived, it was to be told that there was really nothing the therapist felt she could do! She emphasised that as we appeared to be non dysfunctional, engaging regularly in enjoyable lovemaking, with me not having difficulty in getting and maintaining erections, and my wife not having difficulty in becoming aroused and reaching orgasm, we really didn’t have a problem she felt she could address.

She then reiterated what we had said to her at the outset of the first session: that she feared, if we failed to sort out the ‘issue’ satisfactorily, it could prove a danger to our marriage. Since that was the reason we had come to see her in the first place, we felt slightly taken aback that it had taken her four sessions to reach the same conclusion.

I spent the next day searching online for help with ‘communication’. Clearly, something my wife and I were doing when discussing this issue was exacerbating the problem rather than helping solve it. Eventually, I came across an approach, which was set out in a book I subsequently bought.

This book lays out an explanation for discord between couples that centres on the inevitability, once the initial ‘honeymoon’ period of around two years is over, of a generalised power struggle developing, with neither partner giving the other what they had until then given freely, without much thought. This is despite (or because of) the likelihood that most ‘love’ partners are ideally suited to please each other. Without going into the details of why this struggle develops, fairly simple exercises in the book clarified for me both the truth of it and the elegent simplicity of a solution. As it turned out, what I wanted from my wife, and what she wanted from me, were both very easy for each of us to give, in terms of investment of time and effort, but very hard to remember, and persuade ourselves, to do, as often as we would have liked. Specifically, I wanted more frequent and more prolonged and largely tactile reminders that I was - for brief periods of time - the centre of my wife’s attention; while she wanted more frequent and more effusive verbal reassurances that she was important to me, that what she did mattered, and that I found her attractive.

In a way, we wanted much the same thing; but I wanted it physically, while my wife wanted it verbally. As it happens, we have traditionally tended to give each other the opposite of what was wanted; that is, we have given what we would have liked the other to give us!

What shocked me was how simple our core desires were. As the book explained it, they (the desires) were largely what we had wanted and not got when we were younger. Regardless of the truth of this, it was abundantly clear that if we could change our behaviour, even a little, and act towards each other as it appeared we wanted, our mutual appreciation would be likely to increase. As it has.

It didn’t take long for me to become aware that our habitual pattern of communication was grotesquely skewed, even when any of the core issues at the centre of our power struggle - of which the sexual problem we had originally gone to see the therapist about was one - were absent. I found even the most innocuous statement from my wife resulted in me either refuting it (because I disagreed) or defusing it (because I didn’t want to bring it into the open) or simply letting it drift past me (because I couldn’t be bothered to pay attention). Now, suddenly, I was finding myself engaging in a structured dialogue (which involved listening, mirroring what had been said, validating it, and empathising with that point of view, but making no other comment on it) without being able to do what I usually did, which was react. My wife, also, had her own pattern of reacting.

This was all very exciting, although, of course, it’s extraordinarily difficult to put into practice (though not remotely hard to do), especially in the heat of the moment. However, it does make me feel that for the first time in our life together I have some sort of understanding of the dynamic of our relationship. The book talks of the difference between unconscious and conscious marriage; and I freely admit, I’ve (we’ve) been operating unconsciously from the beginning, with not necessarily bad results, but maybe with a sense things could have been better. It gives me enormous hope for the future, though mixed with a certain amount of trepidation ; as it’s far from easy to go against unconscious impulses.

I mention this because it has obvious parallels with Marnia’s approach. She, too, talks of a two year honeymoon period; and of needing to follow conscious rather than unconscious choices. It’s unclear to me, though, what precipitates the downfall. Any disharmony between us as long term partners has always seemed to be caused by our responses to relatively innocuous statements that then escalates into a full blown dispute. One of several things might be behind this. It might be the result of an undercurrent of dissatisfaction with each other or life in general, which I had always supposed was the case, but not known how to deal with. It might, as the book I mentioned suggests, be the manifestation of an underlying power struggle; which I can now see it ought to be possible to defuse. Or it might, as Marnia proposes, be the effect of hot sex sometime during the previous fortnight!

What I plan to do is try and keep my wits about me from now on and see if I can recognise any tell-tale signs that might suggest why we go from relative harmony to momentary discord so suddenly, and apparently so randomly. Maybe, as Marnia keeps pointing out, it isn’t so random; but now I can recognise the defining moment - of unconscious reaction - perhaps it will be easier to link that to what’s going on in our lives, sexually or otherwise.

This brings me to eroticism and technique. When my wife and I were discussing what we wanted more of from life, one of the things I said I would like to experience from her was increased sexiness. By this, I wasn’t referring to technical prowess so much as erotic intention. She has always been sexually responsive, but isn’t particularly sexually assertive. By assertive, I mean, for example, when kissing, her habit has tended to be to kiss relatively chastely until, say, I indicate I would like to go further, by adding an element of passion. She then responds to my initiative. What I indicated I would like to experience more often was her kissing with a greater sense of appetite for me, sexually, rather than simple appreciation of me, as I was. Appreciation is very nice, of course; but having more of yourself wanted is good, occasionally, too; or so I feel.

As with kissing, so with the use of the hands and other parts of the body, when touching, etc. Cuddles are delightful; but so is carnal desire.

Out in our garden cabin, this came to fruition one day when we had had afternoon tea together and, unprompted, my wife started behaving in a way she hadn't done for years. Very sexily. Soon, we had most of our clothes off. There was no technique involved (and no orgasm) but the eroticism was such that, when we went back to the house some time later, I, and I think she, felt we had been involved in something special.

That’s all for now.