In my youth, when my friends and I first started dating people, nothing was off-limits when it came to talking about our sex lives. But now, after being married for 17 years, the closest I’ve come to discussing my sex life is with my obstetrician. Not hot.
Sex talk isn’t off-limits when we’re with friends who are single, dating or in new relationships. So why is mentioning anything about sex in long-term relationships kind of cringe?
It could be something about respecting boundaries and protecting our partners from scrutiny, but that logic fails. I have had deep and respectful conversations about partners with friends many times, and there is an implied understanding that in sharing this information, our opinions of our partners will not change. We discuss, we learn, we move on. This would also be true if we discussed our sex lives.
The same could be said when it comes to other areas of our lives. We talk about our parenting fails (numerous) and wins, dissect work dramas and family dynamics. We come from a place of zero judgment and the base assumption that they are an amazing (yet potentially flawed, as are we all) partner, parent, employee, employer, son or daughter. Nothing is off-limits.
Except, apparently, sex.
My friends and I have been through a lot. There have been critically sick children, brain surgeries, sick parents, grief, IVF, miscarriages, organ transplants, cancer diagnoses, caring duties, redundancies. And while we talk about how these major life changes impact our relationships, identities, financial security, mental and physical health, sex never comes up.
In the early days of our son’s cancer diagnosis I read Robert Delaney’s A Heart That Works, which explores the death of his young son Henry from a brain tumour: “[W]e were so crazy and scared and holding each other so tight, we actually wound up having sex, twice, a few hours apart,” he wrote. “I realise it sounds insane to say that we had sex twice while our one-year-old had brain surgery across the street. I would normally omit that very personal fact, which might horrify some people, but I am sharing it primarily for the benefit of other parents who might have been through something similar and were terrified and crying and nearly hyperventilating with anxiety. I guess we were just so scared and wanted to be so close, and the horror of what was happening around the block didn’t erase the fact that we loved each other, and sometimes that love manifests as sex, even in the absolute worst of times. It’s probably good that we did, because in the months to come, the fear and anxiety would not always be kind to our libidos.”
It was a validation of sorts, and held up a mirror to our own lives. And isn’t that something we all need? When I asked one of my oldest friends whether she spoke to other people in long-term relationships about their sex lives, it reinforced that not talking about it was in fact a universal thing. This led to a deep discussion about post-miscarriage sex, trauma and what that means in the context of sex and relationships.
It wasn’t sordid, prying or pushing boundaries. And it reinforced that, in the Venn diagram of Big Life Things, sex is a circle that overlaps with almost everything.
Does married sex need a rebrand? Even when I wrote the words ‘married sex’ my face did a kind of involuntary wince. There are plenty of (usually sexist) jokes about a lack of sex in long-term relationships. And sure, once you start shitting with the door open, it’s probably a sign your romantic priorities have shifted. But common wisdom tells us the more you do something and the older you get, the better you get at it. Practice makes perfect, etc. So why is there an assumption that sex in the throes of new lust is hot, but in long-term relationships is reduced to three humps in missionary? Surely the opposite is true!
It’s possible I’m just a perv. But it seems as though married sex (I did the involuntary wince face again) or sex in long term relationships is seen as taboo, which just further stops people from talking about it. And honestly, I’m happy to talk about your house renovations and all, but I’d much rather hear about you getting railed on the kitchen bench than your new granite benchtop. I want to know you’re late for dinner because you had a shower quickie while the kids were watching TV. I want to know about your fantasies and self-pleasure and the impact of grief on your libido and the way terror and love and stress and boredom impact every area of your life. Because it’s important. Or because I’m just a perv.
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