http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/jun/13/a-letter-to-my-ex-husband-who-preferred-pornography-to-me

Porn ruined you. Ruined us. When people asked, shocked, how I could leave such a funny, clever man, father of my children – “a good earner” as my mother put it – what could I say? I said it was me. My fault. I’d changed. Only it wasn’t me. It was your love of porn that slowly diminished my love and respect for you and destroyed my self-confidence. I couldn’t tell them and I’ve never said it straight to you but you must know, you must remember those conversations. The rows.

I’m not a prude. I’ve done burlesque. I love images of sexy, strong women. My house – once ours – is full of kitsch Lynch prints, 1950s bombshells and Art Deco nudes. And I love sex. Even children and the exhausting slog of being a working mother didn’t diminish my drive – though I had to bury it, pretend it didn’t matter.

We were about six months in when I found your stash and I picked it up smiling – “Boys will be boys” – expecting Penthouse Pets, Readers’ Wives etc but found women so mutilated by beach-ball, supersize-me, fake breasts that their eyes registered pain where their pouts pretended otherwise.

I felt it was mutilation. I wept. You shrugged off my arguments – “They get paid. It’s their choice” – and dismissed my arguments about exploitation as unchecked radical feminism.

So why did I stay? In the rest of our life you were funny, leftwing, Mr PC, cultured, creative; and we could talk forever about politics, 70s sitcoms, obscure 80s bands … Anyway, like the frog in the slowly heating water I didn’t realise or I’d have jumped out.

And, I told myself, sex isn’t everything, is it? Not when everything else is so right. I thought maybe, in time, we would learn together, maybe you will connect the emotion with the action. I tried to explain how it could be, but could only conclude that your lack of desire for sex with me was my fault.

When computers came, you got better at hiding it. You could no longer have an orgasm with me and blamed me and childbirth but I now know you had a case of the Prisoner’s Hand. Then your hints began. Could I wear more makeup? What about those white-tipped nails? Had I ever thought about breast implants? I hadn’t. Wouldn’t. You preferred my hair blond. What about latex? Role play? Dirty talk? You liked the ideas of threesomes and could see by my face that I didn’t and then you wore my underwear and there were appliances and … It worked for you. It works for others. Some of my friends love all that. I tried. I didn’t.

There were words for what we did but it was never making love. And without the extreme visuals, the DVDs playing in the background – you looking at them rather than me – you could never find satisfaction. So there could never be compromise. It made me feel that I was less than.There was never intimacy in what we did and in the end I stopped wanting sex. Not that you wanted it with me anyway.

I just grew angry with you. Resentful of the “lie down” you would need when I knew what you were doing while I helped with homework and loaded the washing machine. So I threw my energies into gardening and our children thinking that that part of my life was over and dead. And the boys at university who had loved me and enjoyed my body were a distant memory, and maybe I had imagined it all, how beautiful and emotional just plain, naked sex could be.

Then someone said something about me being a desirable woman. Me? Without blond hair and fake tan? Brunette me dressed in a tea dress and old Converse? And that was it.

What came next was not easy. Tears, guilt, divorce, kids shuttled between two homes, the shockwaves to extended family and friends. I’m in a relationship now. The sex is emotional and intimate and I am enough.

You are still alone. People think it’s because you haven’t moved on. That you’re still in love with me. But I think it’s because relationships require effort and consideration of other’s needs, and the women you spend most time with ask for nothing. You are actually happier in your relationship with porn.

Anonymous

Comments
  1. Birgit says:

    Amen!
    Many a strong men went down to destruction and defeat when he entered the brothels of pornagraphy ! Satan well knew that if once hooked there was little hope for that man , the husband , the Father, the son .Except to fall on The Rock Jesus and be broken; before he is crushed by it!

    Please remember this…
    ALL PORN LEADS TO SEX TRAFFICKING!

    A wise proverb says it well!

    Proverbs 6:32-33
    Whoever commits adultery with a woman lacks understanding;
    He who does so destroys his own soul.
    Wounds and dishonor he will get,
    And his reproach will not be wiped away.

    Proverbs 6:26-28
    For by means of a harlot
    A man is reduced to a crust of bread;
    And an adulteress will prey upon his precious life.
    Can a man take fire to his bosom,
    And his clothes not be burned?
    Can one walk on hot coals,
    And his feet not be seared

    The proverb continues to give wisdom!

    Proverbs 7:21-27
    With her enticing speech she caused him to yield,
    With her flattering lips she seduced him.
    Immediately he went after her, as an ox goes to the slaughter,
    Or as a fool to the correction of the stocks,
    Till an arrow struck his liver.
    As a bird hastens to the snare,
    He did not know it would cost his life.
    Now therefore, listen to me, my children;
    Pay attention to the words of my mouth:
    Do not let your heart turn aside to her ways,
    Do not stray into her paths;
    For she has cast down many wounded,
    And all who were slain by her were strong men.
    Her house is the way to hell,
    Descending to the chambers of death.

    Oh if only men would take counsel and not set even a finger on the site… A foot in the path… A thought in the gutter …
    And cry out to God and a fellow traveler for help!!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s