Making Demands

I’ll never quite get past my conviction that one day Dee is going to wake up and call the whole thing off. In a perfect world, Dee would be married to a dominating Zach Efron with cooking skills and a streak of the social butterfly in him -- someone who looks good, brings her home from social gatherings, throws her down on the bed and takes her, and then cooked her breakfast in bed in the morning. Instead, she wound up with a middle aged, moody, slightly rotund introvert with a whole series of hang-ups. A good father, to be sure, cleans up after himself, holds a steady job… but won’t even admit when he IS actually in the mood for a little lovin’.

I can’t imagine that, from her perspective, I’m the guy on top of the evolutionary ladder here, the cream of the gene pool. There’s HAS be another guy out there who knows how to roast potatoes, and is still better acquainted with the rougher and more adventurous adult worlds than I am. Even I recognize that truth, and if anyone were biased in my favor, it’d be me. :)

I mention this because it feeds directly into the topic at hand: It doesn’t take much deduction to see I’m not comfortable with making demands or requests, sexual or otherwise. I’m just not that kind of guy. Never have been. Never will be. It makes me feel selfish, disrespectful. When I even consider such actions, the guy I see in the mirror suddenly turns into just another prick… one of those guys who gives good men a bad name and encourages women to embrace less flattering stereotypes.

I’m convinced there’s better matches for Dee out there somewhere, so it’s up to me to keep her happy... to take care of things and make her life easier; to keep the grass as green as possible over on my side of the fence. And to never, ever embody the selfish, disrespectful stereotype. She stuck with me because I wasn’t the stereotype – in fact, she dumped quite a few stereotypical guys along the way. I often wonder why, exactly, I'm trying to be more like one of “those” guys.

On the rare occasion I do share a particular thought or tidbit of information, I usually end up feeling equally uncomfortable later on… when Dee tries to act on the information. If I grumble about how I really hate unloading the dishwasher, and Dee gets up five minutes earlier and unloads it, I feel like a slave driver. If I post here and say I’ve been extra tired and not really in the mood, and Dee comments (paraphrasing), if I were a better wife, I’d get you in the mood, and I’ll try harder to do so…

… Well, now I just feel terrible! It seems she thinks I’m disappointed in her, or our relationship, or something…

… And when she follows through on her comment, I’m sure I’ll find myself worrying that the only reason she’s trying to light my fire is because I posted a paragraph, and not because she actually wants my fire to be lit.

This is the cycle of stupid hang-ups this poor woman has to navigate.

Yes, empirically, logically, I realize this isn’t the case at all, but since when has reason and knowledge ever really trumped emotion and instinct? You know the stupid, teeny spider won’t hurt you, but you still get the willies when it drops off the ceiling onto your shoulder and runs up your neck and into your hair, right? People feel guilty when they shouldn’t all the time. Schadenfreude exists. So does claustrophobia. Examples of baser reactions overriding higher logic abound. It’s beyond control.

I am continuing to try and change things. As our rules dictate, I submitted the specific sexual adventure which she must make real within the next six months. I also submitted (as the rules allow) a request for a less involved act which she has to make real before the end of the month – though, if you actually read THAT one you’d see that even this request is more about her than about me… even my requests or demands are patently unselfish. I’m supposed to submit those once a month, and here, six months into the rules, and it’s the first time I’ve done so.

And I started looking around for a good strip club, too.