[Explicit Content Warning. Kiddies stay away.]
When we were first married and started enjoying sex it seemed to me that my penis was at last doing what it was designed for. I experienced a deep deep joy, a sigh of contentment, a belief that my sexuality was at last able to be expressed in a wholesome giving to another. A sense that a longstanding longing had found it's true resting place. That my half had become a whole. That my sexuality could be the missing jigsaw piece in another's puzzle. That I could offer to H the ideal gift: one that comes from my heart (all good gifts are an offering of one's self) to nourish the joy in her heart.
Now it's back to pissing and wanking.
The very essence of sexuality is dialogue. But now my sexuality is restricted to a solo act performed in secret and shame.
My poor imagination leads to H continuing to be the focus of my sex life. But unsatisfiable fantasies are hardly satisfying! And rather than provide any real release this just reinforces my loneliness and loss.