gutsy guidance

 Dear Gritty,

My fiancée coordinates every nuance of our lovemaking. It’s supposed to be about us, but I feel like I’m a sexual object on Earth to satisfy her. 

When I met Eve, her best friend was hooked up with my oldest buddy. Our pals’ relationship ended and she and I were left staring at one another. I’m an architect; she’s a curator at a museum. She’s this neat, precise woman, beautifully put together. We laugh; text all day long; talk for hours on end.

We also seem to need hours in bed to get the job done. That’s not entirely true. The time-consuming periods are 1) when we first discuss what we’re setting out to do, then 2) analyze the outcome versus the original scheme.

I love Eve and want her to be happy. I love sex and want to enjoy it with her. I do, when we’re at it; we’re perfectly suited to one another. It’s the before-and-after that is sullying the actual act. The more we dissect, the less the excitement. Now she’s even suggesting we do her version of instant reply: try again with the variations she considers improvements. 

Here’s the killer. Eve thinks everything is perfect. We’re special, she says, because our lovemaking is so well-orchestrated. That’s bull. Our sex life is good because our sex life it good.

When we met, it was she who had experience and I followed her lead. I know I should’ve said something long before it got this far out of whack. The whole situation is eating away at me and I’m thinking of ending our relationship rather than confront her. Have other males found themselves in this same quagmire or is it just me?

On the Sidelines

Dear Benchwarmer,

You’re not alone and, like other men, your beef may be more a brain problem than a sexual one. Every relationship involves the surrender of control; the way individuals work out that tug-of-war has to do with the strength of the bond. In your case, you did give up your authority and responsibility to Eve. She knew best. Then.

Times change and boys mature into men. You’ve graduated from the high school of sexual pleasures and you get it now—and you don’t need someone telling you what to do. 

Before I go further, I need to say I know where Eve is coming from. When I met the love of my life, I wanted her to be sexually delighted with me. I asked her to be sure to give me direction, clue me in on what she enjoyed. 

My articulate partner sighed. “Do we really have to discuss that? Can’t it just unfold?” 

This was 1986, the year Dr. Ruth was telling us males to pay attention and The G Spot was selling off the shelves. Satisfying your woman was key. I told her Iwanted to indulge her, meet her needs. 

“No worries,” she said. “You’ll get around to whatever feels great to me, and that too will change over time. Think of all the fun we’ll both have discovering one another—and ourselves—with no road map. Without the babble.” She explained it was the same deal when she scratched my back. “A little,” I would direct, “to the right, down more, now over toward the middle….” She’d hush me, said she’d get there in time. I’d just have to wait and let it play out.

That was twenty-five years ago; we still don't micromanage  backscratching or lovemaking.

Eve needs to get this message. How about choosing a special holiday or anniversary to turn the table on this one, or nothing at all other than, “Eve, we’re celebrating us on Friday night. Be prepared. I’m in charge after 5PM.”  Flowers, candles, a small gift, dinner, hot tub, whatever. You know where this is going. When she tries to begin a dialogue, kiss her quiet. 

If she wants incident-review time, point out how well it went without a pre-plan. Assume the quarterback role. “Let’s pass,” tell her as you throw an arm around her, “on the post-game analysis too.” 

Don’t drop the ball after this first success. You’ve got to stay on top of the situation; don’t get sucked back into the old routines. It's like teaching a dog new tricks, in a good way. Eve’ll realize you’re both are having more fun than she ever dared plan on.