…or even give one.
The other day Nana was goading me via Twitter about getting an article done for Adventures. I’ve been persona absentia from the blog for many months for a myriad of reasons, the foremost of which is because I’m not in possession of an exciting sex life.
There, I said it: I’m a married woman with 4 kids whose sexual encounters are more akin to a night spent in a knitting circle than an erotic scene in Remember the Tight Ones. (You guessed it: That’s a porn title.) No surprise there.
“How can I write about something that I barely have?” I tweeted. “I’m not a wizard!”
“Then write about WHY you’re not having sex,” Nana tweeted back.
So I thought about, and after much thought, I came to the realization that my sex life is suffering not because I’m married, and not because of my kids – but rather because the result of these two factors combined. And that result is that I am a fat ass.
I am now at my highest weight ever, well into the 200 lbs range. If given a choice between a hot slice of chocolate cake or a hot night in bed, the chocolate cake is going to win out every time. This has become rather problematic, because my husband being a man, enjoys sex – whereas I have to be convinced that this is a good use of my time. After all, it would take me less time to whip up some batter and pop a cake in the oven than finding a comfortable position in order to have a stiff one thrown unceremoniously into me. In my fitter days, there were few things I enjoyed more than a quick romp in the sack. I was limber and creative. But now that I’m classified as obese (almost morbidly so), I find that it’s so hard to even bother. It becomes a vicious cycle of eating for pleasure because I’m too fat to seek out and engage in physical pleasure. I have become too fat to fuck.
It really is a problem. Here’s what a night in my bed may look like:
There’s a poke in the small of my back and a hand on my breast. I sigh, knowing what’s coming next.
“Mmmm?” I’ll ask, feigning sleep.
A few whispered words later and I roll onto my back. If I do this first, my husband can’t roll onto his – which would require me to get on top. Having to go cowgirl when you’re as out of shape as I am is oftentimes disastrous.
“Ananse! Ananse!!!” I’ll yelp, frightening my American husband.
“What? You mean the spider?”
He looks frantically around the bed ,preparing to slay the fabled arachnid.
“No! I’ve got pins and needles in my leg! I’ve got a cramp. Ouch!!”
You see, the crushing bulk of my immense weight causes my calves and knees to fall asleep which is painful, to say the least. And it’s not like I’m spritely enough to hop off from a straddled position and stretch my leg. I’m too big to move that fast.
Similar fiascoes will ensue for the next 10-15 minutes until I do all I can to make my husband reach his climax so that I can get off of him and on to something else…like cake.
It honestly is a bad place to be, and not a healthy place either. A woman in her 30s should be the picture of health, and in truth the only person I’m cheating is myself. After all, 30 is when we reach our sexual peak. A healthy life equates to a healthy sex life, and I DO PLAN to incorporate more fitness into my daily routine…right after I polish off the last bit of cake in the fridge.
If you’re overweight do you find that your weight affects your sex life? I’d really like to know I’m not alone.