Verity, 45
I never felt that stomach-churning excitement and uncertainty we associate with desire
A couple of years ago, Darya and I had a crisis in our relationship. I developed an infatuation with a colleague, a woman who made me feel nervous and insecure, in a way I never had with Darya. I started to question whether I’d ever been attracted to Darya, because she had only ever made me feel loved and comfortable – I never felt that stomach-churning excitement and uncertainty we associate with desire.
Darya and I got together 20 years ago, but were friends first. Sex was fun and pleasurable, but it was our conversations and emotional connection that really made me fall in love with her. As the years went by, sex became something I did to keep things ticking along. Part of the problem was that we both lacked sexual confidence.
The early ‘90s was not a great time to be a gay teenager in the UK. I can remember my mother making homophobic comments about women who she suspected of being lesbians.
When Darya and I met, neither of us felt comfortable describing our desires or suggesting new things, so sex grew more inhibited and predictable. But when I confessed to Darya about my attraction to my colleague, we were finally forced to confront the issues with our sex life. One turning point was when I asked Darya to slow down.
When we have sex now, we start by spending time just lying side by side, stroking each other’s bodies and seeing where that takes us. Romantic movies train you to think of sex as an uncontrollable urge that just possesses you, but Darya and I have learned how to build desire that is no less strong for being consciously cultivated.
Darya has never made me feel sick and panicked with desire. But what if the degree to which a lover makes you feel panicked and sick isn’t the best way of measuring attraction? What if you can feel safety and desire at the same time?
Darya, 46
We realised that Verity is a slow burner, whereas I am a fast burner. It’s shocking it took us 19 years to work that out
For years, I would try to instigate sex and Verity would reject me. That really knocked my confidence. Sometimes, months would go by and sex wouldn’t happen at all. We didn’t talk about sex, because I think we were both afraid that to do so would mean admitting we were done.
In June last year, Verity told me she had feelings for a colleague, and we hit a critical point. I actually threw Verity out of the house for a night. I said: “You need to leave, I can’t take this any more.” But in the middle of this horrendous time, we started having more sex. I’ve read online that it’s called “clinging-on-for-dear-life sex”, because everything is falling apart but you hold on. We started to talk about sex, too. I finally felt able to talk openly with Verity because I thought I’d already lost everything so I might as well be honest.
One thing we realised is that we are very different, sexually. On our 19th anniversary, Verity told me to “slow down”. She had always been very quick to orgasm, so sex lasted a very short time. That was a very powerful moment, because we realised that Verity is a slow burner, whereas I am a fast burner. It’s shocking that it took 19 years for us to work that out. Verity is the main instigator of sex now.
We now have a daily couple’s chat, where sex is mentioned casually. If you had told me 18 months ago that sex could be like this between us, I wouldn’t have believed you. But the wonderful thing about sex and relationships is that nothing stays the same. People can change, so sex can change too.
