A few days ago, almost exactly one week into living together, we had woken up and not had sex. Then we had stayed in together and not had sex. But, worst of all, we went to bed and Didn’t Have Sex.
It wasn’t because we were too drunk or because we had been having sex all day. It was because we were a couple who go to bed and Don’t Have Sex.
We lay there, in what Mil Millington calls the Angry X. Bottoms not touching. Our bodies were still but my mind was racing.
Clearly our living together has prematurely aged the relationship, I concluded. I read the columns and so know for a fact that all young happy loving couples have sex fourteen times a day utilising most of the kitchen utensils in the process.
So, naturally, I was concerned.
Not having sex can be caused by illness, but ill we were not. The other options don’t bear thinking about so I decided to spend a large portion of the night thinking about them in what can only be described as Grave Detail.
Ultimately I came up with five possible explanations:
1. He doesn’t fancy me anymore. I will have to take up yoga, sort out my roots and wear Uncomfortable Knickers with no bum, and accessorise with false eye-lashes and a pout.
2. He is bored of our sex life. My enthusiasm for lying down and enjoying it is no longer enough to qualify as enthusiasm at all. I will have to become a porn star and do the reverse cowgirl at least once a week. I’ll probably have to have a threesome with a hooker.
3. The novelty that is me has worn off. Once seen as a trophy in the form of a toned, highly-sexed nymph, I am now a low runner-up to images of Scarlett Johansen while he masturbates in the shower.
4. He is turned off by our domestic bliss. Once happy in the belief that he’d found his match he has now discovered that the woman who washes his underpants and warms up leftovers for him is not the same woman who winked at him and suggested a quickie behind the church.
5. The relationship is doomed and this is the first sign of incompatibility. Soon we will stop holding hands in public and before we know it we’ll be arguing over cushion covers and finally will realise that it is over and I’ll be back to square one, cat hunting.
Not a good list of possibilities, you might have noticed. By the time morning arrived you can imagine my logical train of thought. It was vital that we had sex immediately. Before the hooker started causing trouble with her cushion covers.