Whore

Something I've talked about on various other people's blogs and want to put here is my thoughts on the duty of sex in Christian marriage. Especially since before I marry someone I want to refer them to this blog. (Although with things like this that are important to me I will certainly not leave it just at a passive communication like that.)

3. The husband should fulfill his marital duty to his wife, and likewise the wife to her husband. 4. The wife does not have authority over her own body but yields it to her husband. In the same way, the husband does not have authority over his own body but yields it to his wife. 5. Do not deprive each other except perhaps by mutual consent and for a time, so that you may devote yourselves to prayer. Then come together again so that Satan will not tempt you because of your lack of self-control. -- 1 Corinthians 7:3-5, NIV

On this blog mostly I've talked about the woman who's currently my wife, at least for a month or so while we wait for some bureaucrat to finish with the paperwork. On this topic I've got to talk about my previous marriage; I've been married twice.

My first wife, as far as ex-post-facto diagnosis based on my stories can determine, suffered from severe Borderline Personality Disorder. She and I got together with me kind of in the role of her knight in shining armor (which would scare the snot out of me if I met it again, for reasons you'll hear.) We met in college. She told me she had been P-in-V raped by her father. (He's the guy I've mentioned I flirted with the idea of killing, because of this.) I tried very hard to provide her with a safe, secure and comfortable environment. I waited to propose until I got a job; I figured I should be able to support her. We did not have P-in-V sex until we were married. First time we did, she bled. I knew the hymen doesn't always break the first time, so I didn't think much of it, but in retrospect it was one of the earliest bits of evidence.

Family occasions with her side of the family always made her nervous, but she always wanted to go anyway. I couldn't understand why she wanted to keep seeing her father every month or so, she was obviously uncomfortable with him, but I went along to comfort her anyway. Then, her jobs always involved trouble; sometimes sexual harassment. I made ten times what she did and we were saving money at a reasonable rate, but she never wanted to quit. It wasn't just the work; her life was an unending series of persecutions. I was endlessly comforting her. I worked a nasty job so she didn't have to work, but she still worked for people who she said sexually harassed her. She refused to avoid the situations, refused to do anything about them, she'd just come to me with the trouble afterward. On one occasion she slipped up and told me about a persecution that was supposed to have taken place at an event I was at with her, and I knew no such thing had happened. I got tired of it. After about five years of that (three into the marriage), I wasn't very sympathetic anymore. I didn't want to hear about it. I was still gentle and soothing, but would withdraw when she wanted to complain.

Her attitude toward me changed. I didn't understand how it was changing at the time. I knew we were more distant, and I was sure it was connected to the fact that I just couldn't stand the complaining anymore no matter how hard I tried, but didn't recognize how. Her reactions to my gentle, soothing behavior didn't make sense and I couldn't identify what they were. In retrospect it's obvious: I was her new persecutor. She didn't tell me about it of course. I never hurt her, or used mean language, or raised my voice, or anything, so how could I understand how she was acting toward me? When she left me, after seven years of marriage, she disappeared one day while I was at work, leaving me a note, and sending an email out to our friends and family explaining that she could no longer stand the physical abuse I was subjecting her to.

The point of this story is to explain why I didn't want to have sex with her. Although she never said anything to explain it, she was sort of, and inconsistently, treating me like the horrible scary monster she described in her email. I've never been able to figure out how much of the whole thing she believed, she believed it some of the time in some ways but not other times or in other ways. It's one of the mysteries of BPD in general. But anyway, I have no interest in having sex with somebody who regards me as a horrible monster. Despite the attitude, she still came on to me, about once a week, always for P-in-V. She was still my wife, and I still loved her in a conscious, determined sense, though my feelings of affection were largely gone. When she'd come on to me so I would ask explicitly because I could see her general defensiveness. Then when she said yes I'd do it, cheerfully and with as much enthusiasm as I could possibly scrape up. Often so she wouldn't have to ask, I'd make the first offer if I could tell she was in the mood.

Because I usually didn't want to have sex with her, I often felt like a whore. The last three years of the marriage I felt like that most of the time.

But I'm prouder of that than anything I've ever done. I did it because of conscious, volitional love, not attraction, not even affection. When my emotional desire was to withdraw, I loved her, intimately, consistently, and generously. I hope I never have to face the same situation again, but I would absolutely do it again. That was one thing in my life I truly did right.

The passage I've quoted has been horribly abused, to justify spousal rape. If I owe you $20, and I don't pay on time, and you break into my house and take it, you are guilty of burglary the same as if I didn't owe you. But more importantly, look at the passage itself. It says the husband yields his authority over his own body to his wife, which is what I did. It does not say that she may take it if I fail to do so. It says the same thing the same way for men and women. And, of course, the whole thing is to be done out of love. The Bible repeats that over and over and over.

Some people, I think, don't understand love beyond a feeling. Feelings don't last by themselves; they're like annuals. They are the beauty of a garden, but determined love is the soil where they grow; and acts of love and kindness are the way they are replanted. The best sex is a flower in the garden, the expression of a feeling. But the most worthy sex is planting a seed in a bare spot.

UPDATE: There's a sequel to this post, Pride goes before a fall.