For the first time in 16 years, men who were not my husband looked at me (or at least at pictures of me), and told me they liked what they saw.
I’d only encountered this level of male entitlement in other people’s personal essays. When I told him I didn’t think this would be possible, he grew angry and sullen, sent a stream of raging texts. When I come to the States for a holiday, all I want is to have fun and relax and enjoy a threesome with two beautiful, married women. Matches were harder to come by, and when Pete reiterated to the women he matched with that he was in fact married, they did not think it was fabulous or awesome.
When he countered that experimenting with dating apps had been his wife’s idea, not his, they doubted and derided him.
I’ve been married for almost 15 years; I am ignorant of the swipe-romance, the point-and-click marriage.
My husband and I met at a party on a quiet street in a college town.
We shared a house, political viewpoints, the responsibility of raising two small kids.
For our birthdays, we bought each other things like electric blankets and warm wool socks and a Vitamix blender for making soup. Maybe there wasn’t much in the way of excitement, novelty, or fun.At the same time, I could feel how exhausting the very same experience would be were I a single person looking for a committed life partner, a person with whom I wanted to live and own property and raise children. “Isn’t winking what you do when you’re not being explicit? After a day or two, he told me he was coming to Chicago for a friend’s wedding and asked if he could take me out for dinner.Perhaps, I thought, the less one needed from men, the more one could enjoy them. I was considering the proposal when he said that after dinner, he’d really like me to come with him to his hotel room.All of which is to say that by the time I lost my husband to heart and kidney disease, I was the poster girl for what it was like to live in a sexless marriage.We lived together until my husband's death but years before we had stopped kissing, hugging or even holding hands.” He looked at me the same way he’d looked at me when I suggested we move in together, or marry, or breed, an expression equal parts terror and love. We picked each other’s profile pictures, bounced off the other’s possible bios.