Why I Have No Him-pathy For Your "Dead Bedroom"

I used to feel guilty for not seducing my husband on a regular basis (or at all), like I was cheating him of something. But I've decided to stop feeling sorry for him.

I used think that I had an incredibly high “sex drive” - in that I would perform and get a thrill from performing the role of a high-libido person.

I have a hard time explaining why, so I’ll borrow words from

Mary Van Geffen

:

As a 15-year-old Spicy One, I answered my skin to skin contact needs with romantic touch. Staying coupled with a boy of the season was a survival play. I made sure someone would always claim me and hold me.

Don’t get me wrong, over the years, like most humans, I figured out how to get the most bang for my buck. Pun intended. I enjoy sex. I think it’s great. And relax, I won’t go into the details unless you ask me in person.

I consider myself sex-positive. I won’t yuck anyone’s (consensual, ethical, legal, non-oppressive, responsible, etc.. ) yum. But I’ve also stopped pursuing sex in the way I used to. And it caused me so much anxiety.

Photo by Chris Knight on Unsplash

I have observed some (most?) straight, cis, married/attached and monogamous women tend to do a lot of hand-wringing about how much sex they are or are not initiating with their male partners. The advice has always been pretty rote. Set up date night, acquire some lacy (read: scratchy) lingerie, preferably with an open crotch for easy access, switch up positions, play sex games, schedule sex, give him long kisses and lingering embraces, pat his butt in the kitchen.

There is the haunting trope of the “dead bedroom”, that once you get cohabit/get married/have children, sex is a thing of the past.

I love my husband. He is a kind man who does as he promises and is open to growth — at his own pace. He deserves a happy, warm, and loving spouse. I would not have married him otherwise.

Because he is so kind and attractive and (as far as I know) faithful, after our wedding, I gave myself incredible “pressure” to perform, as if I had to compensate him for committing to a lifetime of monogamy with little old unsexy me (see: tired) by providing all of the sexual experiences that all the horny, hungry women out there (mostly imaginary, sorry, honey) were certainly lining up around the block to provide. I know I am not alone in this.

I used to look up “how to seduce your man” on Google at 3am. I used to schedule date nights and rent silky, slippy evening dresses and wear perfume and attempt to act romantic even when I was exhausted. I even purchased a very uncomfortable, very tiny polyester-lace Stella McCartney number in a fit of newlywed anxiety, afraid that absent this garment, he would be at the bar (or worse, a Starbucks!) crying to a nubile young thing about how his wife hasn’t had sex with him in two years.

And then, I stopped.

Because, wait a minute. I once was that nubile young thing.

You wouldn’t believe it, but major financial hubs in Asia are rotten with (mostly white) married men (not all, but mostly in finance) buying girls drinks at bars and whining to them about how their wives at home haven’t had sex with them in years (insert “not all men” disclaimer here, I know, I know).

I used to feel sorry for those men, I mean, what a mean wife! And then I felt sorry for the women, like, the love of her life is trying to cheat and she doesn’t even know, I’m sure if she knew she’s be here on her knees begging him to let her fellate him. I’ll never let this happen to me and I’ll prevent it by having TONS of sex with my husband in any way he wants. But now, as a married woman myself — I kind of get it.

Who wants to have sex with a man who is at a bar, without you, leaving you at home with your 1-4 young children on a Friday or Saturday night with only your helper for adult company, after he’s left you Monday through Friday to do whatever he does “for work”, likely involving many late nights at quote-unquote work dinners where he just got DRAGGED into a hostess bar by his boss that he’s trying to sweeten for a promotion?

Who wants to set up a date with him only to listen to him prattle on about himself and his amazingness and his stress and his worries and the imagined slights and bruises to his ego and how lucky you are that he is such a good provider without asking you a single question, and then have to go home, get naked and have sex because he put dinner on his card?

If he’s never gotten up at night with any of your babies. If he’s saddled you with the mental load of running a household alone in a foreign country in another language. If he says “I work so hard so that my wife can just sit at home and go to Pilates and get mani/pedis and do nothing and look the ungrateful bitch doesn’t even have sex with me” - I would struggle to be in the same room as him, much less touch him with my hands without immediately throttling him.

Yes, those women mostly had hired help. That’s fantastic. But it doesn’t take away from the isolation, the emotional labor, and the pure grossness of being married to such a jackass.

This man is not ugly. He’s polite. He might be middlingly handsome. He does provide for his family, because the drinks for nubile young things is probably on the corporate card and won’t cut into the international school fees or the household budget or the trailing spouse allowance. But unlike my touch-starved teenage self, I could never willingly initiate sex with a man that I even find mildly annoying, much less actively hate.

Note that I did not say “would not marry” - I believe women marry men for a good many reasons, including love, but also the opposite of love is not hate, etc.

I’m sure most of these men were mostly not physically or sexually abusive, maybe even quietly “tolerant” of the “dead bedroom” by not filing for divorce. But there are really good reasons for men to stay married! For example, I know of a twice-divorced man (wife filed both times) who is now working well into his sixties because he now has to support 3 households, an ever-increasing number of children, and several horses as well as a literal menagerie. It would have been cheaper for him to stay married.

Anyway, I digress. This invisible wife that is at the root of his “dead bedroom” problem would run his household, mind the children, manage the help and not initiate sex. And I honestly think that’s the right thing to do. Because why would you take on yet another household obligation for a man who does not put the same work into seducing you? Why is it our job to plan the dates, purchase the lingerie, research the positions, and exercise to stay limber enough to perform them when all the man who happens to be married to you has to do is show up with an erection for three minutes — 13 to be generous?

Now that I’ve softened you up to the frigid wife, I also want to say something else. I don’t think Orlando Bloom deserves blowjobs from Katy Perry after doing the dishes. If Katy wants to, cool. But it’s not a transaction. Your reward for being a nice guy and a dutiful husband is not sexual intercourse. It’s just the bare minimum for being a decent human being that consensually signed on for a lifelong legal and sometimes religious commitment.

I stopped giving myself grief because I realised something fundamental: If I’m the only one expected to be showing up with a game plan, equipment, and enthusiasm, what’s the point? Why am I bending myself backward, trying to manifest all these “spicy” moves and fantasies when somewhere else, at the same time, an entitled man thinks that putting his phone down for 20 minutes and squeezing his exhausted (possibly lactating or premenstrual) wife’s (possibly sore) breast is enough to spark a night of passion?

Somehow, somewhere, society convinced women that their sexual desirability and effort were prerequisites for marital harmony. Meanwhile, men—especially these overgrown boys whining at bars—think marital sex is like a Netflix subscription: you paid for it once, so now you get unlimited streaming.

Let’s stop already. We have been overvaluing our sexuality and undervaluing our sanity, contorting ourselves into ridiculous shapes—literally and metaphorically—just to keep that (probably phantom) nymphomaniac from sinking her claws into our man. Women don’t need more advice on how to seduce their husbands. They need a PSA, or a crowd of women, preferably all beautiful, that say to them: “Hey, it’s not your fault you don’t want to have sex with your husband. I wouldn’t want to have sex with your husband either.”*

No more 3am Google searches on “how to revive a dead bedroom,” no more body-hugging lace contraptions that cost more than a month’s worth of good therapy. Let’s not play muse and matron to a man who thinks that a credit card swipe (if we’re lucky) counts as foreplay.

I’ve stopped tracking “good wife” points like it’s some perverse loyalty program. I’ve stopped pretending that our sexual frequency is a reflection of my worth as a woman or a wife. Because if a man is sulking in a bar, complaining to an audience of wide-eyed women about how his wife isn’t initiating sex, it’s not her libido he’s talking about—it’s his own fundamental un-fuckability.

Because the moment a woman pulls back from the role of sexual concierge—masterminding seduction and surprises—their relationship's cracks begin to show. And sometimes it’s not about sex at all, but a very basic imbalance in who’s doing the heavy lifting.

So, here's my take: If he’s so starved for sex, maybe he should start doing a little more heavy lifting himself. Like, I don’t know, take over all communications with the kids’ school and PTA. Or how about initiating a meaningful conversation that doesn’t consist of ANY self-pity or ego-preening?

Women aren’t withholding sex. They’re just exhausted from performing too many roles already, and having husbands that think doing the dishes, taking out the trash, providing for the family (but let’s face it, more and more women are becoming primary breadwinners anyway, so this point is moot), or “letting” her sleep in on weekends is enough to entitle them to a cookie, a wife-powered orgasm, a trophy, a happy wife, and a happy life.

Until that changes, the only any wife needs to be scheduling is a three-day, kid-free, husband-free vacation at a five (or six?) star hotel. And depending on where your husband falls on the spectrum of mildly annoying to deeply rage-inducing, maybe a consultation with a family lawyer to see what your options are.

But hey, to each their own. After all, I did say I’m sex-positive ;)

*I’m not young, or nubile, or a 10 in any way, but I am East Asian and still have mostly black hair so if you need me to say that to you (or your husband), just drop me a line and I’ll be happy to oblige for free — though he might be a bit confused.