I remember the first time I had sex with my husband. It was in my first college apartment, on a twin bed, with pink and black polka-dotted curtains above us, to Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Free Bird". It might not sound like it, but it was super romantic. That was five years ago.
Today, a nurse in a different state told me to have intercourse with my husband tonight. The funny part is it didn't seem odd to me at all to have a doctor's office ordering me to have sex.
The part that bothered me the most is that I don't want sex tonight. My abdomen hurts. I want everyone to leave me alone, and all through my very shitty 10 hour work day with no lunch break, I dreamed of coming home and putting on my PJs. Intimacy is a giant chore today.
So tonight I called my husband and politely requested that he masturbate before I get home so I didn't have to deal with it.
How did that young naive college couple making love on a twin bed get to this place?