How I Fell Madly In Lust With My Husband

by Susan Shapiro

But I wondered how a woman fashioned her man into a passionate brute. You couldn’t force your guy to be forceful, could you? My therapist requested some appointments alone with my husband. “Okay, let’s try what you want,” my mate announced when he came home from a psychotherapy session one night. I knew he was trying to compromise because he loved me. But I could tell he felt uncomfortable, even horrified that his perverted vixen of a wife had strong-armed a shrink into insisting he strong-arm me. Still, I wasn’t giving up on my desires and I didn’t want to look for sexual fulfillment elsewhere. Plus, I had an apparently Torah-given right to receive pleasure from my partner. So I led Aaron into our bedroom and told him what I wanted. Again. He acquiesced, passively, cracking jokes about castration and decapitation, taking me totally out of the mood.

“Shut up, don’t make me laugh,” I begged, explaining that he needed to deride me and take me against my will. After several minutes of orchestrating both the physical movements and the dialogue (”I want you to f**k me harder, Tarzan.” and “Stop calling me beautiful, you idiot.”) the whole thing began to feel too phony to get me off to anywhere. “Let’s just forget it,” I said, getting out of bed.

“No. Don’t you dare leave! Get over here,” Aaron snapped, grabbing my arm and throwing me back on the bed. He stopped joking and roared, “Okay, you stupid b*tch, now you’re going to get it.” He sounded enraged. I didn’t know if he was genuinely pissed off or simply playing the role. But when he ripped off my jeans and slapped me, something happened. I felt nervous. Tingly. Excited. Transported. Rubbing against him, I had a major orgasm before he was even inside me. It was more intense than any “little death” I remembered with those bad boy idiots I’d gone for in my teens and twenties. Who knew you could be so erotically enraptured by your own spouse?

I was so gratified and grateful afterward that all I wanted to do was please Aaron. So, for our second act, we went all the way, the way I knew he preferred—gentle strokes, sweet nothings whispered in his ear, plenty of “I love you, babys.” I wasn’t bored this time. I felt so close to my husband, I didn’t mind running this half of the show.

Both of us were restless sleepers who usually crashed far apart on our California King bed, but the next morning, I woke with my arms around him, kissing his warm back. Our tryst was so memorable that I made myself come in the middle of the day just thinking about it. Then I sent him an email—”Last night was so hot!”—and when he got home, we did it again! The last time we’d done it twice in twenty-four hours was back when we’d had sex for the first time. Seeing how delighted I was, and how being sexually satisfied changed our whole dynamic, he became more willing and open.