I love being married to Dave. He is a typical alpha male. A man’s man.
I could never see myself married to a suit, or a geek, or a shy guy. Nothing against those type of men, but they don’t set my world on fire. I love a tradesman. A hands-on practical man. The sort of man who is a gentleman outside of the bedroom, but certainly not one in it.
I don’t know where this ‘type’ came from, but I’ve always been attracted to strong, protective lads. A bit of a bad boy. Dave has always said he would fight a man to protect my honour, and would happily go to jail if anyone laid a finger on me or raped me. Doesn’t bear thinking about, but a woman likes to feel protected and safe. And I do with Dave. He knows I could fight a guy off, because he’s wrestled with me before and knows my strength, but he sees it as a man’s duty to take care of his woman. The anti-feminist in me fucking loves that. But the feminist in me says “Nah you’re alright, I can handle myself thanks.”
He fits the stereotype of a 30 something British man. Likes his football, likes his beer, likes cars and bikes. The usual stuff. Wrestling too, but we won’t go there…
But Dave is also a modern man. He knows how to use the washing machine, can bake a great cake, knows how to look after the garden, and is more houseproud than me. In fact I haven’t used the new Hoover once since we got it. And that was last year.
But what Dave doesn’t do, is talk.
For all of his awesome qualities – both masculine and feminine – he still retains the caveman stereotype of not talking.
It can manifest as a sulk if we’ve argued, the silent treatment if we’ve fought, or the worst – the closed book when it’s something involving feelings and emotions.
I have no idea what’s going through his brain about this whole process of trying to make a baby. I’ll get a little teaser occasionally, but if I try to get him to elaborate then he closes up like a clam again. The shutters go down.
I have several outlets for me to get all the shittiness off my chest; friends, my mum, my blog, and my blog’s Facebook and Instagram pages. Not to mention TTC forums and the friends I’ve made through those.
But there’s nothing for men. And there’s nothing for Dave.
Where do men go if they want to get things of their chest? There are no TTC forums aimed at men. No Facebook groups or Instagram pages. Not that I know of anyway. It would be great if Dave had the courage to start one of his own. But that’s not his thing. He’s done a guest post on here before, and he did a very honest Facebook post a month back, but I think that’s all we’ll get off him.
It’s been 4 days since his ‘thing’ on Saturday night (I don’t want to belittle it as a meltdown) when he confided in his mate, but there has been nothing said to me about it. I know his mate told me what Dave said after their heart to heart, but I need to hear Dave say it to me.
Unfortunately, when I tried, I caused him to shut down.
He came back late on Sunday afternoon, hanging out of his arse, looking the roughest I’d seen him in a long time, and desperate to chill out on the sofa and watch telly. We dicked about a bit, had a cuddle, and then when I asked about when he was going to talk about Saturday night to me, he literally changed in a second. In that moment, he wanted to clean. He was like a fucking woman possessed. One minute he had been shuffling about like a zombie, and then next he was the Tasmanian devil polishing and cleaning.
If it wasn’t so sad, I would have laughed my arse off.
When he was cleaning the glass so hard it was going to turn back to sand again I said “I can see right through it.”
The pun was lost on him, but he knew what I meant.
“I’m not cleaning because of Saturday night!”
Okaaaay. But I know him too well. I’m his wife after all.
But whilst I can accept that he has confided in someone else who is not me (thanks G), what hurts is that by not letting me into his feelings and fears, I can’t help HIM like he helps ME.
When I cry, he holds me.
When I get my period, he comforts me.
When I feel like a failure, he reassures me that I’m not.
When I’m stressed, he chills me out.
But whilst I try to do that to him, it’s not the same. Obviously he doesn’t get a period, but you know what I mean!
Dave is part of that traditional old school of thought that men need to be strong, and they shouldn’t cry in front of others (unless their football team wins or loses!)
Now this is where I’m a hypocrite. Because I think that’s all bollocks. I want the manly man (which I’ve got) but I want him to show his sensitive side occasionally too. We’re a team. Marriage is about taking it in turns to be strong.
I know I was upset when I got my period on Saturday, but I didn’t realise that it would affect Dave the way it did when I texted him.
Because he won’t tell me what was going through his mind that night, I’m going to have to assume.
I think he feels a failure. That he should have got me pregnant by now because it’s been 16 months. That his sperm may not be the best quality. That he’s less of a man because he hasn’t sown his seed yet. The worst thing is when blokes congratulate other blokes when their missus is pregnant by proclaiming they must not be shooting blanks then. The insinuation from that statement is that if a bloke hasn’t got HIS missus pregnant then HE must be shooting blanks.
IT’S ALL UTTER SHITE.
I also think that Dave feels a lot of pressure to perform, and at the right time. His best ‘loads’ (so to speak) are when it’s not my fertile time. He can just enjoy the shag for what it is, and he can ejaculate hard and quick. But the moment the pressure is there, despite me saying there is no pressure and we can stop at any point, that’s when I can see him get angry and frustrated. He’s stormed off and slammed the bedroom door before because he felt so pissed off with himself.
It’s horrible to watch. Because no matter what I say to him, he doesn’t listen. I say “let’s stop, it’s not going to happen tonight” and he insists on carrying on to the point where it’s almost marital rape (I’m saying that light-heartedly because of course he doesn’t force me). But I don’t want our baby to be conceived out of a frustrated ejaculation, but from making love. Or a rough horny shag. Whatevs.
But I can’t imagine the pressure to orgasm on a bloke. Obviously you can’t get pregnant without a man’s sperm, so it’s pretty vital that it comes out one way or another. And the only way to do that is to orgasm.
Now if it was ME that had to orgasm in order to become pregnant, it would never happen, because the moment I feel someone is ‘waiting’ for me to come, I won’t. Besides, (TMI here), like many women, I can’t come from penetration alone. I need the clitoral stimulation too. But even if all those mechanics were in place, either by me, Dave or a toy, I still wouldn’t be able to come if my head wasn’t in the right place. For a woman, the brain is key to orgasming, and if the brain feels pressure, it doesn’t perform.
I imagine it’s similar for men, but mechanically they can come a lot easier. During those tricky times when I need to help out a bit more, even the sexy outfits, hand jobs, blow jobs, whatever, won’t work if the man’s brain isn’t feeling it.
So fellas who are reading this, I want you to understand a few things:
We get it. We understand it is a fucking shit journey for you too, but PLEASE let us help you. Even if you only say one little thing once a week about how you’re feeling about things, keep doing it – some communication is better than none.
Don’t be afraid to cry. If when your wife or girlfriend gets her period and you feel upset about it – tell her that. It’s not going to make her feel worse knowing that you’re cut up about it too. She’ll feel less alone.
If you can’t perform at the critical time, please don’t stress about it. We don’t want you feeling that way. And the more you force yourself, the less likely you’ll succeed.
But know that we love you, no matter what. You are not 100% responsible. You’re 50% – along with your wife. Let her in. Let her support you.
You won’t be any less manly if you do that.