Have sex with YOU, darling Frankly, I’d rather play golf: Yesterday Shona Sibary confessed she'd rather mop the floor than make love to her husband. Here he admits the feeling's mutual
00:28 GMT, 5 October 2012
Keith Sibary, pictured with his wife, says hopefully in the future Shona will find her sex drive again and they'll be able to afford a cleaner
One of the first things that attracted me to my wife Shona — almost 20 years ago — was the fact she was so uninhibited in bed. I remember her joking how she was an ex-convent girl and had been making up for lost time.
At that point I wasn’t sure if she was flirting with me or just being honest. Either way, being the 26-year-old hot-blooded guy I then was, I found this openness towards sex refreshing. I knew, when we married, lots of things about our relationship would change. I suppose it’s only to be expected. But I always thought the physical side of things would keep us going. We are, after all, talking about a woman who, in the early stages of our relationship, would happily oblige any time, any place, anywhere. While I’m not saying her enthusiasm for sex was the only thing that attracted me to her, in those days it was certainly one of the biggest draws.
I had friends back then whose girlfriends could be quite prudish about sex. Shona happily admitted to me (on one of our first dates) that she’d had 14 previous lovers and wasn’t having sex outside fantastic I think any man will agree that if a woman loves the physical side of things as much as you, it’s half the battle — not to mention a huge aphrodisiac.
But I’m not an idiot. I knew all that initial lust would wear off, and with familiarity, routine and children our sex life would dip to, say, once a week. What I couldn’t possibly predict is that love-making would be shoved so far down Shona’s list of priorities we would reach a point in our marriage where cleaning trumped romping.
In fact, one of the biggest shocks for me in all of this — apart from discovering that my wife has written about our sex life in the Daily Mail and publicly stated she’d rather mop a floor than snuggle up with me — is discovering the extreme lengths to which she will go to avoid having sex.
Every night, before climbing into bed, she actually gets dressed. On go the cashmere socks, the long-sleeved top and baggy pyjama bottoms.
I have to be quite crafty to ever get a glimpse of her naked. Sometimes I pretend to be asleep, which lulls her into a false sense of security, and I’ll get a sneaky peak, but, sadly, nowadays, that’s as close as it gets.
I suppose I should have been worried when, a few years ago, she went out and bought a super king-size bed. It’s so enormous I practically need a satnav to find her somewhere in the middle.
She argues it’s just what we need to get a good night’s sleep. Which is precisely the problem.
Let’s be honest. At the age of 45, I’m hardly raring to go every five minutes either. I don’t want to have sex now as often as I did when I was 19, or 30, for that matter. My priorities have changed, too.
I could probably still drop everything at a moment’s notice if Shona ever made advances — which is rare indeed — but I’m no longer so willing to interrupt my train of thought about work or miss Tiger Wood’s chip at the 16th hole in the last match of the Ryder Cup in favour of sex with my wife. But, if I’ve become a little more selective about when — and how often — I want to have sex, Shona has become ridiculously prescriptive.
She’s either too tired, too stressed or got too much to do.
I’ve gone from wanting sex twice a day to being happy settling for twice a week. But from what I read in yesterday’s Mail, it seems Shona feels once a month is too much for her.
Many men would argue this gives me the perfect excuse to sow my oats elsewhere, and they might be right.
From what I understand, the less sex a woman has, the less she wants it. But I don’t feel that way. The longer I go without any physical contact with my wife, the more it consumes my thoughts. I find myself looking at other women — and while I don’t want to leap on them, I’m definitely thinking about sex more than I would be if I was actually having some.
I have a friend who insists on his wife agreeing to sex once a week because it ‘clears his mind’ and increases his ability to do his job. Even though he knows she is only barely tolerating his advances, he has persuaded her that having regular marital sex improves his chances of earning more money.
Keith says he feels distant from Shona and is far more likely to have an affair because of a general feeling of loneliness, than because he wants to have wild sex with a total stranger (file photo)
I wish I could sling Shona the same line, but somehow I don’t think she’d buy it. We talked, quite recently, about me having a vasectomy. Shona can’t decide if it’s a good idea — not because she wants another baby, but because the doctor happened to mention my testosterone levels would be slightly raised after the operation.
But the biggest problem for me in all of this is not the lack of physical contact — although I would like more regular sex — it’s the impact this has on the rest of our relationship.
I find I’m more distracted in the day and also, more crucially, I feel distant from Shona. I’m far more likely to have an affair because of this general feeling of loneliness, than I am because I want to have wild sex with a total stranger.
Both Shona and I know our sex life could do with an MOT. And there’s no holding us back when we go away for the weekend — somewhere with no children (and no kitchen floors to clean). But like many other married couples, we need to ensure our love-making survives the relentless demands of juggling parenthood, work and the other challenges of modern life.
Of course, I’m not happy Shona would rather mop a floor than leap into bed with me. But I understand it. Sometimes the idea of playing 18 holes of golf is more appealing to me than the thought of sex — although if she was standing naked at the front door barring my way as I headed out with my clubs, I could be persuaded.
I love my wife and I know she loves me. Our marriage functions much better when we are intimate in bed, but I know the huge pressures in our lives, right now, are bound to affect this.
My plan, for the duration, is to grab what I can, when I can and be grateful. Hopefully, in the future, Shona will find her sex drive again and we’ll be able to afford a cleaner.
In the meantime, I’ll enjoy all the other aspects of my healthy marriage and try not to think too hard about that famous Hunter. S. Thompson quote: ‘Sex without love is as hollow and ridiculous as love without sex.’
FOUR TIMES A WEEK STOPS MY MAN STRAYING SAYS MS BRICK
Samantha Brick, pictured with her husband, says she has sex with him three to four times a week
Samantha Brick, 41, lives in
South-West France with her husband, Pascal, a carpenter. They have been
married for four years. She says:
Having just returned home from what
the French refer to as cinq sept (that’s a liaison between the hours
of 5-7pm), I really cannot identify with Shona’s attitude. My passionate
encounter, in a luxurious hotel room that was rented by the hour, was
with my lover . . . who also happens to be my husband.
Yes, I’m afraid I’m one of those
‘smug marrieds’ who, hand on heart, can honestly claim that she enjoys
sex three to four times a week.
Imagine my dismay, then, when I read
that Shona prefers housework to hot sex. Wives who behave like this
truly exasperate me. Is it any wonder almost half of all marriages end
I’m firmly of the belief that marital
bliss emanates first and foremost from the bedroom. Sex should never be
considered as merely an irritating add-on to a marriage. If women such
as Shona genuinely believe this, then they don’t deserve to wear that
ring on their third left finger.
Ensuring your man feels desired and
adored is the glue that binds a loving relationship. No wonder so many
frustrated, sex-starved men play away.
I’m alarmed when I learn friends have
ditched their flirty underwear in favour of grubby tracksuit bottoms
and their hair pulled back in a scrunchie when they’re in bed. Honestly!
How seductive is that for your husband
Getting ready to do ‘it’ for such
women doubtless means dragging a wet cloth across their face. Whereas I
instantly think of a bikini wax, body oil and presenting myself in
freshly laundered sheets wearing only a smile.
Men are faithful, generous beings —
as long as they feel appreciated. After our liaison, my husband bought
me 200 worth of make-up. Shona, take a leaf out of my book. If you
don’t look after your man, someone else will.
PS: AND THE MAN WHO GETS TOO MUCH!
Martin Daubney with his wife Diana. Martin says he stayed up late last night watching Storage Wars to avoid his conjugal rights
Martin Daubney, 42, lives in London with wife Diana, 37, who is a picture editor, and their three-year-old son, Sonny. He says:
Like many cruel men, once I’d got over enjoying the mocking laughter, I winced with brotherly pain when I read Shona’s admission.
To be rejected in favour of a mop and bucket is a low blow to the male psyche. Of course, I thought happily, even after 13 years together my wife Diana would never equate sex with me to a domestic chore. Would she
Then, about three seconds later, I remembered with a stab of shame that, actually, I was the one who stayed up late last night watching Storage Wars to avoid my conjugal rights.
And didn’t I do my accounts for three hours longer than necessary last week for the very same reason
In my defence, I should point out that the reason I’ve been trying to avoid sex is that there’s too much of it in our house at the moment.
Yes, that’s right, too much. You see, we are trying for another child, and while I want a sibling for Sonny, we have to have sex every single blooming night when Di is in her ‘reproductive hot spot’.
When Di’s hormones are right, I’m on scramble alert the likes of which haven’t been seen since the Battle of Britain. Yet even that isn’t enough, and she insists we to do it every night of the month ‘to be sure’.
All of this is pretty shameful to admit and I expect as much sympathy as a Lottery winner.
Sex on demand is the stuff of teenage dreams, and when it comes to virility, men are meant to be like perpetually coiled cobras.
But the other night in bed, I actually looked at adverts for extending loft stairs for an hour on my iPad, hoping that Di’s amorous foot rubbing might fizzle out into a more sleepy twitch. Alas, it wasn’t to be.
Reducing sex to procreation alone feels very Victorian — but in our house, it is Diana who definitely gets the vote. And it’s more than my life is worth to say: ‘Not tonight, dear, I’m Googling how to make the wisterias flower next year.’