home Love, Sex Why Won’t My Boyfriend Have Sex With Me?

Why Won’t My Boyfriend Have Sex With Me?

Where was I? Oh yes, Stephen…Why won’t my boyfriend have sex with me? Why is my boyfriend withholding sex? My last post ended with a “to be continued” because personally, if kept writing I was pretty sure I was going to spew spaghettios and um, I don’t even eat spaghettios. Besides barfing, there were so much intrusiveness regarding this sick fuck topic that I was having trouble sorting it out. It’s a beautiful cluster fuck that Stephen meticulously created. Bravo Steve-o, bravo. You get 2 stars for creativity but a 12-inch broomstick up your ass for obvious cruel intent and such pansy approach.


I have been somewhat mum in regards to the bullshit relationship that I’ve been in for the past two years. Yes, there are some posts here and there that I managed to twist with vagueness but I predict that there will be blunter, hardcore truth down the road…possibly. The relationship with Stephen was a total wash and I’m pretty sure I spent most of my time trying to figure out what was wrong with me, not what was wrong with him. Yep, the sexless relationship was rather devastating and I took it pretty damn personal. I was in the tub one night while he worked on the floors in the closet. There I was standing up, ass naked, lathering up with soap… humming a tune…thinking, “hubba hubba, let’s get it on and have wild, spontaneous, donkey, strawberry banana sex.” He walked past me and my suds with his head down. It was an obvious “don’t look” as if he knew that I wanted him to look but he continued forward with his blinders on. Ouch. And Oh ginger snap. Considering this happened mid-relationship, it was something I had grown accustoms to and it was one rejection after another.

I can say it was a sexless relationship but it was basically on his terms and almost every single one of my attempts? Denied. I mentioned in the previous post how he swooned me in the beginning, he charmed my pants off (yes, literally) and as soon as I was hooked, I was cut off. Coincidence? I think not. I’m certain Stephen knew what he was doing and while I thought the sex was worth bragging about because of the chemistry between us; I now believe he was perhaps a master fucker due to all the fucking practice he had leading up to me. Sex was the one thing that lured me in and soon would be what I was eventually denied.

Sex in the beginning was enjoyable but sex throughout the rest of the relationship was God damn insulting. He put no effort into being with me and if there was ever intercourse, there were feelings of a pity fuck. I allowed him to make me feel as if he was just banging me to shut me up and it’s not because of the things he said but insinuated. I had learned to accept that there would never be spontaneous sex, adventurous sex and had to get accustom to the sex scraps he tossed my way. Sex would never happen at the spur of the moment, no banging in the kitchen, nothing random and I knew the only time sex would take place is after the day was over and we crawled in the bed to go to sleep. It was mechanical and robotic like. In the beginning, it felt as if we were both so into it… which lasted about a month (if that), from then on I felt as if I were the only one putting forth effort into initiating sex and wasting energy trying to please him.

After the weekend day was over, we usually would crawl into bed to watch TV. It didn’t matter how much I rubbed his stomach, or snuggled up to him, nothing I did would ever create a sexual spark. There were several times that I actually managed to get my hand on his balls and nothing happened, if I remember correctly…he “fell asleep”. Sex was seldom on the menu but if he felt like serving up a warm dish of fuck, he had no problem making sure it was a dead one. It was seldom that he kissed me and there was never any foreplay, which was a total 180 from the beginning. I found myself lying in bed next to him, starving for attention and affection, wondering if I would get lucky but throughout time was trained to never initiate. I learned how to accept my scraps and my dishes of dead fuckery.



He would roll over, maybe peck me on the lips, most of the time would avoid touching my va-jay-jay and had no trouble sticking it in without helping caressing my spot. Many times it hurt but beggars can’t be choosers right? There was no wildness to it, no passion, no creativity, no effort into pleasing me and it was usually strictly missionary. *yawn* While I spent month after month going out of my way to try to spice things up, trying to please him, flirt with him and make the few bedroom moments enjoyable…I eventually just gave up. No matter how hard I tried, the sex remained mechanical, lifeless and I started to believe that it would never go back to the way it was. There were never wild nights of fucking all night, he got hard once and that was all I would get. There was no doing it again and I considered myself lucky for even getting that much. If I ever mentioned sex to him, I usually got the response, “Why does it matter, all you do is lay there anyway?” It was pretty insulting considering I was the one that had been trying so gdamn hard on ‘his’ terms. I knew I wasn’t a dead lay and he acted clueless as to why I quit putting forth effort which was contributed to the constant rejection and his lack of giving a fuck. In addition to this, I stopped putting myself out there because the ongoing rejection and neglect did a number on my self-esteem and I didn’t want to get on top, I didn’t want the lights to be on, I didn’t feel like bouncing, moaning, groaning or even pretending to moan and somehow I came from being a confident, sexual woman to an insecure floozy who settled for dead fucking scraps and no, I never once had an orgasm.


My hints went from being subtle to bluntly asking what the deal was. After three months of having no sex or physical affection, I would usually break down and ask what was going on. I did what any normal woman would have done, internalize it. He would say, “Why does it always have to be about sex?” I got this response a handful of times which was loaded with painful, mini-dickhead-insults. I felt ashamed for bringing attention to the sexless relationship and without many words, he made it seem as if I were some nympho, a sex freak, some sort of addict that just couldn’t get enough…when I really didn’t get it at all. It was nothing to go three or so months without any physical contact whatsoever. I won’t mention how I had to basically ask him to let me give him a blowjob. I won’t mention how most of the time he even rejected that. Who in the hell denies a blowjob? Now, I know damn skippy that blowjobs were not one of my shortcomings so something was up in paradise. What the hell was going on here? I mean, this is a guy that flashed me pictures of his ding dong before we had even met and now he’s coming across as if to be a prude and me the pervert? Seriously, I would text him a photo of my boob…no response. I could send him nude pics, no response. Oh yes, he would just act as if I never sent them, pretending as if he never got them. 100% jackasshole.

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