So the last couple of weeks, I’ve been spending more time with my husband Harold. After we had reached an understanding with each other, and he agreed to see a therapist — as we had discussed for weeks — I decided to give him a hall pass in the bed room. I decided to let him touch me again. At first it was a little awkward, like I was being touched by an extraterrestrial alien. And it was even weirder because, like, I hadn’t yet given him permission to go all the way, so we just cuddled. He even had the courage to kiss me, but his breath wasn’t very fresh — Some advice, you should at least rinse your mouth with mouthwash before kissing a lady.

During our cuddle sessions, I made sure that he respected my *comfort zone(s)* at all times. Any transgression was met with an abrupt end — the cold couch in the living room once again had it’s usual occupant for the night.

Yeah, I’m not messing around.

Should I feel guilty for treating my husband this way? I’ll admit sometimes I wasn’t sure, but then I remembered how his misogynistic micro-aggressions lead to this in the first place — I remembered how his patriarchy-induced-insecurity lead to his domineering attitude — an attempt to own MY SEXUALITY. As a feminist, this is exactly what I’m fighting against. Hopefully his new therapist will impress upon him the importance of respecting my sexual self-ownership.

After a few nights, cuddling got boring, so I let him finger me and perform oral. On a couple occasions I had to feign orgasm, which left me wanting to falling asleep — Like what kind of husband makes his wife fall asleep after foreplay and fellatio? After a while I got tired of this, like, was he doing this deliberately? Was this some attempt at passive-aggressive form of bedroom misogyny? I brought it up, hoping he’d mention it with his new therapist.

To my shock and horror he had the GALL to ask for more, for penetration, as if he earned it. How entitled can he be? I felt the cold weight of all the white-male-privilege ever experienced by women, world wide, had fallen on my back. Here he was, Harold, a white male, expecting me to just comply with an emphatic “YES SIR” to his request to stick his penis in MY VAGINA like he’d ask for a cigarette from a convenience store. I was so angry, I just gave in “sure, my dear husband.”

So um, I reluctantly let him try missionary on me. The resulting sex was so bad, I think I need a therapist now too. Harold keeps losing points every time I give him the chance to prove himself. Rather than lose my sanity, I decided to change things up a bit, and to show him what patriarchy feels like, thus giving him an experience that would allow him to empathize with my womanhood; so I put on a strap-on and pegged him. He screamed and cried in blissful pain. When all was said and done we lied in bed together, holding each other, and I thanked him for making me feel *sexually empowered*. It was beautiful, and I kinda orgasmed a little.

Thanks, my dear hubby. I guess we can enjoy our bedroom time together.

~Desiree Meyers-Liebowitz