My Shame-Free, Sexless Relationship

My husband and I are sexually incompatible — but instead of ditching each other, we ditched monogamy

Photo: Kizty Chan/EyeEm/Getty Images

If a time traveler from the future would’ve told me, “Jonathan, your future husband will be the man of your dreams — but it’ll be a sexless marriage,” I would have laughed in said time traveler’s face, gone out to a gay bar, found a hot stranger, had sex right in front of him, then replied, “See? I love sex, and you’re wrong.” But actually, the time traveler would’ve been right.

Mark and I met eight years ago, on a website. He was 27; I was 33. I was just out of a 2.5 year relationship that was emotionally and verbally abusive. The sex was heart-pounding, sweaty, frequent, and great — but literally everything else was hostile. Meeting Mark was a breath of fresh air: He was someone who could make me laugh until I cried, who I never felt annoyed or awkward around; someone I could be in constant contact with for weeks and months and still enjoy his company every minute of every day. I could be goofy, or vulnerable, or wrong, or bloated, or thin, or masc, or femme, or smart, or stupid, or mistaken — and no matter what, it was fine with him.

It wasn’t very long before we discovered that the way we kissed each other was… yikes! Neither of us enjoyed it. And our sex? It was “Meh” on good days and “Let’s just stop” on bad ones. We tried different things to make the sex better, but it didn’t improve. It felt like we were shoehorning something into our relationship that just didn’t fit. After 1.5 years, it was time to either break up, or try an open relationship. I’d only been in monogamous relationships before, so the uncharted waters of an open relationship were scary to me. However, as a queer person, I didn’t have a millennia of compounded hetero rules and traditions I was expected to follow. I was born with a get-out-of-heteronormativity-free card — so trust and believe, I was damn well going to use it. Let the open experiment begin.

Before I continue, I want to say something to all those emotionally healthy, sexually active, loving couples (or throuples) out there: I support you, I am happy for you, and, to tell the truth, there are times I’m a little jealous of you. Depending on who you are, and what’s most important to you in a romantic partner, it does seem like some relationships truly have it all when you’re on the outside looking in: kindness, great sex, stimulating conversation, honest communication, fun, excitement, and more? Get it! And don’t take it for granted. But many of us find ourselves falling in love with people who check most, but not every, box on our list — and realizing that just because a relationship isn’t “perfect” doesn’t mean it has to end. (It’s also good to be aware that we might not check every box on our partner’s list, either.)

The first year of our open relationship, I had so many doubts and so much paranoia. I find Mark hot, smart, kind, and hilarious. I thought as soon as he had amazing sex with someone else, our relationship was done for. Thankfully, I was wrong about that. Actually, I was wrong about a lot of things. (If you’re thinking about trying an open relationship, the trick is to get over the initial jealousy and the “you’re gonna leave me” paranoia. I’m not saying it will work for everyone, but it worked for us.)

As I struggled that first year, what really didn’t help was the way a surprising number of guys I talked to on gay dating apps responded to our arrangement. They’d say things like, “You’re not in a real relationship,” and, “He’s not really a boyfriend,” and, “I could never be in a relationship like that. What’s the damn point if you’re not having sex?” To those people, I say that if the priority of your relationship is sex, my situation is definitely not for you. But if your priority is love or companionship, then consider what’s important to you about your relationship, and what is up for negotiation.

It was very hard to accept that I am a person who is, in fact, worthy of love — with or without sex.

What initially scared me about opening our relationship was the idea of losing him to someone who checked all the boxes I checked, but also the bonus box of great sex. I think my own idea of what a relationship is was largely shaped by all the examples of hypersexual monogamous couples I saw on TV and in movies. Is that how it’s supposed to be? Is everyone having hot bed-breaking sex except me? I never saw examples of sexless couples or open relationships. I loved everything about Mark, but did he really love me back? And if he did, why? Was I enough? Not being able to give my partner good sex made me question my worth as a boyfriend. Was our relationship just a best friendship, like a gay parody of Golden Girls? It was very hard to accept that I am a person who is, in fact, worthy of love — with or without sex. Through this process, I began to understand that my biggest saboteur was my own expectations. As time went on, my ideas and expectations about what a relationship is, and can be, started to change.

Thankfully, we’ve both had people in our lives we could hook up with who understood and respected our open relationship without judgment. And we don’t judge each other, either. We don’t often share details about who we sleep with, but when we do hook up, it’s not some shameful, secret thing. We once stayed with a dear friend of ours in Boston for a week. One morning I tried to sneak out of bed to go to some guy’s house, when I accidentally woke Mark. He asked what was going on, and I whispered to him where I was going. Still half-asleep, he handed me a condom and told me to text him the address in case something went wrong.

Opening our relationship has only made it stronger. For us, it was an easy decision — we really loved each other, and we loved being together. Some people will read this and say, “Yeah, well you settled. I’ll never settle like you did.” And that’s certainly one way to look at it. To that person, I offer a different take. You could also say I love Mark so much, I was willing to do whatever I could to stay with him. And I did.

In the process of “coming out” about our sexless relationship to people in our circles, many have confided in me that they’re also secretly in sexless relationships for a number of different reasons:

One person in an open relationship hasn’t had sex with their partner in years, because they only like the chase and the initial challenge.

An older couple I know doesn’t have sex because one of them has been disabled for years.

One person said it’s been years since they slept with their spouse, because of major intimacy issues.

Another older couple I know doesn’t have sex because one of them struggles with depression.

Another told me they always try to get out of having sex with their partner, because their partner is “bad at it.”

And another told me they’re constantly avoiding sex with their spouse because their spouse is really into kink, and they are not at all.

Yet another is constantly turning down sex with their partner because they don’t like their own body.

The saddest thing about all of this is that these friends of mine are constantly tiptoeing around the topic with their partner. There is a massive amount of guilt, shame, embarrassment, disappointment, and anger wrapped up in this issue, from both sides. Such a sensitive subject feels like it can’t be mentioned without causing a major fight or having a discussion where you’re terrified of every possible outcome. The general expectation is that if you’re in a romantic relationship, sex is part of that deal. And if you’re not putting out, then someone feels cheated out of what they believe they’re entitled to: sex.

But what if your relationship is just different? What if your relationship has shifted? What if you or your partner changed in some way? What if some unspoken issue, whether it’s some sort of insecurity, or trauma, or physical disability, or chronic pain, or illness, or age, or depression, or maybe just an old-fashioned lack of sexual compatibility (raises hand, right here!) has landed you in a sexless relationship?

Well after all that, here’s all I really came here to say:

You are not alone.