This is the final post in a three part series about my reflections on Esther Perel’s book Mating in Captivity. In part one, I reflect on the fundamental need for each partner to discover their sexual self, or eros. In part two, I examine how raising a family affected our sex lives. Now, in part three, we get to the details that can set your sex life on fire: communication, fantasies, BDSM, and non-monogamy. You know, the juicy stuff.
Yes, Jack and I have sex a lot. But when we’re not having sex, we’re talking. We’re exploring new ideas, detailing desires, and flirting with acting out fantasies.
Jack is an outspoken extrovert and I’m an introverted overthinker. I’ll listen to his chatter until I have my own monologue to spew. We banter, argue, contemplate, bicker, poke, prod, inspire, and make each other laugh. We have to physically separate ourselves into different rooms to actually get tasks completed, otherwise our productivity falls to the wayside of our involved conversations.
At night, we retreat to our master suite together. About 50% of the time, we have sex before we go to sleep. The other half of the time? We talk, sometimes in the hot tub or bath, sometimes while just laying in bed together. We turn off the lights and continue our conversation until the silent pauses get longer and sleep sets in. Then, we wake up together in the morning, often with gentle strokes, cuddles, and sleepy conversation.
Perhaps outsiders attribute our happy sex life to our constant communication, and that’s partly true…but I thinks also it’s how we talk together, and what we talk about. It’s what we are able to express to one another in terms of what we want, what our fantasies are, what we’d like to explore more, and who else we desire…this is what keeps our sex life alive. Perel would perhaps say that this keeps each of our individual Eros alive, too.
We try to communicate in the love language of our partner.
“Interestingly, while our need for intimacy has become paramount, the way we conceive of it has narrowed. … We naively believe that the essence of who we are is most accurately conveyed through words.”
Esther Perel, Mating in Captivity, page 41
In chapter three of Mating in Captivity, Perel discusses the definition of modern intimacy and the evolution of the standard household. It was once common for people to live in multi-generational homes and communities. In these settings, people took the effort to carve out a small space for just themselves — a hiding spot for the individual. When social or emotional intimacy was desired, a person would have multiple people to choose from — not just your spouse.
Now, society has evolved into households of segregated nuclear families, often consisting of both adults working outside the home. Marriages are typically by default monogamous, and are expected to be both sexy and stable. We rely on our spouse to meet all of our social, emotional, and erotic needs. We expect our partner to tell us everything…after all, aren’t we “one?” Perel highlights that now, “talk intimacy” is seen to be of utmost importance in marriage. Married couples must somehow remain erotically charged and yet tell each other everything.
Is this a good thing? Jack and I tell each other everything, it’s true. But — I’ll admit it — sometimes talking gets exhausting. It feels circular, like it’s going nowhere. Sometimes I don’t want to detail my every emotion or hear about every moment of Jack’s day. Constant talking can lead to deep intimacy, true, but it isn’t necessarily arousing. In our case, we’re both overthinkers and oversharers, and we’ve learned that we have to take active measures to separate physically so that we can separate our thoughts. We need solo time for both reflection and action so that we can come back together stronger than before. Sometimes, we simply need to stop talking.
Perel acknowledges that talking with one another is certainly a good thing, but she also points out that an erotically charged couple needs to learn to communicate in other ways, too. We can communicate through time, touch, and gestures. We need to communicate with our words to set expectations and make plans, but if we want to communicate desire, a playful spank or a kiss on the neck is much more, shall we say, effective.
Jack and I have worked hard over the years to learn each other’s communication styles and, as love expert Gary Chapman coined it, each other’s “love languages.” I most appreciate time spent together. Jack, typical man that he is, appreciates words of affirmation and physical touch. When we really want to become intimate with each other, is there a better way to bond together than to enter the “erotic realm,” as Perel calls it, and have a “restorative experience for [our] more tender side” (page 43)?
Jack likes words of affirmation, but doesn’t always do a great job of communicating clearly with his own words, numerous though they are. It’s on me to recognize his nonverbal gestures of love. Cleaning the kitchen so that I can go write? Clearly he loves me, and I should tell him that I appreciate this gesture — verbally, but also using my lips and tongue in other ways. He’ll get that message loud and clear.
Isn’t this the essence of makeup sex? When Jack and I argue, we argue with words. On top of that, we’re both stubborn and too controlling, so we both always want the last word. We both have a desire to be the one who is “right,” and in that case, no one wins. Oftentimes, the only real way for us to move past our disagreements and patch things back in our relationship is to take it to the bedroom. Through sex, we reconnect and affirm our relationship yet again. We still desire each other, we still want each other, and we can move forward when we are done. Words aren’t always necessary.
Sexual fantasies let us explore our desires from a safe place.
“Fantasy expresses the problem and provides the solution.”
Esther Perel, Mating in Captivity, page 156
Some of my earliest fantasies, from my teenage years, are more clear memories in my mind than actual events that occurred. I remember laying in bed at night alone, letting my mind play out scenes that gave me “that feeling.” I got flushed thinking about deeply kissing a certain person from school. I discovered that pulsing, aching feeling in my vulva — was it a light orgasm, I now wonder? — when I thought about being forced to display my naked body to onlookers. I let my imagination run wild as I conjured up a scene in my mind where I was tied to a tree and ravished by a hot stranger, only to have to get up and change my wet underwear before finally being able to drift off to sleep in my cushy bed.
Where did these thoughts come from? Why did they make me feel this way? I was curious, but cautious. Was there something wrong with me for liking these thoughts?
Jack became my sexual partner at age seventeen, but the thoughts didn’t just go away. I was aroused by Jack and what we were doing, yes. But sometimes, I’d be even more aroused when I let myself envision a scene from my mind-made movies. My fantasies sometimes became fodder for our experiences together. In the back of his SUV, parked discreetly in the woods, I’d close my eyes and let images of my fantasies play. I’d get wet, he’d finger me, I’d squirt, he’d be turned on, and I’d return the favor. I didn’t tell him about my overactive sexual imagination back then.
The truth is, in some ways I was ashamed of my fantasies. I was also a little scared by some of them, which perhaps makes them all the more enticing. Should I share all the details of my fantasies with Jack? Is it bad that I sometimes don’t want to share, even though from early in our relationship, Jack and I have shared almost every thought with each other? There are some fantasies that arouse me to think about, but I’d never want to act them out in real life. Do my fantasies suggest that I’m flawed in some way? Are these actually fantasies if they’re just…a fleeting feeling? An idea? An image that briefly comes to my mind, but lights a fire in my panties?
Perel defines sexual fantasy as “any mental activity that generates desire and intensifies enthusiasm” (157). Everyone has them to some degree, but they vary. I can attest to this — some of my fantasies are detailed stories in my mind, bits and pieces of plots taken from erotica and real life, mashed together, to create a sexy scene in my mind.
Over the years, the scenes I see in my mind have evolved. Sometimes I’m the center of attention during a gang-bang, taking it in every hole while more guys jack off on my chest. Other times I’m the reluctant-but-actually-loving-it newlywed wife of a cowboy, who is “educating me” in the barn. Since it’s my fantasy, the hay isn’t itchy at all and there are plenty of wood benches upon which he can bend me over into the perfect position for a spanking.
Perel says the “convoluted plots” that we often dream up in our deepest fantasies are “just a safe pathway to pleasure” (page 164). They let us take control of a situation that on some level arouses and intrigues us. It’s like my own personal porno playing in my mind, getting me revved up for the sex that’s happening in my real world. My fantasies are probably a large part of the reason that I love sex so much. My best sex happens when I’m “in the zone,” and my fantasies help me travel to that spot.
Perel also points out that some fantasies have much less plot, but much more feeling and emotion. Yup, I have those, too — a double whammy for me, I suppose. Sometimes I get aroused thinking of being touched or touching someone in a certain way. I might have a fleeting daydream of an act with a special someone. I might visualize someone watching me — more often now, a particular someone. At times, a song will jar my brain to a sensual spot, an arousing feeling overtaking me with no particular image in my mind.
Fantasies, detailed or not, provide a way for us to examine ourselves from another angle. What turns you on and off? How might that be connected to your upbringing, your relationships with others, your values, your personality, your ideas of power and control?
I agree with Perel that, in fantasy, “we often break the rules we create in day to day life. We explore the opposite” (page 160). Imagination is a fascinating aspect of the human experience, sexual fantasies even moreso! What is consciousness if not for exploring ideas, the what-ifs, the could-bes? With Perel’s encouragement, I consider my fantasies. I analyze what they might say about me, and how I might incorporate components of them into my real life. When I’m not busy getting turned on by them, I try to step back and see them from an amused but unashamed point of view. I suppose this is part of my process in overcoming all of my early-ingrained shame over all things sexual.
But what do I tell Jack? A close reading of Perel’s book helped me to realize that I was indeed ashamed of my fantasies when I was young, so I kept them bottled up like a little potion just for me. While having my sexual secrets was erotic in its own way, over time it began to get a little lonely. Jack has never shied away from sharing details with me, and this has certainly led us down some interesting paths (see: article about us going nude that eventually led to acting out exhibitionist fantasies in real life). Now maturing, and perhaps also because I am often emboldened by cannabis, I find myself self-analyzing, self-aware, and spilling the details.
I told Jack about my desire to be tied up and teased. I admitted that the idea of being pinned down and ravished didn’t scare me as much as it got me wet. I expressed my arousal at the idea of being watched. I tentatively told him that being spanked — maybe even humiliated, a bit? — was titillating. I giggled nervously as I recalled the feelings I had felt when I touched girls, with their soft skin, gentle kisses, and sweet smells — and then I divulged the name of my real-life lady crush. I confessed that I was curious about being penetrated by another man, and for some reason I didn’t fully comprehend at that point, I wanted him to experience sex with other women.
Every time I revealed another detail, I worried. Would he be insulted? Would he be disturbed? Would he be jealous? Quite the opposite. Each time I tentatively confess another desire, my sentences ending in question marks, Jack reassures me without words. Gently encircling my small wrist with his strong hands, he moves my hand under the covers to rest on his hot, hard cock. He smiles, nodding, cajoling me to continue with confidence. Sharing my fantasies makes Jack aroused, excited, motivated.
Jack can never see the exact picture that I see, true. He can’t fully understand the feeling that these fantasies bring into my body. But in revealing the snippets, the details, the feelings my fantasies conjure…we are both aroused more, and we are called to action. He respects my fantasies in the same way that I respect his. In our marriage of mutual admiration and respect, we’ve begun to explore where these fantasies might take us. What can we learn from them? What can we act out in real life, safely, together or apart? How can these fantasies make our one-and-only lives the best they can be?
BDSM lets us play with power dynamics, and in giving up control I learned to set myself free.
“The very dynamics of power and control that can be challenging in an emotional relationship can, when eroticized, become highly desirable.”
Esther Perel, Mating in Captivity, page 60
Speaking of fantasies, let’s talk about BDSM here, too. I’ve already detailed my conflicting emotions around this sexual practice and how I eventually learned to accept my interest and have fun, and how Esther Perel’s advice helped me find that route, so I won’t go too far into detail here. I’ll be brief and say that Perel gives BDSM the green light…so if that’s something that you’d like to explore, I say go for it!
This is coming from a woman who was so conflicted about BDSM at one point that, on the Literotica website, I would avoid the actual BDSM stories and instead click on the “Nonconsent/Reluctance” category. I thought it was strange, oppressive even, for a woman to consciously agree to be sexually submissive to a man. In my mind, it was somehow less shameful if she was pressured into it.
I needn’t have worried so much. Like most fantasies, this is a time when I’m acting out the opposite of real life. Sex is playtime, and BDSM lets me play with being the submissive wife that I am most certainly not in real life. For us, it’s very much like the case study couple on page 57 of Mating in Captivity. “When he comes on to me forcefully, it makes me feel sexy. It heightens the tension…” and “when she gives in, I know I’m irresistible.” This power dynamic with a bit of brat play (yes, I’m most definitely the brat) heightens our arousal.
In choosing to be submissive to Jack as we play with BDSM, I give him the power. Since I choose to give him power, I am the one with the power over my body and sexuality in the first place. I also have the power to end the game whenever I choose. But as we play the game, I enjoy my vulnerability, his choices, my lack of control. In short, I go wild.
If BDSM turns you on, it’s all good, says Perel. I appreciate her reassurance, her nudge to not overthink the situation but rather to enjoy it as a means to act out desires and eroticism. Rather than being ashamed that this turns me on, I now try to channel that shame into our BDSM play. Can I flip that shame on its head? Can I allow Jack to tease the shame out of me until I’m just pure Eros, begging for release? Agreeing to be his submissive in sex allows me to be free, and in this freedom I find great arousal.
Non-monogamy leads me back to my partner over and over again.
“Some couples choose not to ignore the lure of the forbidden. Instead, they subvert its power by inviting it in.”
Esther Perel, Mating in Captivity, page 193
Oddly, the chapter that turned me so far off from Mating in Captivity years ago is now one that resonates with me most. That’s life, right?
I suppose we were always on the non-monogamy track, looking back over the years. Some of our oldest friends are appalled when Jack mentions other women he’s attracted to in my presence, and confused that it doesn’t bother me. Should it, I always wondered? I trust him, and I check out other people, too. Guys and girls both, actually. (Sidenote: Sadly, Jack and I don’t have tons of overlap in terms of women we find attractive. He’s more Jessica Stein; I’m more Helen.)
Jack has always been very open and vocal about his attraction to other women. I’m the quiet one, but he knows that I still find other people attractive, too. We both went into marriage with a full acceptance of the fact that being married doesn’t turn off that part of you.
But engaging in sexual activity with other people? That wasn’t on our radar. We didn’t see it as an option until about three years ago. We were both brought up in conservative homes where the default was monogamy and where adultery was shameful, something that was talked about in hushed tones, tsk tsk. We explored in college, yes, but once we were married it was like someone flipped the switch. You can look, but you can’t touch. That’s what marriage meant. That’s what it means to be a responsible adult, a good spouse, and a reliable parent. Well, now, who made those rules?
Adultery is one thing; an open marriage is another. Perel scoffs at those who define marriage as narrowly as we once did — after all, American society is increasingly promiscuous before marriage, and with so many people divorcing and remarrying…what does monogamy truly mean anyhow? One person for life…or one person at a time? Perel even adds that “trouble looms when monogamy is no longer a free expression of loyalty but a form of enforced compliance” (page 190). Is non-monogamy the dirty little secret of a great marriage, filled with long-lasting desire and hot sex?
Jack and I had learned over the years that being open about our flirting with others, our attraction to others, and our sexual fantasies was proving to be more arousing than alarming. If you’re up to the challenge, Perel invites couples to acknowledge “the shadow of the third,” stating that “some couples choose not to ignore the lure of the forbidden. Instead, they subvert its power by inviting it in” (193).
When Jack admits his interest in other women, I don’t feel threatened or jealous. I do want to maintain my status as his favorite, so I try harder. I ask for details about the other woman — what was it that you liked? Sometimes I am able to metaphorically step back and view him from fresh eyes. What is it that others might see, when they see him? Can I see him from the point of view of an outsider? This makes me desire him more.
Knowing that Jack flirts with and fantasizes about others gives me freedom to do the same. I allow myself to be turned on by my own interactions with others, too. Tit for tat.
In divulging our desires for others to one another, we’ve become able to recognize that “our partner has his or her own sexuality, replete with fantasies and desires that aren’t necessarily about us” (page 194). Perel further points out that “when we can tell the truth safely, we are less inclined to keep secrets” (page 194). True.
Jack and I have found a place in our marriage where we can openly discuss all of our desires, and thus we find ourselves not just sexual playmates but also best friends, companions, who navigate our sexual lives together. We’ve become partners in a new way. “Rather than inhibiting a couple’s sexuality, recognizing the third has a tendency to add spice, not least because it reminds us that we do not own our partners” (page 194). Our fantasies and desires involving others are not betrayals but rather explorations that we share. We’ve become teammates, playing the game of sex together.
But like the sample swinger couple in chapter 10, Jack and I are discovering two types of sex: “sex for love and sex for fun” (page 195). I suppose that’s what happens when sex is a shared fasincation — it becomes both a means of communicating with one another as well as a hobby. Pushing our boundaries has been intriguing and arousing, and thus it got us to the point where we found ourselves asking…how do we invite “the third” into our relationship?
When we were hit on by swingers while vacationing in the nude, our minds were blown open. It was beyond flirting — it was flat out desire. We suddenly felt more alive than we had in years. Fast forward another year, and we began to enjoy having sex in public places, putting ourselves on display of “the third.” As that second vacation wrapped up, we questioned…if we desired others, and they desired us back, would we want to invite them to join us during our sexual playtime?
Again, Perel grants me the words to describe this new phase in our relationship through her sample swinger couple: “We’re trying to come up with something that work for us. It isn’t meant to be a recipe for others” (page 197). Some of our “vanilla” friends question us — do you have any idea what you’re doing? What you’re getting into? No, I suppose we don’t, exactly, and that’s why it’s so exciting. We’re exploring, we’re discovering, we’re living. And we’re doing it the best we can on our own terms.
Jack and I married under the pretense that marriage meant monogamy. It meant sex with each other, until death do us part. Monogamy was the moral choice, and we were righteous, albeit a bit raunchy with one another. Learning that there are indeed other ways for us to be a couple — in fact, for us to live our lives — set our worlds spinning. With newly opened minds, we discussed possibilities, and we are beginning to make our own rules. And now I can’t imagine living without this invigorating force that instills excitement, love, pleasure, arousal, respect, consideration, and pure life into the monotony of the everyday.
Jack and I now consider ourselves newbies to “the lifestyle;” we’re probably considered swingers by most, but we’re picky and there’s a pandemic raging, so it’s been a slow process. We seek friends with benefits; we want total openness with our friends to the point that a fun dinner might turn into flirting, and then into fooling around. Sex is when we’re most real and raw, and it excites us to think that we might someday make some friends with whom we can truly be ourselves.
See, it’s not just about sex with other people. It’s about opening up and letting others see me for who I am. In sharing myself with others, beyond Jack, I discover more about myself. I become more self-aware, and yet more self-confident. I feel like I can love more deeply, feel more deeply. I feel like a part of this universe, more spiritual, more soulful. I’m not stagnant, I’m growing, changing, and discovering. I feel alive and inspired through the connections that I make.
Knowing that Jack is actively checking out other women with the real possibility of having sex with them reminds me that he’s not “mine.” I know it gets him worked up when his attractive housewife customers flirt with him. When I found out that a friend had an open relationship, and that there was mutual attraction, I came home quite horny, eager to tell Jack and to channel my sexual energy safely into him. Desiring others, and being desirable ourselves, arouses us. It fuels our passion for each other, even as we explore options outside of our marriage.
Perel says, “Acknowledging the third has to do with validating the erotic separateness of our partner…the more we choke each other’s freedom, the harder it is for desire to breath within a committed relationship” (pages 198-199). Monogamy is not a given, it is a choice. She quotes other swingers, who justify their relationship with the mantra “instead of having secrets from each other, we have secrets from the world” (page 218).
Our choice to proceed with non-monogamy is a choice that we are making together. We make our own rules, and we are in constant communication about our needs, wants, and desires. We realize that this is a journey of personal exploration and that the rules will surely evolve over time as we learn more about ourselves as both a couple and individuals. In opening up our relationship, we find ourselves more drawn to one another. We find ourselves more aroused and inspired. The irony isn’t lost on us.
We have a date tonight, actually, for the first time since last summer. We’re seeking that elusive four-way connection, a couple that we can be ourselves with fully and deeply. We’re seeking new friends. I want a girlfriend to have sex with, and I want to guys to watch. I want Jack to have sex with her, too, and I want to have sex with her husband. I want them to watch us have sex, and I want to see them together. Will we find it with this couple? Can we find it with other couples, too? Making new friends is fun. Dating together is even more fun.
No matter how our night out goes — just friends, not quite right, or a pile of four hot bodies — there is the security and confidence that Jack and I will go home together. He’s not “mine,” but he’s my whole world. I desire him more deeply with each adventure that we embark on together, with each fantasy that we explore. I want him more than anything else.
And so, that’s why I didn’t change the sheets today. Best to wait on that until tomorrow…one way or the other, they’ll be dirty after tonight. Such is our marriage.
“Pursue the logic, and you have the itinerary for an emotionally enlarging journey. It goes something like this: I know you look at others, but I can’t fully know what you see. I know others are looking at you, but I don’t really know who it is they’re seeing. Suddenly you’re no longer familiar. You’re no longer a known entity that I need not bother being curious about. In fact, you’re quite a mystery. And I’m a little unnerved. Who are you? I want you.”
Esther Perel, Mating in Captivity, page 199