I can't help but think about my mom when I'm having sex with my wife. It's not in a "I wish this was my mom" way, you sicko. It's worse. It's in the comparisons.
I'll be in the middle of things, trying to focus, and my wife will make a certain sound, a little gasp, and my brain will short-circuit. Suddenly, I'm 15 years old again, walking past my parents' bedroom and hearing that exact same sound. I'll freeze mid-thrust, my body tensing up. My wife will think I'm just being passionate, edging. I'm not. I'm having a full-blown psychological crisis.
Or she'll say something, something sweet and encouraging, like "Right there, honey," and all I can think about is my mom saying the same thing when she was teaching me how to fix a lawnmower. It's like my brain has a file labeled "Things Mom Says" and it just auto-plays during sex. The context is completely wrong, but the audio is spot-on.
The absolute dirtiest part, the part that makes me feel like a complete freak, is that sometimes the thoughts aren't even about the sounds. Sometimes, it's just a random memory. Like the way my mom used to walk around the house in her old robe, and I'll catch a glimpse of my wife's robe hanging on the bathroom door, and for a split second, the images merge. It's a flash, a ghost in the machine, and it's enough to make me lose my erection completely.
I've started trying to combat it by thinking about the most un-mom-like things I can imagine. Taxes. Car maintenance. The plot of a Christopher Nolan movie. But it's a losing battle. My mom is in my head, and she's determined to be the worst wingman in history. I love my wife, but every time we're intimate, I'm fighting a war against my own Oedipal subconscious. And I'm pretty sure I'm losing.
I'll be in the middle of things, trying to focus, and my wife will make a certain sound, a little gasp, and my brain will short-circuit. Suddenly, I'm 15 years old again, walking past my parents' bedroom and hearing that exact same sound. I'll freeze mid-thrust, my body tensing up. My wife will think I'm just being passionate, edging. I'm not. I'm having a full-blown psychological crisis.
Or she'll say something, something sweet and encouraging, like "Right there, honey," and all I can think about is my mom saying the same thing when she was teaching me how to fix a lawnmower. It's like my brain has a file labeled "Things Mom Says" and it just auto-plays during sex. The context is completely wrong, but the audio is spot-on.
The absolute dirtiest part, the part that makes me feel like a complete freak, is that sometimes the thoughts aren't even about the sounds. Sometimes, it's just a random memory. Like the way my mom used to walk around the house in her old robe, and I'll catch a glimpse of my wife's robe hanging on the bathroom door, and for a split second, the images merge. It's a flash, a ghost in the machine, and it's enough to make me lose my erection completely.
I've started trying to combat it by thinking about the most un-mom-like things I can imagine. Taxes. Car maintenance. The plot of a Christopher Nolan movie. But it's a losing battle. My mom is in my head, and she's determined to be the worst wingman in history. I love my wife, but every time we're intimate, I'm fighting a war against my own Oedipal subconscious. And I'm pretty sure I'm losing.
No comments yet.