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Tied His Impotence Around My Throat (Ragdoll Redeemed)

f4a45a02-38be-47dawn 2A full week elapsed before lovemaking ensued. Then, a once-a-week-on-Sunday-only-because-I’m-obliged-to pattern emerged. These Sunday morning, disenchanted attempts at lovemaking would eventually be the undoing of our marriage. His impotency was never a problem for me. My difficulty resided in his accusations and misguided solutions. Unable to complete the sexual act, Joey would become furious with me. His blaming words accumulated like small bricks stacking themselves against my mind, body, and heart, building a wall. I had to accept most of this in silence. Naïve and inexperienced, I didn’t know how to talk about the problem. I didn’t know that the problem could be his, or at least ours, and not just mine alone.

He once said to me, “Having sex with you is like taking candy from a baby.” I didn’t know what he meant by that, and was too intimidated to ask. I just shut down, gradually withdrawing deeper into myself. With barely a thread of self-esteem to hang onto in the first place, I was confused and bewildered: there was scarcely a me to be found. I did not understand what it was he wanted or what it was that I was doing wrong, since I was always willing to participate. His anger would start right in the middle of the sexual act, when all of a sudden he would push himself away from me. He spent the rest of the day ignoring me or being verbally abusive.

I was in love, and I desperately wanted to please my new husband. Unfortunately, he seemed to want the one thing that I was the most incapable of giving him: a raw, strut-your-stuff-screw-your-brains-out sex-initiating-woman. Or at least, that’s what he professed to want. We argued endlessly over his desire for me to wear sheer, Kleenex-thin, clingy jersey turtleneck-type shirts and the open cleavage-type blouses that would accentuate my breasts. I wanted to hide them behind as many layers of clothes that the California sunshine would comfortably allow.

In the beginning of our marriage, my social and sexual naiveté precluded any understanding of Joey’s intended objective. I thought he married me because he loved me. I doubt that he was even conscious of the urgency of his intended makeover. Nevertheless, the intensity of his desire to mold me into the contour of Marilyn’s image was heartbreaking. We fought often about the perfect female persona; in particular, mine versus Marilyn’s.

I misinterpreted and underestimated his idealization of Marilyn. He told me many times of their close relationship, that he called her often to discuss any problems he was having, that, in fact, they had spoken the night of her tragic death. I assumed she was like a mother figure to him. I eventually came to understand that, from the time he first met her at the impressionable age of ten, he was deeply enthralled with Marilyn at a number of different levels, from nurturing to sexual.

Redemption, a pardon? Au contraire! Joey bargained for a provocative Marilyn, and what he got was a mere, unseasoned child. He was angry at the naiveté of my guarded virginity. My badge of honor now superfluous, he lent me penance by tying his impotence around my throat. Once again discarded, no redemption would be granted.

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51NVdAmazon pic of RDKindle of Snippents Of Marilyn & Me

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