We had returned to the city, I had moved into his apartment. He had given me his bedroom and moved into the ‘spare room’ which he used as a study/tv room.
We had watched some show in which the fact a character had a mole on his back unknown to his wife was ‘evidence’.
We realised, then, we had to show some familiarity with each other’s body.
It was more scientific than sexual.
We rather embarrassedly disrobed and studied each other, then went to my bed.
After that, having sex every other week, even in our youngest days, was sufficient.
Eventually I became pregnant. During that period we had no sex. No sex during, and no sex for six months after.
When our second child was born our sex life dwindled even further.
Between our second child and his death, we might have engaged in sex three times a year. It was often distraction sex. A way to burn off energy or satisfy a need.
We focused on our children, our jobs, and various domestic matters.