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Good in Bed: The Ethicist Answers Your Sex Questions, Part 3As a reminder: I invited readers to submit sex-related questions for a special Love and Sex issue of The New York Times Magazine. Here is Part 3 of my responses. (If you missed Part 1, you can find it here, and Part 2 is here.) — The Ethicist Does My Wife Need to Know About My Porn Habit?
My wife and I have been together for almost 10 years. We met in college, and our relationship is wonderful overall. Our sex life is generally good, but we have mismatched libidos — I have a much higher sex drive than she does. We’ve talked about this discrepancy but never articulated a formal compromise on it. Early in our relationship, I confessed that I struggled with watching pornography on a regular basis; she was upset, but I assured her that I was working on it. Unfortunately, I still watch pornography and masturbate to it almost daily. I am aware that the mainstream pornography industry is widely seen as one that preys on people who are vulnerable, or that takes advantage of women, and that there are questions surrounding the ethics of porn more broadly. To that end, I restrict my viewing almost entirely to amateur and homemade pornography, so I don’t feel that I am being unethical in the act of viewing it. My wife is unaware of my porn consumption, but I view it as a compromise between upsetting her or having a conflict over our sex drives. What do I owe to her and to myself?— Name Withheld From the Ethicist: You seem to have come up with a successful coping mechanism; if you thought it interfered with your enjoyment of sex with her, or her enjoyment of sex with you, I’m sure you would have said so. And many would consider this solo activity as within the realm of personal privacy, even in marriage. But though you have assured yourself that the pornography you watch is basically fair-trade, ethically sourced and cruelty-free, she may consider your engagement with it to be a form of marital disloyalty. That’s not an idea one can prove or disprove. Still, you can speak to your own feelings with some authority, and it matters that you evidently don’t feel that watching porn dilutes your devotion to her. Indeed, you seem to think that it’s helpful in your relationship. So the question is whether it really should be classified as a matter of privacy, rather than as a matter of secrecy — whether it’s in the realm of the justly unmentioned or the wrongly concealed. If the activity starts to weigh on you like a secret, you might try having an open discussion about your different sex drives and how to handle that difference in a way that works for both of you, which could include talking about boundaries around porn and masturbation. That she doesn’t like your viewing pornography, though, doesn’t mean she’s automatically entitled to police your consumption. With or without the visual stimulus, your mental fantasies are your own. Nor must every orgasm be shared. Which suggests that the activity might properly belong in the zone of privacy. Private matters are ones you’re free simply not to discuss, which is different from active deception. (Saying you were ‘‘working on it,’’ far from a promise that you’d given it up, is an acknowledgment that you hadn’t.) If we agree that your off-duty eruptions are a matter of bodily privacy, what you owe your spouse is respectful discretion. My Husband Can’t Have Sex. What Are My Options?
My husband and I have been together for six years and married for five. In that time, he has never been sexually functional, an issue that we believe to be a result of both medical and medication-related issues. We married with the understanding that we wanted to have children and (obviously) have a normal sex life. To that end, we have been to see multiple doctors about his sexual dysfunction. The usual medications have proven ineffective for him. One doctor prescribed him an injectable medication, which he claims to have tried on his own and found too uncomfortable to use. The end result has been a sexless and childless marriage. Years on, my husband refuses to seek out new treatments. He also refuses to look into alternative ways to have children, and he’s even expressed an unwillingness to engage in other forms of sexual play with me. As a woman in my 40s, I still have strong sexual urges, and I’m not content to live out a life sentenced to self-gratification. I also love my husband, however, and I know that an open marriage is not tolerable to him. I’m curious what advice you have on the ethics of navigating a situation like ours. What obligations do two spouses have toward each other in a loving but sexually mismatched marriage? — Name Withheld From the Ethicist: Your husband’s problems mean that your marriage lacks two big things that you expected and planned for: a sex life and children. I do have questions about those expectations. Do you think that he misled you — that he concealed the nature of his condition — or that he simply hadn’t anticipated that it would persist? You might have decided to refrain from premarital sex, but if you hadn’t, and he was sexually dysfunctional before you married, why did you assume that you would have a normal sex life? It’s possible that he was honestly mistaken about his future sexual functioning but had been less than candid about his interest in having children. What’s disheartening is that he seems to have ruled out parenthood without discussion. Even if he were opposed to adoption and would consider only children who were biologically his, urologists have techniques for extracting sperm from sexually impaired men. So he doesn’t seem to be taking your wishes here seriously. His refusal of any kind of sexual play, even if he himself can’t experience arousal, similarly sets his concerns above yours. At this point, you’re basically friends without benefits. Although you describe your marriage as “loving," he hasn’t behaved the way a loving husband ought to. Someone else in his condition might be able to learn to take pleasure in giving sexual pleasure. Someone else in his condition could talk with you earnestly and openly about the prospects of parenthood. What ails your marriage, then, goes way beyond physiology. I hope he’ll agree to join you in some form of counseling, and come to take your desires seriously. What he finds “tolerable” has to be responsive to your legitimate expectations and needs. That means exploring a range of possibilities, maybe even your finding sexual satisfaction with another partner while maintaining what you value in your marriage with him. You won’t know what can work if you don’t seek to find out together. What threatens your marriage, in the end, isn’t so much his incapacity as his unwillingness to address it. I’m a Bisexual Woman With a Male Partner. Should We Bring in a Woman?
I’m a young woman in an eight-year-long heterosexual relationship. I came out as bisexual almost four years ago, despite having only had sexual encounters with men. I constantly worry if I’m ‘‘bisexual enough’’ to use the label, given that I’ve never had sexual experiences with women — and part of me worries that I never will. My partner has been supportive of me through this entire process. He’s even brought up the prospect of polyamory, but him staying monogamous. I worry that I’m forcing him into a lifestyle he wouldn’t have chosen had he ended up with a straight woman. With him worrying I’ll meet someone else, and me worrying I’m going to harm him just to fulfill my own desires, how can we safely enter into polyamory? — Name Withheld From the Ethicist: First, the label ‘‘bisexual’’ doesn’t come with performance metrics; all that matters is that both women and men can be objects of desire for you. Don’t let an identity label take command of your life. With openness and honesty, you and your partner can certainly explore the scenario you describe in a loving and respectful way; what you can’t do is banish the emotional risks. Before you proceed, then, take care that you aren’t being guided by a questionable assumption. There are countless people other than your partner you could enjoy being sexual with. Because you’re bisexual, some will be women. Even if you were completely straight, though, there would be plenty of new erotic experiences you could have. You have missed out on sex, let’s suppose, with men who are bigger, smaller, hairier or smoother than your long-term mate; also sex with free-solo rock climbers, soccer forwards trained in tantra and puka-necklace-wearing surfer dudes who smell of ganja and cocoa butter. Whatever your orientation, a relationship like the one you currently enjoy will always involve cutting out a world of sexual possibilities. If you do find yourself captivated by a particular woman, you’ll have to decide whether the model of polyamory really works for you. It could put your same-sex couplings, in some sense, under your male partner’s supervision. Maybe this isn’t a journey you can take him on. But these aren’t choices to be settled in the abstract. If you want to pursue polyamory, do it because it genuinely suits you better than monogamy, not because you think the life script of a bisexual requires it. Your sexuality is about who catches your eye, not who belongs in your bed. Enjoying this newsletter? Subscribe to keep receiving it.We’ve reserved a selection of newsletters, including this one, for Times subscribers. Subscriber support ensures that we have the resources to deliver original, quality journalism in every form — including our newsletters. Subscribe to The Times to continue receiving this newsletter once your complimentary access ends.
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