So his expections were romantic. He had given himself over to a woman like never before. In this, he was giving me something. Something rare, exquisite, for him which does seem arrogant I'll grant you... But you have to remember he is the id. By and large to that point, he had existed for his own pleasure. I am trying not to make this a judgement. It's just one personality on the spectrum of personalities. In some ways life had been cruel to him. His mother had rejected him on many levels, and he had become tough, and self-serving to survive. He would Never let his defenses down and he would literally screw people before they had the chance to screw him. So when he experienced love (which grudgingly I am starting to believe he did) It was an unfamiliar, wobbly, unsafe place to be suddenly feeling vulnerable and afraid of losing someone. He had let his indominable defenses down and let me in, and I did not appreciate it. He got jealous, he demanded a greater portion of my time (he needed me to make him feel secure) and, when he did not get it, he finally he assumed I did not love him, and resorted to the comfort food of random acts of coupling, thinking perhaps that it wouldn't hurt me, after all it was only sex.
For my part, I was swept off my feet by him. He seemed affable, easy-going, funny. He was intelligent, tall, and he seemed besotted with me. I wanted to have baby and buy a house with me...all the mundane-white-picket-fence dreams I felt I had been denied in my 16 year marriage. I felt a new dawn, I had been under the thumb for so long, and Neil set me free. Things moved very quickly, he put me on a pedestal, he wanted to spend hours just smooching. I naively assumed monogamy and collaboration in the household economy (ie doing the washing up etc) came as standard. And those things, with a small toddler in tow were important to me. I wanted to feel secure, and since we were both working full time I wanted help with the household duties so I wasn't too dog tired cleaning up after him to put out. In short, my expectations were rather more practical. In sixteen years of marriage if nothing else I had mastered the art of collaboration. I also have (had) this disconcerting habit of falling in love with who I have sex with rather than the other way round.
So to him, I was hidebound with domestic concerns, and to even voice this was not to love him, to get my priorities wrong. And to me, he rapidly became stifling. He wanted to know where I was and what I was doing whenever we were apart, he demanded my time when I needed to be with my child, and (probably coincidentally) he passed all domestic duties over to me so I was too tired to stay up late with him (not to mention the rounds of IVF). He was really hopeless at being a couple in the practical sense, but definitely he was feeling vulnerable and needed me to dote on him, adore him, make time for him, canoodle, spoon, keep the homefires burning, whatever, but not necessarily have sex. He could get that wherever and whenever. For me, with sex being mixed up with love 'n' all. Sex was actually quite important.