I had never once doubted my sex appeal. I was always highly sought after for dates since my teens, was on the Homecoming Court in both High School and College, and had three proposals of marriage that I turned down. However, at age 31 I, Britt Compton nee Saunders, was having a crisis of confidence in my sex appeal.
I married George Compton two years after I graduated from a Big Ten University with a B. A. degree in Communications and a minor in French. George is a very good-looking, trim guy and seemed to have a high libido; which I very much enjoyed. We talked about having at least two, likely three or four, kids right around my 30th birthday and we both seemed to be on board with that plan. Our sex life was always active, at least three or four times a week, often more.
My crisis in confidence started shortly after my 29th birthday. George was starting to be less amorous, less spontaneous, and less excited about hitting the sack together. I tried sexy lingerie, aphrodisiacs, weekend trips, blow jobs, offers of anal, and about everything else that I could think of (including all of the techniques suggested by my bible, Cosmopolitan Magazine). Everything I tried was unsuccessful; in fact there were diminishing returns from my endeavors which really made me frustrated. After about a year of shrinking returns, where we were down to one fuck every two weeks, I needed more information and another approach.
During this time George wasn't nasty, we didn't argue, he said that he loved me, I just couldn't seem to turn him on. This period coincided with what I perceived (not really correct, it turns out) to be less attention from other men. While I usually dressed conservatively, I had some very apparent assets that usually got me looks from every male between 18 and 80 on the street or in business or social settings, but I perceived that I was getting less of those looks.
I have a high metabolism and was always in decent shape but about six months in to my declining confidence period I joined a health club and intensely exercised four or five days a week for six months, and after that six months from my look into the mirror it seemed that I was sleeker than at any other time in my life.
I kept up the exercise even after it clearly didn't alter my appeal to George because it was a good outlet for me -- although as most people know it also had a tendency to increase my sexual desires.
About the time that I turned 30 I decided to seek advice from friends who I could trust to keep confidences. I confided in one single and three married female friends. They were of little help. Three of them pooh-pooh my concerns, and when pressed offered advice that was much less helpful than Cosmo's. One of them really tried to help but she was having trouble identifying with my problem.
It was about this time that Jubal Phillips, my brother's best friend from college, visited. My brother Tim, two years older than I am, and his wife live in the same city as George and I and have two kids. His friend Jubal is a serial monogamist, at the ripe old age of 32 having been married and divorced four times. Jubal was thinking of moving to our area after his last divorce, especially since he was interviewing for a really good job at the same large international corporation that Tim worked for.
I had always liked Jubal, and at one time had a crush on him. He was a big, strong, and very personable guy with rugged looks that greatly appealed to about half of the female population. I had met two of his wives and seen photos of the others. They were all strikingly beautiful. As far as I know there was no cheating by any party that led to the divorces; Jubal's side of the story, that I got through Tim, was that he was a bad judge of women and that all of them turned out to be flakes. "I need a stable woman, like June," June being Tim's wife, Jubal announced on several occasions.
George and I went over to Tim & June's house the first Saturday that Jubal was in town, and had a pleasant time. Jubal and I really liked playing with Tim & June's kids, and even had an impromptu fun tag football game, me and Tim's eight year old boy against his six year old tom-boy sister and Jubal.
After a few vanillas post kids-bedtime we five adults had a raucous good time, sometimes entertained by Jubal's light-hearted stories about his wacky wives. When George and I were getting ready to leave Jubal asked me if I knew of a health club nearby because he needed a workout and if his interview went well would want to join. I invited him to be my guest at my health club the next day and we worked out at the same time, though not really "together"[he primarily lifted weights heavier than I am, while I did mostly aerobics, although we did run on adjacent treadmills for about 15 minutes] and then had a smoothie afterwards.
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Jubal did get his dream job and moved to our city about a month after our get-together at Tim's house. He moved into an apartment complex that was almost right next to my health club, which he joined as soon as he moved in. At his request I picked out some drapes and other amenities for him since I have a good eye for color. I would say that we worked out at the same time about three times a week.
After Jubal had been in town for about a month when we were having smoothies after a Saturday workout he said "It's none of my business but because I like you Britt, I'll ask you anyway." I was a little taken aback but just nodded so he continued. "Why are you either unhappy, frustrated, or both?"
That knocked my socks off, not only because he hit the nail on the head but because he was direct enough to ask. "Uh...why...uh...don't, eh do, you think that I'm...uh...unhappy or unfulfilled?" I stammered, realizing only a couple of seconds after I said it that I didn't use his word "frustrated" but my Freudian word "unfulfilled." Given his raised eyebrow I think that he picked up on it.
"Because you're different than you used to be; you're not as self-confident and laid back as before. If I'm prying tell me to fuck off, but if you need someone to talk to I'm a good listener -- lord knows that I've had enough practice with my four wacky ex-wives."
After a long pause during which I stared into and sipped my smoothie I replied "It's difficult to talk about and I don't feel comfortable talking about it with a man. I've talked to four of my women friends, and they were no help, and I'm..." I didn't finish the thought; my voice just trailed off.
"Actually if four females weren't any help maybe a man's outlook would be. I think you know me well enough to know that I won't down play it, judge, or gossip," he said, moving his hand across his mouth like he was closing a zipper.
I don't know why I picked that particular time to break down but I did. I started quietly sobbing with my head in my hands while sitting at a thankfully outdoor table at the smoothie place.
Jubal silently cleared our table, gently grabbed me by the arm, and led me to his car. He sat me in the front passenger's seat, rolled up the windows and turned on the air conditioning. "OK, spill," he commanded once the air conditioning was up to speed.
"I can't," I half-sobbed.
"Yes you can," he retorted.
I took a deep breath, regained my composure and said "I don't have sex appeal anymore. George is totally disinterested in sex with me, guys don't look at me like they used to, and I just feel like a blob."
Jubal laughed. The bastard actually laughed! I got really pissed and smacked him on the arm and yelled "You bastard, it's not funny." I tried to open up the car door, but he had the child lock on, gently grabbed my shoulder, and said "Sorry; please listen to me; laughing was inappropriate but it's hard for me to believe that the sexiest woman I know has no confidence that she has sex appeal."
When I stared into his face I think that he suddenly realized that he had called me the sexiest woman that he knew, and would have liked to take it back; however, instead he made light of it and dealt out some happy horseshit like he thought that I was kidding, etc.
I finally calmed down. "I just don't have a solution. I often think that maybe I need an honest evaluation of my sex appeal to rid me of my demons. Even if I'm good looking and have the right equipment I must be a really bad lay for George to have no interest in me."
We talked for another twenty minutes or so, he asking the details of why I felt the way that I did, me providing mostly honest if incomplete answers. Finally he said "I'll think of something -- I want to help, Britt."
