My husband and I rarely have sex anymore - here's why we're OK without it

The last time my husband and I had sex was just over a year ago. The feeling of closeness was lovely, and afterwards, I remember saying, "We should do this more often." Steven* agreed. But days, weeks, months have slipped by since, and it hasn’t happened again. It’s now been over a year. However, neither of us is too concerned that sex is no longer part of our marriage.

Life is often portrayed as revolving around sex – movies and TV shows are full of steamy bedroom scenes, and there’s a huge societal focus on couples having better sex. But for me, while a satisfying love life is a beautiful thing, it has never been top of the agenda when it comes to making a relationship work.

Neither of the two most significant relationships in my life – with the father of my two grown-up children and with Steven – have primarily been about sexual connection. Instead, they’ve been based on friendship, humour and a compatible world view – and to me, that seems far more important.

I was 43 when Steven and I first got together, 17 years ago, and we already had a foundation of friendship. We lived in the same area and had known each other for several years. I didn’t lust after him and never thought of him in that way, but I was always happy to spot him across a room. We laughed a lot and found loads to talk about. There was just something about him that put me at ease.

One day, I bumped into him in the street and he suggested going for a drink. I’d been single for five years after an amicable split from the father of my children, and Steven had recently broken up with his partner. I thought, "Why not?" We ended up talking until closing time, and it dawned on me that Steven might be interested in me romantically.

After that, we met regularly. I thought he was good-looking, but Steven remained in the friend zone as far as I was concerned, and he didn’t push the physical side of our relationship. Besides, he was still getting over his break-up, and instinct told me that he needed friendship, not a lover.

After almost a year of us spending time together, my sister sat me down and said, "He’s lovely, you’re super compatible, just get together." It made sense. Steven and I enjoyed the same things, shared values and were totally comfortable with each other. Sex was the only thing missing.

I started looking at Steven through different eyes and engineered a situation where we might end up in bed together. The first time we had sex, we’d both had too much to drink, and it wasn’t great. But over time, our sex life flourished. While it was never a case of wanting to rip each other’s clothes off, we fell in love, and the sex was gentle, tender and satisfying.

We had both experienced sexually charged relationships in the past. Steven’s previous relationship was based on a strong physical attraction. And I’ve had two sexually passionate relationships, between my two marriages, both times with attractive but emotionally unavailable men. When Steven and I got together, sex was lower down on my priority list.

Sleeping separately

We got married two years after that first drink. Even in those early days, we only had sex once or twice a week, and that was enough for us. Life was busy, we were often tired by the time we went to bed, and we seemed well matched in terms of sex drive. That was our pattern for the first few years. I never worried that our sex life was lacking – when we did make love, it was always satisfying and brought us closer together.

But, sex gradually became less regular. Ten years into our relationship, it was only happening once a month or so. By then, I’d been through menopause, my libido had gone downhill, and his sex drive seemed to have diminished too.

We started sleeping separately [sometimes known as a sleep divorce] to get a good night’s sleep. He snores, and I’m a light sleeper. It became a habit. During the week, we’d kiss, cuddle, and say goodnight, then head off to bed alone.

At weekends, we’d sleep in the same bed and spend lovely, lazy mornings chatting, eating breakfast and planning our day. Sometimes we made love, but by then, a sense of going through the motions had crept into our sex life.

Even though I didn’t particularly feel like sex myself, I hated the thought that Steven might desire other women or didn’t fancy me any more. And there were times I worried that our lack of physical intimacy indicated an underlying problem – especially when I’d watch some expert on TV banging on about how a good sex life in a long-term relationship is fundamental, or listen to friends gushing about how they couldn’t keep their hands off their partners.

A turning point

Although I was happy in our life together, these concerns meant our sex life grew into a huge, unspoken barrier between us. It began to eat away at me. Finally, three years ago, I found the courage to bring it up, and we had a long talk about our sex life that cleared the air.

It turned out that Steven had been feeling the same way as me, but he worried about what that might mean for our relationship. Neither of us felt it necessary to completely draw a line under our sexual relationship, but we agreed we were happy with things the way they were. If we had sex because we both felt like it, then great, but if it didn’t happen for months because neither of us was feeling the urge, that was fine too.

That conversation was a turning point. We felt free to express physical affection again without worrying that the other would interpret it as a precursor to sex. We felt closer than we had in ages.

We're not in a sexless marriage, but since then, we’ve had sex very occasionally. The last time on holiday in Spain just over a year ago. But we’ve been away again since then and it didn’t happen. We still kiss and cuddle, and although I don’t rule out having sex again, it feels as though we’ve reached a point where we would only have it if we really want it, not for the sake of it. And I’m quite comfortable with that.

*Names and some details have been changed