I Used To Be Dangerous. What The Fuck Happened.

I don't even know why I'm posting this. Maybe because it's 1am and I can't sleep and I've been thinking about this for two years and I've never said it out loud to anyone.

I used to be dangerous. Not in a bad way. You know what I mean. I was the guy who couldn't keep his hands to himself. Who would pull her into the bathroom at a party. Who texted her at 2pm on a Tuesday because I couldn't wait until tonight. Who had so much hunger in him that it was almost inconvenient.

And it wasn't just about me. That's the part that kills me now.

I used to NEED to see her face. That specific moment. You know the one. When she stops being polite and just loses it. When she grabs whatever's closest and her whole body forgets itself. That was the thing. That was the real thing. I didn't just want to get off. I wanted to wreck her. I wanted to be the reason she couldn't walk straight the next morning. I wanted her to think about it at work and have to look away from her computer screen.

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That drive to destroy her in the best possible way. That's gone too.

Now I go through it and I'm watching the clock. Hoping it holds. Monitoring. Is it hard enough. Will it stay. What does she think right now. The thing that used to be pure hunger is now pure anxiety.

And she knows. She always knows. You can't fake that energy. The energy of a man who genuinely cannot wait to ruin you. She felt it for 20 years. She knows what it feels like when it's gone.

I don't know exactly when it happened. It wasn't one moment. It was gradual. Like a signal getting quieter and quieter until one day you realize you can't hear it anymore. Now I wait. I wait to see if it shows up. I wait to see if the timing is right. I wait to see if my body decides to cooperate. I plan things I used to just do. I manage situations I used to just take. I went from taking to waiting. And I don't know how to get back.

Here's the thing nobody talks about. It's not that I can't. Sometimes I can. It just doesn't feel the same. My body shows up but I'm not really in it. Like I'm watching myself from the other side of the room. Going through motions I used to mean.

My wife thinks it's her. I can see it. She stopped reaching for me about a year ago. She stopped wearing certain things to bed. She stopped that thing she used to do, just appearing in the doorway and looking at me a certain way. Because she got tired of the look on my face when it didn't work. She was protecting me. And I let her. Because I didn't know what to say.

And that DESTROYS me. Not just because I miss the sex. Because I miss being the reason she felt wanted. I miss being the man who made her feel like the most desired woman in any room. I was that man. I made her feel that. Now I can see her recalibrating. Quietly lowering her expectations. Deciding this is just how things are now. And I can't stand it. I can't stand being the reason she feels less desired. She deserves that man. That hungry, can't keep his hands off her man. I want to be him again. For her as much as for me.

I'm 58 years old. I've tried the pills. They work sometimes. Sometimes they don't. And even when they do, I don't actually WANT it. I can do it. I don't hunger for it. And that difference, that gap between being able to and wanting to, that gap is everything. That gap is the whole problem and nobody in medicine seems to give a damn about fixing it.

If anyone else has been through this and found something that actually worked, not just the physical part but the actual hunger, the actual drive to see her lose control, I'd genuinely like to know.

I'm not looking for therapy. I'm not looking for talk to your doctor. I'm looking for the thing that brought the animal back.

Because I miss him. And I think she does too.