But after we moved in together, something shifted.
The curiosity collapsed.
The openness disappeared.
And slowly, without us ever naming it out loud,
I began to learn that my body wasn’t mine anymore.
The Rules Started Off Invisible
“You better not be jerking off if I’m home.”
“If you’re taking a shower and I’m downstairs, don’t you dare be touching yourself.”
“If you’re watching porn, that’s the same as cheating.”
And suddenly my needs,
my rituals,
my inner world became a secret.
Not because I was ashamed of them
but because I was afraid they’d be used against me.
Even though I knew her history.
Even though I understood how deeply she’d been hurt by infidelity.
Even though I loved her and wanted her to feel safe
I still needed to come.
Not just for pleasure.
For regulation.
For peace.
For myself.
The Worst Part Was the Guilt I Felt for Doing Something That Made Me Better
Every time I opened a browser,
I questioned myself.
Every time I jerked off while she was out of the house,
I imagined how she’d react.
Would she think I don’t love her?
Would she think I wanted someone else?
Would she think I was just like the guy who cheated on her before me?
And the more I questioned myself, the more disconnected I became.
I didn’t stop loving her.
I stopped believing I was allowed to love myself.
And What Did That Do to Our Sex Life?
It made me hesitant to initiate.
It made me anxious in moments where I used to feel confident.
It made me feel like a criminal for craving her body.
And the irony?
Some of our best sex the most intimate, filthy, connected nights we had
came after I had masturbated earlier in the day.
Not because I didn’t want her.
But because I had taken care of myself.
Because I had entered the moment regulated.
Centered.
Present.
But she never got to see that version of me without a lens of betrayal.
And I never felt safe enough to explain why.
I Don’t Blame Her. But I Know It Broke Something in Me.
She wasn’t trying to hurt me.
She was trying to protect what she had left of her trust.
But in doing that,
she turned something that was once shared and celebrated
into something secret and shameful.
And when you turn self-pleasure into betrayal,
you don’t just damage your partner’s desire.
You damage their relationship with themselves.
We Need to Talk About This More
Not to shame the partners who don’t understand porn.
Not to defend compulsive behaviors that mask deeper wounds.
But to say:
It can be healing.
It can be intimate.
It can be the thing that makes space for connection later.
And if we start to understand that?
Maybe fewer relationships will end in silence and shame.
And more will end in orgasms we never had to hide.
Submit to Unfiltered Whispers
Write your own masturbation reframe.
Tell the truth. End the shame.
[Submit Your Confession]