The first time I was intimate with my partner, he didn’t finish. I later discovered that this was a regular occurrence for him — throughout most of his sexual life, he would become aroused but then lose it midway. As our relationship deepened, our intimacy improved, yet it never felt as fulfilling as I had hoped. Even during our carefree early days as newlyweds, we didn’t engage in sexual activities as frequently as I desired. There were still moments when he couldn’t finish, and he attributed it to dehydration, stress from work, lack of sleep, or worrying about my pleasure.
As we welcomed children into our lives, the frequency of our intimacy dwindled even further. He rarely initiated, and my requests often led to uncertainty about his interest. The right conditions had to be met — he needed to be well-rested, not too inebriated, not too full, and not preoccupied with work. I convinced myself that he simply had a low libido and accepted the situation as it was.
Over the years, I discovered pornography a few times; he was remarkably adept at keeping it hidden. Still, I sensed an underlying issue that affected our sexual life. Once, while joking about a classic sitcom episode, I asked him how often he engaged in self-pleasure. He seemed uneasy and admitted it was 4-5 times a week. I was taken aback, wondering how he could have the stamina for that but not for our relationship.
One day, while researching relationship and sexual issues online, I stumbled upon an article discussing porn addiction and its impact on erectile dysfunction. At that moment, I felt a flicker of understanding. I shared the article with him, and much to my surprise, he confessed he had suspected he was addicted to pornography. He used it almost daily as a coping mechanism and had struggled to quit over the years. He expressed a genuine desire to stop for our sake.
With this newfound knowledge, I felt a mix of fear, betrayal, and a glimmer of hope. Initially, after he quit, he felt empty and disinterested in intimacy — a common reaction for those ceasing porn use. However, as months passed, he transformed physically. He became harder, climaxed more easily, and sought sex more often. I noticed the changes in him, which brought him some relief, yet I sensed the pain of acknowledging how deeply pornography had affected not just our bond but all his past relationships and himself.
A few months into his commitment to quit, we had a significant argument. After reconciling, our intimacy faltered again, and I could tell it was related to his struggles with porn. He became defensive when I confronted him, attributing his challenges to work stress and insisting that if he needed porn as an escape, he would resort to it.
At that point, I questioned whether I could remain married to him. He had promised to quit but seemed unable to keep that promise. I felt betrayed and pressured to act a certain way to prevent him from seeking porn. I began obsessively monitoring his behavior, checking his phone when I could guess the password, and even listening outside the bathroom door during long visits. In a moment of desperation, I even sniffed his underwear, hoping for clues.
Eventually, we began to reconnect, and our intimacy improved temporarily. However, a year later, we faced one of our most challenging fights. We had grown emotionally distant, living like two disconnected individuals tending to our children and sharing the same space. After a few weeks, we reestablished our connection, but intimacy felt strained again. He comforted me as I cried in bed after another failed encounter, admitting he had turned back to porn during our conflict, expressing remorse and a longing for closeness.
That following night, I made it clear: I could not stay married to him if he continued with porn. To me, it felt like a betrayal akin to infidelity, as he was channeling his sexual energy into something outside of our relationship. I asserted that while porn might be acceptable in some circumstances, for us, it was toxic.
He vowed to quit for good. That was over a year ago, and we’ve only briefly touched on the subject since then. One evening, when he couldn’t finish, I broke down. I expressed my fears that he had returned to porn. He assured me he hadn’t, but I had no way to verify his honesty. Porn remains an ever-present temptation, easy to access on any device, and notoriously challenging to quit. As one individual noted on Reddit, “It’s like trying to quit smoking while carrying a pack of cigarettes.”
Our intimacy carries a heavy weight for me. Each time he shows signs of losing his arousal, anxiety grips me. We still don’t engage in sexual activities as often as I would like, and I never take the initiative. When he watches an R-rated movie featuring nudity and then seeks intimacy, I can’t help but feel a sense of disgust. I try to reassure myself that it’s good he’s directing his sexual energy toward me instead of retreating into secrecy.
At times, I wish I had trusted my instincts earlier and sought a partner with a healthier relationship with sex, someone who could genuinely meet my needs and foster mutual growth in our intimacy. The shadow of his porn use has forever altered the dynamics of our marriage, and I mourn the loss of what could have been.
However, I have reached a tentative acceptance. I first had to grieve the marriage I envisioned, allowing that ideal to fade and process my feelings through various stages. I experienced denial and anger, with my obsessive monitoring perhaps a form of bargaining. Eventually, I fell into sadness, feeling like a victim. I continue to oscillate between these stages, and I suspect I always will. I’ve come to accept that porn is entwined with our marital narrative, recognizing it isn’t my fault and that I cannot control it, just as I couldn’t prevent other addictions or challenges he might face.
I’m not here to judge porn or self-pleasure. I’ve had relationships where porn was a healthy addition, and self-pleasure can be fulfilling. But with my partner, the situation is different. He discovered porn at a young age, using it as a coping mechanism for a troubled childhood, shrouded in secrecy and shame. Over time, he required more extreme content to find satisfaction. While it stimulated him, his primary motivation was escape, a way to numb himself from expectations and anxiety. I realized that just because he stopped watching porn didn’t automatically mean he’d desire intimacy with me as frequently.
This situation is complex when porn impacts someone’s willingness and ability to engage sexually with their partner. I used an analogy to illustrate this to him once: imagine if I had been secretly spending money from our joint resources for years; even if he never found out, it would still drain our relationship’s resources. He acknowledged the betrayal and the drain on our partnership. Thus, even though his porn use predated me, it still impacted our relationship, feeling like he had to choose between me and his addiction.
I felt I had three options: leave him, which would disrupt our family; stay with him and live in suspicion, potentially harming myself; or stay, trust him, and try to move forward. I chose the latter, and for now, it’s the best path forward I can take.
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In summary, navigating the complexities of a partner’s porn-induced erectile dysfunction can be challenging and emotionally taxing. Acknowledging the underlying issues and fostering open communication are essential steps toward healing and rebuilding intimacy.
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