Bed death

James and Will met in the check-out line at Capers. Equally handsome lads, they couldn’t help but notice each other. But what really got them talking were the virtually identical contents of their grocery baskets: two eggplants, mozzarella, organic two percent milk in bottles, butter, brown basmati rice, organic tofu and one each of those delicious Capers’ mini-fruit pies-blackberry for James, raspberry for Will.

They chuckled over the similarity, made small talk, and then said goodbye. That might have been the end of it, but instead they found themselves at the same potluck that very night. They were shy at first but soon inseparable.

As James explains it, “Will walked me home that night and he’s been here ever since. We’ve been involved and living together for two and a half years.”

Soon they were playing soccer on the same team in the winter and slo-pitch in the summer, sharing the same friends, the same clothes and pretty much everything else. Their relationship was perfect, except for just one thing.

“After about a year and half James just lost interest in fucking,” Will says. “He said it didn’t have anything to do with me, that he still loves me and wants to be with me but that sex just isn’t a priority for him like it used to be.”

This is a problem for Will although he remains committed to the relationship. “I’m still having a lot of trouble with our virtually non-existent sex life. It’s important to me but I love James and don’t want to break up with him or sleep with anyone else.”

Wait a minute, wasn’t that the plot of a Queer As Folk episode about “lesbian bed death?”

Sorry, boys and girls. Gay, straight and every other way, it happens to us all, especially in exclusive relationships.

Does familiarity breed . . . boredom? What happens when the object of your love and lust won’t fuck you anymore but insists that her/his cuddle drive is still strong? Is the intimacy, love and social life-not to mention the pets-worth the probably not-so-silent sexual despair you are experiencing?

Is there anything that can be done beyond suffering, cheating on your partner or dumping them in favour of a more sexually charged paramour? As a public service to you, dear readers, we draw on expert resources within the community to give you the help you need to get fucked.

Sex advisor Sue Johanson tells monogamous couples of all ilks: “Have sex anywhere, anytime, with anything that isn’t nailed down.”

We hear you, sister! A long- term, sexually happening lesbian couple cheers you on with these words of wisdom: “Work hard to keep the sex going. Put a lot of energy into it right from the beginning and don’t let up. Do romantic things, do sexy things, make sex a priority and source of excitement, fun, relaxation and just make sure you get down to some darn good fucking on a regular basis.”

Most of the fags we talked to advised couples experiencing bed death to fuck other people. We’ll leave the topic of managing non-monogamous relationships for another column.

On behalf of couples who remain committed to monogamy, we decided to seek professional help. Vancouver’s most popular lesbian couples’ counsellor has this to say to you: “Avoid enmeshment. Don’t play on the same softball team, have your own friends, go away to sex camp together as many times a year as you can afford to.”

Sex camp? What the fuck is sex camp, we asked?

“Sex camp is time away from your ordinary routines, preferably far away from home and responsibility. At sex camp you have sex with each other as much as possible.” Some couples get out of practice, she explains, and then can’t get started having sex again.

“Another way of looking at it is that you should plan for a sex marathon at least every three months and spend the rest of the year training for it-building up your muscles and endurance and all.” We swear we heard the soundtrack from Rocky in the background as she spoke.

The crucial piece of advice, however, in order to prevent bed death is this: do not rent a U-Haul on the first date and merge your lives and identities like James and Will did.

Of course, some couples seem to be everything to each other all the time, and God love ’em. But for ordinary souls, such enmeshment makes it hard to get that little bit of friction that seems to make sex hot.

We suggest this warning label for monogamous relationships: “Vancouver’s most popular lesbian couples counsellor advises that total enmeshment will lead to a decrease in sexual interest by one or both parties.”

As we were leaving her office, Vancouver’s most popular yelled out the window: “Don’t forget to tell them not to play on the same softball team.”

“For sure,” we said. But we were already busy speed-dialing our girlfriends to schedule the next sex camp. Let the training begin! After all, what the fuck!

* Our next column attempts to answer the pressing question: can butch-butch or femme-femme couples really get it on, or is some gender cross-pollination crucial?