The following is a true story told by Daisy: 

Let's get straight to the point: My husband and I have been married for 14 years, and we've never had sex.

This used to be a source of distress for us, and there were several times we almost got divorced. But ultimately, our mutual encouragement and support kept us together. Issues like "penetration" and "having children" went from being earth-shattering concerns to becoming progressively less significant. Knowing there's someone who understands you completely and still loves you deeply is enough to dispel all doubts.

How It Started

At 22, after dating two boyfriends, I realized I didn't like sex at all.

Dryness, tearing, pain, and bleeding were the physical discomforts—

Both boyfriends were nearly driven mad by my disinterest in sex. "You're my girlfriend; it's your responsibility to sleep with me," "If you won't let me have sex, at least use your hand," "You must have psychological issues; see a doctor."

Disgust, revulsion, and nausea were my emotional responses to hearing those words.

After visiting numerous gynecologists and psychologists and going through various physical and chemical treatments, I still didn't like sex. I liked the opposite sex, kissing, and hugging, but I had no interest in genital intercourse.

By 25, this had become my most tightly guarded secret. I felt like a defect in this world, unable to share this with anyone. Severely impacted by my previous relationships, I found a job in a big city after graduation, living a celibate life, even preparing for a lonely old age.

Years ago, there was a "love without sex" group on QQ, which I joined seeking some comfort. Unexpectedly, I discovered BDSM and met my current husband, Mr. R.

When I confided in him about my situation, he was very honest with me too, saying he also hated "conventional sex." He had a severe case of "female worship," always fantasizing about women being high and mighty, majestic like goddesses or queens, to be revered but not defiled. Thus, he found it hard to accept the nudity and penetration of traditional sexual relationships.

In our conversations, we both felt abandoned by the world. The very things that made us unique also made us lonely. After chatting online for about half a month, these two lonely souls decided to meet.

First Meeting

One Friday afternoon, I took a green train to R’s city. I remember his nervous and awkward demeanor when we first met. He clumsily tried to help me with my suitcase, but underestimated its weight and bumped into me. His hand touched my waist, and he quickly recoiled as if shocked, repeatedly apologizing like he feared I’d walk away any second.

My mind went blank—thinking, "This is too much; it's just a touch, no need to apologize so nervously."

Because of his shyness, I felt an urge to bully him a little, so I blurted out, "Then let me hit you in the face."

I was startled by myself as soon as I said it.

What on earth? Why would I want to hit a stranger I just met? Am I violent?

I don’t remember his expression as he slowly leaned in, but I do remember my heart pounding—he was so obedient! He even seriously considered my unreasonable request.

But could I really do it? Hitting someone I just met—wouldn’t that be too offensive?

Despite these thoughts, I couldn’t resist pinching his cheek lightly.

That night in the hotel, he insisted on sitting on the floor even though there were chairs in the room. He believed he shouldn’t sit “on equal terms” with the “high and mighty” me.

So, I sat on the bed, and he sat on the floor as we watched a basketball game on TV. Then I crawled under the covers, wished him goodnight, and told him to sleep in the other bed.

He nodded but stayed put, making me nervous—was he a con artist pretending to be nice to gain my trust and then assault me?

Before I could question him, he stood up and apologized, “Sorry, I snore. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I booked another room next door. I didn’t tell you beforehand because I was afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew I snored.”

Shortly after he left, I heard faint snoring through the wall. He must’ve been rejected by other women because of his snoring, making him so sensitive. That rhythmic sound was like a wound that hadn’t healed.

The next morning, R was already waiting at the door with breakfast. I told him I brought earplugs and to cancel the other room. It was a waste of money, and we could share one room tonight.

He stood there, bewildered like a computer with a fried CPU. Realizing I might need to communicate differently, I said, “I order you to cancel the other room and stay with me tonight.”

He immediately dropped the breakfast and rushed to comply.

That night, he continued to sit on the floor, looking up at me every time he spoke. He said he liked this perspective. I didn’t understand, thinking it would show double chins and nostrils, so I ordered him to keep his gaze below my waist.

I asked, “Do you think I’m too bossy? I always want to bully you when we’re together.”

He shook his head, saying that this “bullying” perfectly matched his fantasies and that I was a naturally gifted domme.

I hugged his soft body, patting his head. He clearly got aroused, so I asked, “Can you really accept being together without sex?”

He blushed and lowered his head, “I can, but please don’t touch me like that. Anyone would get aroused!”

Ah, but I’m such a greedy and strange person. I love kissing and hugging my beloved, enjoying skin contact and blushing faces, but I don’t like the final act of sex.

So I flatly refused him, “No. If you want to be with me, I’ll love you and love being close to you, but it’s not a signal for sex. I absolutely don’t want to have sex. Think it over.”

I remember this conversation clearly because, after saying this, I felt a long-standing chain in my mind break. For the first time, I clearly expressed my needs to another person—unconventional, passive, and abnormal needs—to love without sex.

I forgot how R finally agreed, but I remember that exhilarating moment like declaring war on a moldy world, “Hey, I’m no longer doing things your way. I’m going to be myself.”


Back in my city, I longed for the brief time I spent with R, being free to be myself and “bullying” him without restraint. Fortunately, he soon responded.

We decided to marry in 2009, after nearly two years of getting to know each other. By then, we had found a way to live happily together.

It’s a bit embarrassing, but every time he wanted release, I would stand on the carpet or chair in high heels and step on him. It was the only way I found tolerable, and he enjoyed it. When I wanted to, I used small non-intrusive toys, usually taking just a couple of minutes.

But less than a year into our marriage, we faced a major crisis.


One night, he carelessly sent the wrong message, revealing that he was venting about our marriage on a website. “What’s it like being married to a domme? I do the laundry, scrub the underwear and socks, cook and feed her, and have no manly dignity. Initially, it was fun, but over time, I want to escape…”

Replies sympathized, saying he married a tormentor, that even prison would be better…

I confronted him, “Where’s that ‘female worship’ you talked about? Were you lying to me? You wouldn’t even sit on a chair before, insisting on the floor, and now doing some housework makes you feel undignified? Don’t I do housework? Don’t I scrub the floors? Clean the toilet? Do I complain about your smoking?”

He waved his hands frantically, saying, “No, no, I love you and enjoy doing these things for you. I was just venting pressure, and writing about marital conflicts gets more attention, so I started ranting…”

I couldn’t listen. I opened the door, letting the cold wind in, “Didn’t you want to escape? Go ahead. You seem normal around other women now. You’re suffering so much without sex. I’ll let you go; find a normal person to marry.”

I began searching for divorce papers, ready to write them on the spot.

Hearing this, R’s eyes dimmed. He collapsed on the sofa, drained, and weakly said, “Let’s calm down for a night.”

I later realized everyone carries their own world. When someone shows you their unique world, the softest part is exposed, and even the slightest word can easily hurt it.

It was then I discovered that while I thought I had found a suitable way to live, indifferent to sex, it wasn’t true. It still felt like a fragile vase in my heart, and even a breeze could make me anxious.

That night was my first sleepless night since marriage. I felt stupid, imposing my will with many rules that he followed, accepting quirks my exes couldn’t understand. Yet, I lashed out over his online venting, showing a lack of empathy.

Around 5 a.m., I heard noises in the kitchen. Opening the door, I found two eggs in the pan and rice ready to cook—he was still making breakfast for me as usual.

I wanted to ask him, "Are you tired? Do you want to go take a nap in the bedroom?" but instead, I blurted out, "Honey, you didn't leave? I was so scared you really left."

He rushed over and hugged me. We stood in the kitchen, crying in each other's arms while making porridge.

Once we calmed down, I asked him if he could tell me whenever he's unhappy or particularly tired. I wanted us to work together to make our life better, rather than him compromising to fit into my idea of life.

He nodded firmly and said he really loves me, so much that even when he feels wronged, he can't help but get up to make me breakfast. He said the true essence of love is putting the other person's needs before your own, always.

Some people have sex without love; we have love without sex. Even though we have never consummated our marriage in the conventional sense, we still find deep support and courage in each other.

Companionship By our fourth year of marriage, my parents were fed up with us not having children.

At first, they dropped hints, but then they started coming over for "meetings" at our house. "Why don't you have kids yet? Is it you or my daughter who's the problem? If something's wrong, go to the hospital."

Mr. R never got angry. He would sit and listen to them, smiling politely, and silently enduring their bad attitude.

I wasn't as patient and often argued with my mom.

"Who says you have to have kids just because you're married? Can't we be child-free?" "Are you out of your mind? What normal girl doesn't want kids?" "I'm not normal, okay? Is this news to you? I'm not normal, I'm not positive, I'm not happy, and if you keep this up, I don't even want to live!" "You're going to drive me to an early grave! Having a daughter like you is taking ten years off my life!"

After these arguments, I felt something stuck in my chest, frustrated and irritable, like a ticking time bomb ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

Usually, the fallout from these explosions landed on Mr. R.

Once, after a particularly bad argument with my parents, Mr. R nestled into my arms, seeking comfort. When he instinctively began to undo his pants, I snapped, "Pull up your pants! I don't want to see that right now, it's disgusting!"

Mr. R didn't get mad. He just zipped up and came over to stroke my hair. "Another fight with your parents about kids? How about I cut up an apple for you?"

I turned and hugged him, not letting him go. We became like two plants growing together.

I asked him, "If we continue like this, without sex, without kids, without even the time or passion for BDSM anymore, won't we just be roommates instead of a couple?"

He said, "Yes, we might feel like roommates or life partners. But what's wrong with that? At least it's comfortable. We've never compromised our way of living; we've found a way to live as we want, and that's something remarkable."

His reassurances always made him seem exceptionally tall to me. When my parents were at their worst, it was Mr. R who gently soothed my emotions and reminded me not to argue with them. He said to just explain our stance and see if they could understand.

Thankfully, after a few years, my parents became more reasonable. They stopped obsessing over the idea of grandchildren and just reminded us to think about our future as we age.

Mr. R's greatest strength is his unwavering companionship. Every time I hold him, I feel a surge of strength growing within me.

Encouragement Of course, Mr. R's energy isn't infinite. In 2021, his business suffered greatly due to the pandemic. He often came home sighing, hunched over his computer, smoking all night.

Marriage is about balancing each other out, sharing your energy when the other is low.

I told him that instead of struggling, he should close the shop and take a break. My salary was enough to support us until things got better.

That night, he cried in my arms, finally releasing the pressure he'd been holding in for who knows how long. Once the debts were settled and the paperwork was done, he started to feel more at ease.

I asked him if he remembered our first meeting when I was on the bed, and he was on the floor watching a game. I had thought how nice it would be to have a collar on him.

He laughed and said, "That was so long ago. And later, before we got married, didn't I wear a collar all the time while we were long-distance?"

I teased him, "Yeah, but after we got married, you stopped. Do you think being an old married couple means no more excitement? Now that you're home with nothing to do, why not relive those days? Who said they wanted to be my puppy forever?"

Before I could say more, Mr. R dug out the old collar. The leather was faded; the last time we used it must have been five or six years ago.

I asked him to bring his neck closer, and just like our first meeting, he slowly leaned in. The scent of his hair wax filled the air.

But 14 years had passed, and now there were wrinkles around his eyes and his neck skin was looser.

I touched the marks left by time and snapped the collar shut. It felt like time had turned back. I told him, "You can't sleep in the bed tonight. Do you remember where you should sleep?"

Though he had gained weight and wasn't as agile as when we first met, his eyes instinctively lowered. "On the floor, honey."

That night felt like we had gone back to the beginning, our faces flushed with passion, solving each other's needs. Unlike before, we no longer questioned our ways of intimacy; it was no longer an issue for us.

On Happiness and Reconciliation This is our story.

We've had 14 years of love without sex. Now, he's not just my lover, but also my reliable partner and comrade. Together, we face the world's scrutiny—

"Why don't you want kids?" "Will one of you suddenly leave?" "What really matters in a marriage?" "What is love?" "Is sex essential in a marriage?"

As two lonely souls, we've encouraged each other to tackle these unanswerable questions.

We can't live a "standard and normal" life, but that doesn't stop us from feeling happy.

So, what is happiness?

My answer is that happiness can't be defined or described. When you feel happy, you've already gained the most precious thing in the world.

PS: if no penetrative sex is wanted, there are still many ways to enjoy each other and play. 

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