I haven’t had sex with my fiancé for five years

Amy*, 43, can’t wait to marry her partner Ben* , but when she does, she doubts they’ll consummate the marriage. Here, she explains why their relationship is stronger than ever despite their decision to stop having sex.

My fiancé and I don’t have children or a demanding dog. We don’t have stressful jobs that take up every waking moment, leaving us exhausted at the end of each day. Neither of us is attracted to the opposite sex, or cheating, or fed up with our relationship. So why, you might ask, haven’t we had sex for over five years?

When Ben* and I met via an online dating site eight years ago, we were both in our late 30s and the same as any other new couple. We kissed on the first date – an exceptional kiss that told me this was something special – but we waited a few weeks to have sex. When we did, it was passionate, adventurous and exciting.

I felt a deep emotional connection to Ben, which meant I often cried after we had sex, overwhelmed by the intensity and emotion of it, and by how close I felt to him. I even said 'I love you' for the first time during the act – something I regret now, because it wasn’t the romantic moment I was imagining when I met the love of my life, but I couldn’t stop myself. He’d already said those words to me, so he happily said it back.

As with many new relationships, we couldn’t keep up that intense pace for long, although sex was still a regular fixture of our lives. Until a year or so in, our sex life began to dwindle… and dwindle.

Every few months, we’d realise how long it had been since we last got naked and make the effort to spend some time in the bedroom. But although it was always fun, it clearly wasn’t a priority for either of us. Eventually, after three years, we simply stopped having sex altogether.

Being 'demisexual'

Despite our initial passion, both Ben and I have pretty low libidos. He has a well-paid job in an industry he’s passionate about and a wealth of hobbies, and sex isn’t particularly high on his list of priorities. I don’t think Ben is gay or bisexual – in fact, when I asked him outright, he laughed and said, "No!"

I know he’s attracted to women on TV, or those he sees when he’s out and about, he just doesn’t have the urge to act on it.

I haven’t probed too deeply into Ben’s past sexual relationships. I’m no different from anyone else in that it’s not something I particularly want to hear about, but I know several of mine have been severely lacking.

Over the years, I’ve had my confidence well and truly bashed in the bedroom, which probably helps to explain my general lack of enthusiasm, even when I’m with a partner I really care about.

I also identify as 'demisexual', which means I’m only ever attracted to someone after developing an emotional bond with them. When I was using dating apps, I would swipe right based on the person’s profile, not their picture. I can tell when someone is conventionally attractive, but I’m well aware that I’ll only fancy them once I get to know them, so rating people on their looks is a waste of time.

Even when I’ve forged that connection, I’ve never been that bothered about the sexual side of a relationship, which has led me to wonder if I’m actually asexual – someone who experiences little or no sexual attraction to others. I’d much rather have a great conversation or enjoy a meal out with someone I want to be with.

Other kinds of intimacy

I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re reading this and assuming something must be horribly wrong with our relationship. To have less sex in a long-term partnership is natural, but for it to stop altogether after just three years together must surely be a sign that you’ve fallen out of love, at the very least. But instead, I’m completely confident that Ben is the one for me.

Although our wedding plans were thrown off course by the pandemic, we live together, go on regular romantic mini-breaks, have a busy social life and plan to marry one day. Crucially, we also discuss how we feel about our sex life – or rather, our lack of one.

We know ours isn’t a normal situation, and we don’t want to suffer through awkward silences whenever sex scenes appear on the TV, or have to avoid the elephant in the room when we climb into bed at night. So we talk.

A loving relationship

We check in with each other regularly to make sure that we’re both still happy with the status quo, and if it turned out that one of us was keen to resurrect our sex life, we’d take steps to make it happen – but for now, we’re both content. When I bring up the subject of our sex-free union, Ben says it genuinely doesn’t bother him and I believe him.

Despite the fact that our last sexual encounter five years ago is a vague and distant memory, I would still describe my relationship with Ben as a very intimate one. We’re physical with each other in plenty of other ways, and give each other regular hugs and kisses (including passionate ones), snuggle up on the sofa when we watch telly and even fall asleep holding hands.

We’re also extremely close emotionally. We can be completely ourselves when we’re together and aren’t afraid of showing our vulnerable sides. We spend a lot of time laughing and compliment each other all the time. Neither of us would dream of leaving the house without saying 'I love you', and the small gestures make a big difference – he’ll gently sweep my hair away from my face while we’re watching TV and I always brush my cheek against his when he’s freshly shaved.

We might not get to have make-up sex after an argument, but we’re pretty good at resolving our differences by talking instead. Most importantly, perhaps, we trust each other implicitly. I would never, ever cheat on Ben, and while you might think I’m deluded, I firmly believe he would never cheat on me, either.

He knows my phone’s password, and he doesn’t even have a password on his, but neither of us has ever had cause to scroll through each other’s texts. We wouldn’t risk a relationship we value so highly for a fling – not that we’d be tempted in the first place.

We’re seen as a strong couple, and if our friends knew what (wasn’t) going on behind closed doors, I think they’d be genuinely shocked. For both of us, this is our longest relationship to date and our first sex-free relationship. But it’s also the best, and I don’t think that’s something to take lightly.

Sexless relationships

It helps that we’re not alone in our sexless state. In fact, around 20% of relationships are 'sexless', according to a survey by Relate. The official definition of 'sexless' for this research was either no sex or fewer than 10 sexual encounters in the past year.

On Reddit, there's even a support group for people in a relationship without sexual intimacy. There are over 400k members, so that shows that low- and no-sex relationships like ours aren’t as rare as you might think, even among couples in their 20s and 30s.

Still, when something considered so important by most people is missing from your relationship, you can’t help but question whether there’s something wrong. Over the years, I have wondered if we should go for couples’ counselling to work out why we’re not interested in having sex anymore.

I last had sex in my 30s and don’t expect to have sex ever again, which isn’t something many people in a relationship can say. Ben and I have been together for eight years, not 80, and I’m guessing our sex lives tailing off so quickly is unusual, especially without a gaggle of children waiting to burst into our bedroom at the first sign of a kiss.

But my attitude is – if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. While Ben and I are happy, I see no reason to rock the boat and I still can’t wait to be his wife. I just don’t expect the world to move on our wedding night.

*Names have been changed to protect identities.

Read more on sexless relationships:

• How often do married couples have sex? (Yahoo Life UK, 6-min read)

• A quarter of Brits are having less sex than they used to. Here's how to boost your libido (Yahoo Life UK, 5-min read)

• What does it mean to be asexual? (Yahoo Life UK, 3-min read)