The Myth About Wedding-Night Sex
Lillian Rose
It’s all a part of the fairy-tale wedding dream: Girl meets boy, boy proposes to girl, girl and boy get married on the perfect day, with the perfect wedding, and that night they have perfect, magical, life-altering husband-and-wife sex before riding off into the sunset and living happily ever after.
Except that’s not what really happens—well, at least not the sex part. Because the thing is, you’re tired. Really tired. And maybe his groomsmen handed him one too many shots, and you have a headache from your updo, and you’ve both been awake for 18 hours straight, talking and crying and dancing and laughing, and everyone you know, including your grandparents, is sleeping on your hotel floor, right next door.
Point is, before the two of you close the door behind you at the end of your Big Day, we wanted you to know: If this particular aspect of your fairy tale is less than, well, magical, you’re not alone. Here, some Philly brides spill their stories on this little myth—and how it actually tends to go (or not go) down.
He tried to make a move when we got back to the hotel room, and I was like, “Dude, you have got to be kidding me.”
We did, but it took him about 25 minutes to get all the bobby pins out of my hair, and it really kind of killed the mood.
I was just like, “Nope, not happening. You are too drunk, this is going to take too long.”
I mean, we did, but it was totally perfunctory. Then I projectile-vomited the next night.
We got married in my in-laws’ backyard, and sleeping in your husband’s childhood bedroom (with his parents one room away) just isn’t conducive to a sexy-lingerie-filled wedding night. I was happy enough to get out of my heels.
It took 100 hours to unbutton the dress, unhook the special bra, and remove millions of bobby pins. By then the moment had passed, and it was more or less wham-bam- thank-you-ma’am.
All I can say is it’s a good thing our suite had two bathrooms, because I was in one and he was in the other all night. … Still convinced we were poisoned, and that one day we’ll find out the culprit!
We went condom-free since we were officially husband and wife, and I broke out into hives—it was instantaneous. My doctor confirmed after the honeymoon that I am, in fact, allergic to my husband’s sperm.
Three words: I fell asleep.
Got your own funny wedding-night sex story? C’mon and share with the class.
This article originally appeared in the spring/summer 2013 issue of Philadelphia Wedding.
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