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Back in the day, my wife was a girl who would blush at the mention of "sex": during our courtship, whenever we hugged, I always managed to corner her against the wall. Thinking about our wedding night, it felt like I was some sort of human trafficker, having to promise and sweet-talk endlessly before she finally allowed me to be her "Big Bad Wolf." She didn't know how to cooperate at all, trembling like a scared little white rabbit in my arms as if I were going to eat her. Hey, who would've thought that this university graduate had such a pitiful level of sexual maturity! Back then, I was completely on fire; every time she came over to my dormitory on Sunday, she would say the next day that she was so tired she didn’t even have the strength to chew her food. But she loved me deeply and always tried her best to satisfy my needs. Gradually, the initial passion of our marriage faded. Our sex life became as normal as eating, happening a few times a week. Each time, I had to take the initiative; with her obsessive-compulsive disorder about cleanliness, she required me to clean every corner of my body thoroughly. The lights couldn't be too bright, and after getting into bed, I had to gently touch her, sweet-talk her, and give her soft kisses... Seeing her remain completely calm each time, I asked her: "Do you not enjoy our marital intimacy?" She neither confirmed nor denied...