Designing A Sex Room Didn't Lead To More Sex

“I have an idea.” My husband grabbed his phone. Seeing his screen, a search for “master bedroom renovations,” I squealed. We then Googled wallpaper and brainstormed themes.

Night after night, we ditched brain-numbing programs and researched products we saw on the show. Lounges, or chaises curved to optimize adult play, sparked lots of dialogue. Whether to have harnesses or not was a major question. For weeks, my husband and I talked about our fantasies, interests and dislikes. It was like we were back in the early days of dating!

But several years of living in another couple’s worn room and the monotony of married life, plus my perimenopause shifts, had combined. Not only did we have less sex, but I hated my increasing number of wrinkles and chin hair that sprouted overnight. I’d become lazy about shaving, putting on makeup and dressing in non-yoga clothes. My prior spontaneity dried up. I desired more in my intimacy, but also fantasized about writing in a secluded cabin all alone for eternity.

After acquiring new room supplies, my husband and I moved our furniture into the hallway. He tore down the wallpaper and hung our dreamy purple damask (with excessive cursing, not a made-for-TV grin). Listening to his frustration, regretting our decision, I cleaned the carpet, floorboards, windows and blinds, vacuumed the mattress, and emptied the trash.

He then installed a beautiful ceiling fan as I stood holding bits. The sun burned through the naked windows, brightening the room. I gazed at him, the beads of sweat on his brow, the focus in his eyes, the shape of his bare chest. When he stepped off the ladder, my lips found his. We both wanted to take a break, but agreed to keep working. We needed to finish our room!

As the paint dried, we shopped for candles, lights and mirrors, and discovered how to arrange toys in a behind-the-door shoe organizer to make them more accessible. We bought a calendar to hang in our bathroom to track our sexual activity to be sure our day-to-day tasks didn’t allow our intimacy to lapse. We then moved the furniture back into our room. The blinds lowered, and the curtains hung; only the overhead light cast a glow across the room as we made our bed with fluffy linens. After stacking the pillows, I flopped on the comforter.

My husband plopped beside me. I curled into my spot, and he slid his arm around me.

“Tired?” I asked.

“Exhausted.”

We fell asleep side-by-side, fully dressed, on our first night in our new “F—Hut.”

Several years have passed since we tackled our bedroom. The candles we bought no longer work, and their remote control disappeared. A strand of decorative lights is stashed in a drawer, not hung as intended. A dog tore our expensive comforter, and we replaced it with a budget cover — twice. But one major change stuck. I no longer look around my bedroom with my stomach sinking and irritability increasing. I love our space, despite its imperfections, for what it did for us.

We had new conversations about our likes, dislikes and desires, and how these changed since our early days together. Our sexual pleasure was at the forefront of our priorities, and this inspired us to act and make our bedroom our sanctuary, feeding our physical, emotional and even spiritual needs. So although the project didn’t bring more sex, it did bring us deeper communication and greater intimacy. I treasure those more than extra orgasms.

Now, as I slip into bed beside my husband, the remote control in his hand, my only regret — we should have renovated our bedroom first. So if given the chance, I’d do it all over again and start making our "F—Hut"-turned-zen den from day one.

Would you ever design a sex room? Why or why not? Let us know in the comments below.