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Feeling Dirty?!

Sex is a filthy word in my house...


Published by: Fiona Ford and Alice Wright
Published on: 24th June 2010

Elbow deep in bleach, I scrubbed the toilet until it gleamed. ‘What do you reckon?’ I asked, turning to my mum Vivien, 63.
‘Lovely,’ she replied. ‘But I only cleaned it an hour ago.’
Looking at her disappointed face, I felt guilty. ‘How many times have I asked you to stop scrubbing my loo when you visit?’
‘For as long as I can remember,’ I muttered, shame-faced. I couldn’t help myself. If I got grubby hands or dirty clothes, I washed them immediately, was constantly worried about germs.
And I was terrified of using public loos or mates’ bathrooms.Before spending a penny, I had to find their cleaning products.
Mum hoped I’d grow out of it. Yet, moving into my own flat, I got worse. I’d wake early to scrub the house from top to bottom, meaning I was often late for my job as an employment adviser. ‘Sorry,’ I’d tell my boss. ‘Traffic was bad.’
I knew if I explained the real reason I was late, they’d think I was nuts. After all, most of my ex-boyfriends did when I told them I spent my Saturday nights scrubbing. ‘I don’t like going out.Not when I can be cleaning.’
It wasn’t a surprise things didn’t work out. ‘It’s me or the bleach,’ one ex ranted.
‘Sorry,’ I smiled. ‘But bleach gets in those hard to reach places!’
I knew my cleaning obsession was driving men away, though.
So when I started dating Stuart Batcheltor three years ago, I was determined things would be different. He was a plumber who’d come to fix a leaky tap in my office.
There was just one problem – I could smell dog on him! ‘I’m living with a mate, and his dog’s a bit smelly,’ he said. I did my best to ignore it, but all I could think about was how many germs that flea-bitten mutt was carrying. At first, I gritted my teeth. A month later, I couldn’t stand it any longer.
Inviting him over for dinner, I made Stuart a proposition.
‘Fancy getting out of those clothes?’ I purred seductively.
‘Sounds great,’ he breathed.
‘While they’re washing, you can borrow my tracksuit bottoms.’
Poor guy was so confused, he handed the clothes over straight away. Then, a month later, while getting hot and steamy on the sofa, Stuart nuzzled into my neck.
‘Can I stay over?’ he whispered.
I wanted him in my bed more than anything. But what about the germs?! I couldn’t let on about my concerns, or this relationship would end up like the rest.
As we fell into bed, my mind raced… Think of bleach, dusters, polish, I told myself as we rolled around in the throes of passion.
For the next few weeks, when he stayed over, I imagined the inside of the cupboard under my sink… God, I needed to get my head straight!
I should’ve been knee-deep in dirty thoughts, not thinking about Barry and the Cillit Bang advert.Next time Stuart stayed over, I couldn’t bite my tongue any longer. ‘Shall we go upstairs?’ he breathed.
‘How about we get wet and wild?’ I smiled. Bundling him into the bathroom, he looked worried.
‘This wasn’t what I was expecting,’ he gulped.
‘I-I worry about germs,’ I said, through the door. ‘The smell of old dog makes me feel dirty.’
‘Really?’ he asked, excitedly.
‘Not in that way, in a gross way,’ I cringed. Hearing him turn on the water, I breathed a sigh of relief and, from then on, he never moaned when I pushed him towards the bathroom.
Six months later, he moved in and I was over the moon. Until I realised another person meant another set of germs. I had to clean everything twice. As for nookie, I was a mess.
Stuart expected me to lay back and cuddle in the same dirty sheets the following morning.
‘Just relax,’ he’d say.
‘I can’t,’ I’d panic, ripping the sheets from under him, and boil-washing them. I knew it was hard on him, but I couldn’t stop.
One night, after we’d been together a year, he invited me to join him in the shower.
‘No way!’ I protested.
‘Why?’ he asked, hurt. ‘We could make it fun.’
‘The shower’s where we get clean, not dirty,’ I cried in horror.
Poor Stuart.
‘This is ridiculous,’ he huffed.
‘Germs aren’t ridiculous,’ I begged, running after him. Seeing him stuff his belongings into a rucksack, nausea washed over me. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked.
‘I want us to be together, but I can’t live with you any more.’
With that, he left and went straight to his mum’s. I was both heartbroken and relieved. I had more time to clean, and even started scrubbing the office, too.
One sunny morning, I got up extra early to do the office toilets. But halfway through, my colleague Beverly, 40, walked in. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, spotting my cleaning products.
‘Nothing,’ I replied, hastily.
Taking in my many bottles of bleach, she took me aside. ‘I think you have a problem,’ she said.
Seeing Stuart that night, I couldn’t wait to share the joke.
‘She’s got a point,’ he said. ‘I could own Imperial Leather with all the soap you make me buy.’
With his support, I saw my doctor, who diagnosed me with obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD).
I didn’t just like things clean, I was a control freak!
It was such a relief to find a support group, and realise there were others like me. Over the next two years, I learned to fight OCD.
I don’t get up early to clean the house and, best of all, Stuart doesn’t have to shower every time we have sex. We’re expecting our first baby in June, and he’s moving back in! ‘You know how dirty babies can be, don’t you?’ Mum said.
‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘Which is why I’ll be relying on you to babysit a lot!’
With Stuart by my side, I can cope with anything. Including getting dirty in the shower!

Stuart Batcheltor, 39, says: ‘Having to shower before sex used to cause rows. I’m learning more about Dawn’s condition now and, hopefully, when we move in together again, things will be better. Dawn’s learning to ease up on me and has stopped insisting on me having showers before sex, which is a big step forward.’
Dawn Brueton, 39, Birmingham, West Midlands