Sex! Off the menu

Well, that’s it. It’s official. My wife has confirmed she no longer wants to have sex with me. I have to say, it hasn't come as a shock.

Seeing that we hadn't had sex for almost a year, I just assumed this was the case, but I had no idea it needed to become official.

I remember vividly the last time we had sex like it was just, well ……a year ago!

I have never penetrated any inflatable bedroom accessory such as a latex ‘Lucy Luscious Lips’, or any other blow up apparatus, but I imagine it would feel peculiarly similar to the detached feeling of our last sexual coming together.

Clearly, we were both utterly intoxicated with lashings of red wine and had both assumed we were in a different place with a fantasy alternative to each other. 

I pretended she was the human incarnation of Lucy Luscious Lips and no doubt, she pretended I was a living, breathing Louis Vuitton accessory of some description.

We stumbled into our house and dismissed the babysitter without haste. I opened some Champagne from the fridge and we drank and laughed like we had no recollection of the loathing we had of each other’s sober personalities.

I hadn't had a ‘five knuckle shuffle’ for weeks and her rampant rabbit batteries had leaked a few months earlier, so we pursued our unfamiliar frolics driven by the energy of inebriation and sexual starvation.

I fumbled with the zip to her dress and she responded by poking me in the eye with her index finger, in an accidental but automated reaction to me touching her affectionately.

The rest is history. I've had better.