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It all started with a dry fuck and a bad mood. I am a thirty two-year-old librarian. Some local punks had totally screwed up my hard work in keeping the children's section sorted. One of them even called me a lesbian, which I definitely did not appreciate. O.K., I admit I do dress like a boy, with my over sized shirts and jeans. I know my breasts are really small and I do wear my hair super short but it's just that I can go from the shower to the car in 5 minutes. No make up, no girly fuss. When I got home I discovered the dog had made a mess all over my favorite chair. By the time my husband Ron got home, I was in a sour mood. I was just into my own misery of yet another day gone bad. Dinner with Ron was eaten in a mournful silence. To be honest I guess I had more of these moods than I cared to acknowledge. Just a normal sort of anger that crept at me. Maybe deep inside of me I always suspected something was missing, but that could just be hindsight. Some part of me was aware that my coolness had created a distance in my marriage.

Later that evening Ron and I were reading together. We do this a lot. We were lying on our king-size bed, each of us in our jeans. I had spoken maybe twenty words in the last three hours. I was just reveling in the ordinariness of my life and how pissed I was at those kids at the library and my ruined chair. Ron was the second man in my life. I had a brief fling at the end of my senior year in college, so I was not a virgin when I got married. But sex and the idea of sex was not high on my list. Ron never complained much, but I knew that there were women who might make him happier in that department than me. And I know he ...

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