We woke on opposite sides of the bed, the blinds casting slants of sunlight directly in our eyes. In the early hours our daughter had woken us both, whining and climbing over our entangled bodies to wedge herself in the middle. She lay open mouthed and dreaming now. I sat up and smiled to myself; last night had been on fire. As I gazed at the curve of my husband’s muscled shoulder, arm thrown up over his face, I thought how sex after all these years was not anything I’d been afraid it was going to be: not boring, not remote, not lacking. It was still one hell of a good time...
Read the rest of my piece on the new online magazine, Together
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