My Dearest Shane, It's when the melancholy and longing for what could have been get the best of me that I go to the drawer. I know right where to find the plastic bag with my hand without searching. Far in the back of the bottom drawer of my dresser on the right, that's where it lives. I've done it a hundred times in the five years since that night in the hotel in Washington, D.C. It's a ritual that I repeat more frequent...

In case you hadn’t figured out from my previous stories, I have never really conformed to society’s norms when it comes to matters of sex and sexuality. I have always had an overactive libido. Okay, if the truth be told, I’ve always been a bit of a slut. My sex drive has more in common with a guy’s actually. I was always very popular with the guys in high school because, well, I often had sex on the first date and the oth...

It was a year or more since my divorce. I had just turned fifty and was thoroughly enjoying my newfound sexual freedom. I had engaged in numerous dalliances but nothing really spectacular unless you count Shane’s occasional visits from Europe (see my previous story Surrender). At the risk of sounding like a sexual predator, with the notable exception of Shane the men my age simply weren’t up to the task; not physically fi...