Anonymous writer. Not much to say.
Sometimes what I miss most isn't sex. It's the quiet moments. The shared silence over morning coffee, a hand touching yours while watching some rubbish telly. My marriage ended three years ago and I'd
When Margaret left five years ago, she took more than half the house and most of my confidence. Suddenly I was this greying man in a half-empty terrace, wondering how intimacy had become something oth
I've been thinking about writing something here for a while. Keep stopping myself. Not sure what that says about me. Probably that I overthink things. That's accurate. Two years doing this. Before...
Sarah understood something most people don't. When she put her hand on my cheek last week, it wasn't just about sex. It was about contact. Human warmth. Something I've missed since Margaret left three
Sometimes it's not about the sex. There, I've said it. After twenty years of marriage and two years of stumbling through post-divorce loneliness, I've learned that what I'm really buying isn't physica