Shut your eyes and think of England


What happens in a marriage? What happened in mine?

After a few years, sex is a different beast, but not a sexy one. It’s another grisly chore to finish before sleep.

“Paying the mortgage” is what I privately call sex with the husband. It’s part of my job, like the meals and the wan attempts at housecleaning. It’s earning my keep.

It’s what makes me a whore.

It’s not sex Against My Will. But it is sex Against My Wishes.

And when I think what it once was – night and day, apple and orange, cliché and other cliché. Could I change back? Do I even want to?

And is this just me, or is this pattern familiar to other women who think too much?


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