By Lynn Lake


Marianne poured me another cup of coffee, then replaced the decanter and sat back down at the kitchen table. “You didn’t come over here just to discuss gardening, did you, Kate?”

            I looked up and smiled at her. Marianne and I had been friends too long for me to put anything over on her. I gazed into her crystal-clear blue eyes and the bedroom problems between my husband and I gushed out of my mouth. After ten years of mostly happy marriage, sex had become more of a chore than a joy lately – something to do once a week, like changing the sheets on the bed. Our love life had become stale, boring. It wasn’t because Jim wasn’t a good lover, it was just that with the kids and the jobs and the new house, sex had become secondary, and sadly, it didn’t look like the situation would improve anytime soon.  

            Marianne twirled a strand of her long, black hair around a slim, silver-tipped finger. “Roger and I had a very similar problem,” she said, her glossy lips breaking into a sympathetic smile. “I think all couples do eventually. You get completely overwhelmed by the day-to-day activities of living and striving to get ahead, such that sex doesn’t seem so important anymore.”

            I nodded, then blatantly inquired, “And how did you guys handle it?”

            Marianne’s perfectly made-up, pearl-white face suddenly turned a salmon shade of pink, and her eyes fluttered back and forth between her coffee cup and me. “Well … you’ve got to do something to, um … shock the sexuality back into your marriage, so to speak. For Roger and me, it was, uh …”

            “Hey,” I interjected quickly, “if you don’t want to talk about it …”

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