orgasmic life
T
he brown envelope I’d carried around with me was now rather tatty. It had travelled to Cornwall, Wales and to and from my office, yet remained unopened. It was never quite the right time to unleash what I suspected it contained. Finally, sitting in my car outside my house, which felt like both a safe, but transient, location for whatever emotions may erupt, I decided the time had come. Yet, as I pulled out my divorce papers, there were no tears; instead, I just breathed a sigh of relief. It was done.
Long live the libido