After spending years trying to spice up my sex life, I gave up and took to my journal. Perhaps my gorgeous, cold, number-crunching husband simply wasn’t capable of the kind of passion I’d come to expect. After all, my ex-boyfriends—a skinhead turned US Marine turned motorcycle club outlaw, a baby-faced punk rocker out on parole, and a heavy metal bass player—were every bit as tattooed and testosterone fueled as the leading men in my favorite romance novels. If I couldn’t have that kind of passion again in real life, I could at least write about it. Right? Nobody
After spending years trying to spice up my sex life, I gave up and took to my journal. Perhaps my gorgeous, cold, number-crunching husband simply wasn’t capable of the kind of passion I’d come to expect. After all, my ex-boyfriends—a skinhead turned US Marine turned motorcycle club outlaw, a baby-faced punk rocker out on parole, and a heavy metal bass player—were every bit as tattooed and testosterone fueled as the leading men in my favorite romance novels. If I couldn’t have that kind of passion again in real life, I could at least write about it. Right? Nobody