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“Sorry, but it’s still the same as when I told you the last time and the time before that. It’s too painful, and I haven’t got a vagina anymore!” Lyn Fuller sighed as she removed her husband’s wandering hand. “Can’t you just accept it?”
From a clear vantage point between his wife’s legs, Neil Fuller let out an expletive as he risked a quick second glance:
“Yes you have, I can see one!” His finger pointed directly towards the object of the dispute.
“It’s for exit purposes only.”
“No, that’s the other end.”
“Well, can’t you stick something up there to help?” He took another glimpse; his erection deflating rapidly as he spoke.
“Wild yam is supposed to do the trick if you can’t take HRT.”
“Eh? You’ve got to stick a yam up there?” Neil looked quizzically at the size of the introitus on display, mentally comparing it to the dimensions of the root vegetable.
“Wild yam cream, dickhead.” She rolled her eyes.
“What good would that do?” He exhaled forcefully.
“I’ve o idea, but what else would you suggest?”
“How the fuck do I know? Ask the Quack for some bombers or something?”
“You mean pessaries?”
Lyn felt the mattress give a little creak of protestation as her husband flopped down onto the pillow:
“What am I supposed to do then? Tie a knot in it?”
“You know I don’t want to take HRT. Pessaries are also full of oestrogen, and you chucked away the KY, so if the wild yam cream’s no good then we’re stuffed.”
“Or not, as the case may be.” Neil had a sudden enlightening thought. “Marlon Brando used butter in ‘Last Tango in Paris.”
“Well I wouldn’t fancy spreading it on my bread after you’ve dipped your willy in it, and Maria Schneider shot him at the end anyway, so it didn’t do him any good in the long run.” Lyn closed her eyes and wished his obsession with sex would go away. “And no, you’re not sticking it in there either. Yeah, I saw that film too.”
She opened up one eye to watch as her husband turned over on his side, lifted himself up on one elbow, and reached over to turn off the lamp:
“We’re only in our fifties. Does that mean twenty or thirty years plus with no sex then?”
“There are other ways; you know that. It’s all about getting used to the new normal and accepting it.” Lyn shuffled over towards him and cuddled up to his warm back.
“I don’t want to get used to it.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to. My body is fifty five years old. I’m not the nineteen year old I was when we first met.”
“You can say that again. You were as randy as a sack full of rabbits back then.” A small smile played on Neil’s lips in the darkness, as he enjoyed a brief wave of nostalgia.
“But now thanks to Mother Nature I have no oestrogen. No oestrogen equals no hormone fluctuations, no randy feelings, and unfortunately no vagina. I can’t even have an orgasm anymore; not that I’d want one now anyway. But there’s one good thing about it.”
“You don’t say.” Neil sniffed dismissively and pulled the duvet up around his ears.
Lyn snaked an arm around his waist and whispered into his ear: “I don’t get any periods.”
“I thought you’d be pleased all the PMT has gone now.”
“I’m so pleased that I’m going to jump out of bed in a minute and do a little dance around the room.”
“Don’t think you’ve been spared either. You’re in the dangerous age for a man-o-pause. Everyone knows that. Men your age start to think they’re twenty again. They buy big motorbikes, get tattoos and earrings, and start chasing younger women.”
“Yeah? I can’t wait. When can I start? At least it sounds better than your hot flushes.”
“Hot flushes are not just a woman’s prerogative. I read about it; if a man has a low testosterone level he’ll get hot flushes as well. It’s just nature’s way of trying to bring the levels back up.”
“Low testosterone levels? I’ve got the stuff coming out of my fuckin’ ears!”
Turning away from him with another sigh, Lyn closed her eyes again and looked forward to the blessed relief of sleep:
“We’ll be ok. Millions of other middle aged couples have to go through this. Why should we be any different?”
“Millions of women take HRT.”
“It only delays menopausal symptoms; it doesn’t stop them, and with Mum and Carrie both dead at 52, please don’t expect me to take it.”
“If you were going to get breast cancer, you’d have got it by now.”
“Not necessarily, and I don’t want to help it along either by taking hormones.”
She felt disappointed at her husband’s lack of understanding:
“I love you. Don’t let this problem come between us.”
“It doesn’t sound as though I’m going to come at all.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! It’s all right for you; your body still works as it should! Not only do I now have no vagina, I’m also suffering with those hot flushes you so kindly mentioned, and achy joints.”
“I don’t have any say in it. Welcome to my world.” Lyn buried herself under the duvet, incensed that the irritation she felt for her husband at that moment would probably keep her awake for the next few hours.
As the sound of snoring permeated the room a light bulb came on in her brain, causing her to sit up in bed with the consequence of her new-found realisation:
Of course! Now she knew the reason why some men seemed to have mid-life crises in their fifties and dump their ageing wives for younger women! These terrible temptresses obviously all possessed one thing…………a wonderfully oiled and functioning vagina that was not all dried up!