I'd driven by the bookstore lots of times. Often, I'd thought about stopping, but I never did. Sometimes, when I got home, I'd close my eyes, and pretend that I had stopped, and gone into one of the booths, and had, well, I'd had a good time. I'm fifty, married, and work in a profession where discretion is absolutely necessary (I'm a CPA). My wife has pretty much given up on sex since
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