Chapter One
THIS IS MY STORY.
It's not the story of a perfect woman in a perfect situation. It's not the story of a woman who made all the right decisions. It's not a story about how I became a different person because of something or someone that happened to me.
This story is about me being who I am, immovably, irrevocably, and unshakably—through everything that's happened to me. This story is about how I changed my life.
It begins six months ago, during a conversation over an unshared dinner … and it doesn't end with me being sorry.
***
“Hey, there's a special on cabins at Mount Rainier this weekend. Do you want to go?" I said over my plate.
"Hm?" he answered, not looking away from his flashing computer screen.
"Rainier. This weekend.” I pieced up the details so he'd be able to hear my words between the sounds of gunfire in his first-person shooter game.
"Sounds good. Have a good time."
I'd said we, but he hadn't heard me.
He was my husband, Dan. Good ol' dependable, loyal, faithful Dan. Dispassionate, introverted Dan. Not unloving, mind you; I can't say that my husband didn't love me. In fact, I was sure he did. Unfortunately, he had a problem. He had no sex-drive. What was worse, he openly admitted it.
I suppose some back-history is in order, since what will follow won't make much sense without it.
Our courtship began with a sturdy, passionate base. We had lots of sex— rough, dirty, amazing sex. Then, over the course of our second year of marriage, approximately six years into our relationship, his libido died.
We spent the next four years fighting over it. I am and always have been a lusty, hot-blooded woman. I was tempered and civil in day-to-day interactions, but if you got me in a room with Dan, then I became something else altogether...a woman who could have sex for hours, one who was willing to experiment. I went to lengths to please him.
I was not okay with celibacy. I'm not made that way, and really, I'd never understood why my husband didn't want sex.
Neither of us had major health problems. If we did, we weren't aware of them. I don't think he'd ever broken a single bone in his body. In terms of my looks, I jog, watch what I eat, and have a trim figure. I even have a little bit of an ass. You'll never hear me boasting, but I'm not bad looking. Needless to say, the idea that I was ugly didn't last long.
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Oregon-born Dahlia Salvatore lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington. When not surrounded by stacks of books, she's furiously writing her own. She enjoys writing and reading romance and erotica. Among her Indie peers are also some of her most powerful influences, and without their encouragement, she would not be where she is today. Dahlia loves hearing from her readers and critics alike. To contact her, follow this link or send her an email at authordahliasalvatore@gmail.com. Thanks for visiting!
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