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My new romance - a work  in progress

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So, you're married for twenty-two years, and your life is safe and predictable, but you’re okay with that. You’re a successful surgeon with all of his hair and a healthy bank account, and so what if you’re bored out of your mind and secretly wish that you were living life on the fast track, like George Clooney before he got married, and Brad Pitt after he got divorced?

Then, suddenly, your prayers are answered and now you're not a respectable forty-four-year-old who has it made with a  beautiful house, and a faithful dog, and a devoted wife who always has supper on the table when you get home from work. Oh, no. Now you’re a broke-ass eighteen-year-old living in an apartment, eating take-out food and frozen dinners, and your dog pees on your foot every time he sees you, but you’re okay with that – because you’re also consumed with lust, and sure that the pheromones that took command of your dick will last forever, guaranteeing you a perpetual hard-on and a steady supply of mind-blowing orgasms. But, just like when you were eighteen, and lived your life with your head up your ass, you were wrong. Pheromones don’t make you a sexual superman, they make you stupid.

This, my friends, is a cautionary tale from a guy who learned the real secret of life:  there’s a reason passion wanes when  you reach  middle-age. Passion requires you to actually use that gym membership you all but forgot about because, unless you’re a conquistador with the blood of Zorro coursing through his veins, most days you’re just too damned tired to get it up.

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