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Six weeks. Six agonizing weeks of waiting for your body to repair, waiting for the all clear from your doctor that you’re ready to have sex again after giving birth.
Sure, the first few weeks weren’t hard, you were recovering, getting used to your new life. But you’ve been counting down the days since that man on TV took his shirt off a couple weeks ago, and now it’s finally here.
Oh how you’ve ached to be touched. To touch someone. To have someone take you past the edge and make you lose yourself in pleasure. To feel someone inside you and know you’re doing the same for them.
You scroll through your phone, vibrating with anxious anticipation as you go through your contacts.
Your fingers stop on “hubby” for a second. A moment of hesitation. It should be him, you know it. You scroll down a little further. Down to me.
“Hey, long time no see. I just got some good news, want to come over and celebrate?”
Not a moment later, your phone buzzes in response.
“My place or yours?”
(So who am I? Is this an ongoing affair or a new fling? Is your husband aware? Does he like to watch? Or is it behind his back? Is the child even his?!?)
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