I decided to call Margaret to thank her for our date and just to tell her how much I’d enjoyed our time together. Apparently, it was the right thing...to do. She assured me the feeling was mutual, and she looked forward to another date in the near future. Monday morning I got started earlier than usual, stopped by the supermarket on the way to work and bought some flowers. I got to work before most of my colleagues and before Margaret. I found a vase and put them on her desk without a note or. ‘I want to make sure you’re okay first. You’ve sounded so sad this week.’ ‘Your brand of sex therapy is the worst.’ ‘And yet, it works. Tell me how you’re feelin’, how you’re really feelin’, and I’ll let you come.’ Muttering in frustration, I attempted to form a coherent thought. ‘I’m okay. Don’t give me that look. Yes, I’m exhausted, and will be for the next nine months.’ He plucked my nipple between his fingers, pinching it with enough pressure to make it ultra-sensitive. ‘It’s not. More

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