As soon as my divorce became official a few years back, worked on a job working as a consultant that required traveling across the country. As I interacted with more and more new people for a few days at a time, I formulated a theory: The only way to cleanse my sexual palate of ex-husband residue was to sleep with a total stranger.
I was unwinding at the bar of a cheap, cozy hotel in the Midwest one night when a middle-aged traveling salesman started flirting with me: So was this the perfectly clichéd opportunity to regain control of my sex life? Maybe not: I noticed his wedding ring. At the risk of wasting erotic energy, I addressed the issue directly about his marital status
“My wife and I have an understanding,” he said.
Upstairs in his hotel room, we stripped off our clothes and went at each other. We went at it three times in a row, and with each orgasmic round I shed a layer of the post-divorce blues, just as I’d hoped.
The next morning, my healer of a salesman and I woke up to a call from his wife and his guilty tone revealed that his marital “agreement” was probably one-sided. Honestly, though, I didn’t feel bad. I needed to get laid, and I was grateful to be cured.
Getting laid does wonders!
