I didn’t shave my mustache off. Instead what I did was taped Elton John’s asshole to my top lip and then all of the sudden I had twice the dick in my mouth as before. It was almost more than I could swallow. Almost.
My handsome husband and I didn’t make love for almost six months. I was enraptured, lost to my old life, and, in this obsession, disregarded author Ayelet Waldman – who famously wrote of her 'smug well-being' and 'always vital, even torrid' sex life in the wake of childbirth: I ignored my husband as a man. Instead, I revelled in him as a different thing altogether, far more seductive and important, and infinitely more resonant. My husband was no longer just a man: he was the father of my child.