It was a wet, dreary day. After four weeks with no rain, the drizzle had come in overnight. Hubbie, Paul, was at work; I had just waved him off and had just finished loading the dishwasher after the breakfast of cooked eggs and bacon that I had prepared us before Paul left.

I do think it is important that my man has a solid breakfast inside him before he leaves for work. About twice a week I do eggs and bacon; other days it is toast and honey and, the other days, cereal. A low-sugar cereal, such as Weetabix or shredded wheat. Sometimes I treat him with muesli, but it can contain so much hidden sugar; it is so important to read the ingredients these days.

I didn’t start the dishwasher; it would wait until after lunch, and even then, it might wait until after dinner, just depending on how much mess I had made. I went upstairs and stripped off my dressing gown and hung it up on the hook at the back of our bedroom door. The bedding was pulled back, giving it an airing. I wasn’t due to wash it until the weekend.

I looked out of the bedroom window; the street was quiet. It seemed few people actually wanted to go out on a wet day. Remembering that I was naked, I stepped back and headed into the ensuite. I sat on the edge of the bath and smoothed my pubis with shower gel and gave myself a little tidy-up.

I don’t really get many hairs down there; I have waxed and depilated so much over the years that there are few follicles left, but the odd one does spring a surprise every now and again. When it does, out comes the gel, and I use Paul’s razor. It had a battery in it that causes the blade to vibrate, and we girls all know how much fun that can be!

As the vestiges of my orgasm faded away, I was all hot and bothered, and a shower was most definitely required. I stood and turned the shower on and stepped in. I took the shower rose from its hook and washed away the last of the gel. The water spray was catching my nubbin and causing me to gasp. Goodness, how I wished my man was here right now, oh my.

I didn’t wash my hair; that was for another day. Today was just face, pits and bits, and they all got a thorough cleaning. Well, my view is, if you are going to do something, give it the attention it deserves. And let me tell you, my groin got all the attention it deserved, oh, yes.

I finished my shower and stepped out and began to rub myself dry. Once dry, I put my robe back on and went and sat in my bedroom in front of my dresser. I wanted to try a different foundation today; it was one of the new ones from Estée Lauder, and I had been waiting to try it, and today was perfect.

I heard a key in my front door, and then as the door was opening, I heard Graham, Paul’s Graham, call out.

“Hello. Anyone in?”

“Oh, yes,” I replied. “I’m just out of the shower; I’ll be down as soon as I have put my dressing gown on.”

“I’ll put the kettle on, Mica,” he called back.

I grabbed my dressing gown from the back of my door and threw it around my shoulders and did up the sash. I went downstairs carefully; I really didn’t want to trip on the stairs. Another minute wouldn’t hurt, and anyway, the kettle was still on the boil. I was really quite close to Graham; he had always treated me just like a daughter.

In the kitchen, Graham was standing next to the work surface. I went up to him and put my arms around him and gave him a squeeze.

“How’s Pauline?” I asked him as I stepped away and took the teapot out of the cupboard.

“Oh, well, you know, she has not been right since, well, you know.” I did know; the change hit her quite hard.

“But at least the night sweats have stopped; that is a relief.”

“Oh, good, poor Pauline, I have that to look forward to, I suppose,” I said ruefully.

“Well, yes, and when it happens, I hope Paul can handle things better than I have.”

“What do you mean, Graham?” I asked. I wondered what he could mean. How could Pauline getting the sweats affect him?

“The lack of intimacy. Pauline won’t, well, you know, she just won’t. It kind of leaves me high and dry. Very dry.”

I didn’t know what to say; I mean, none of us like to think of our parents or in-laws doing it, but it turns out, thinking of them not doing it is even worse.

“Oh, Graham, I’m sorry.” There was nothing else I could say. I made two mugs of tea and passed one to Graham. “Come on; let’s sit in the lounge.” Graham went first, and he sat in the single armchair. I sat on the sofa opposite. I was hugging my cup of tea; I don’t know why. I mean, it was a warm day; I wasn’t cold. Perhaps it is what Graham had said about Pauline that made me feel cool, especially as I had a desire for Paul to be here, giving me a real doing.