Statistically, they say the average male in their 30's thinks about sex 6 times an hour-- with different people. The UPS driver is one of my favorite fantasies, followed by a cop (where I put HIM in handcuffs), and then there's the guy who details cars in my office building garage with the perfect legs.

See, the male human is built for sex-- to plant his seed wherever he can. We're designed for monogamy, but only for the short term. Not too long ago, our average lifespan used to be to our early 30's. You married your mate at 16-20, giving yourself 10-15 years of marital bliss before you became worm food. Now of course, living to 100 isn't that uncommon. So is it realistic to think that we're supposed to stay with one person the rest or our lives?

Parrots mate for life, but they can fly. Perhaps if Drew and I could fly together, we'd be happy?

These have been my thoughts lately-- random, mixed up, and bizarre. I suppose it's because I'm searching for peace, trying to understand the difference between sex and intimacy and how to integrate them back into my marriage.

I look at my clock and realize Drew should have been here 22 minutes ago. Visiting day is only once a week and I need to see him. I don't just want to see him, I need to see him. Someone sane. Someone that will bring me back to reality. Oh sure, this sexual dysfunction clinic is very pretty and comfortable-- perhaps too comfortable with their soft pastel walls, manicured grounds, and ever so pleasant staff. Disneyland on drugs.

A knock on the door and my heart begins to race. I crack it open and there's my husband Drew, staring me down with a giant smile and carrying a bouquet of flowers. He steps inside and I shut the door, then simply step forward and wrap my arms around him in a much needed embrace.

I hold him, his warm body next to mine. I smell him. I don't let go.

"You okay?" he asks.

I don't answer, I just keep my arms wrapped around his back. He gets my vibe and remains silent, simply holding me.

"I love you." I mumble.

"I love you, too baby."

We look at each other and then lean forward, our mouths touching as we kiss-- gentle. There are rules. We both know we're not supposed to have sex until I leave the facility.

The explosion rips from between my legs, up through my bowels, into my stomach, up to my heart, and suddenly I want Drew. I want his lips across my naked body, I want him inside me, I want us to make love.

But he's awkward. I sense his concern. I look at him calmly, "I'm doing much better. I'm understanding who I am."

I kiss him again. This time however he kisses back harder and I can tell he wants me as bad as I want him.

But as my body continues to vibrate with sexual energy, I realize there's a problem. I can't get hard. My entire body tingling with heated needles and yet my groin is numb.

Dead.

Suddenly, I'm repulsed. I'm disgusted with myself and my ineptness of being a man. How can I be this weak?

"What...have done to me?" I mumble, the tears beginning to flow as I sit on the bed. I touch myself, still nothing there.

Drew sees me and suddenly he pauses, trying to comfort me.

"It's okay," he says. "We're starting over. We have to understand that."

"I don't know what to feel," I cry, feeling numb.

"You're going to be just fine."

"But are WE?"

Silence from the two of us, sitting on my twin bed in the sterile room, as he simply takes my hand. He doesn't let go. He holds my palm in his, the fit completed, and I realize he's answered my question.