I Found His Secret in the Condoms

My husband is impotent. I've reached this conclusion after repeated… experimentation.

Night fell. Lying next to him as he snored thunderlessly, collapsed into sleep, I felt a deep, weary helplessness settle over me.

I'd bought several rounds of herbal supplements from the traditional medicine practitioner—each one promising, none delivering.

People say if a man isn't touching you, it's either because he can't… or he's getting it somewhere else.

I'm convinced it's the former.

There's no denying it—age is a watershed.

Especially when your husband is pushing fifty.

A full twenty years older than me.

I met my husband before he made it big.

Back then, he was different—elegant, refined, impossibly charming. I was completely swept off my feet.

I threw myself into his arms without a second thought.

Everyone around us was stunned.

No one could understand why a young woman like me would be so taken with a middle-aged man—divorced, with a kid, no less.

A son only a few years younger than me.

I ignored them all. Married him without hesitation.

And honestly? For the most part, my choice paid off.

My husband treats me with incredible tenderness. He's mature, steady—carries that unique, seasoned romance only an older man can offer.

If there's one drawback…

It's his performance in bed.

Early on, it didn't bother me much. I wasn't particularly interested anyway.

But as I got older—whether it's hormonal changes or the influence of my dance class girlfriends—I've grown curious.

After tasting pleasure a few times… I've become intoxicated.

Hungry.

And for my husband, it's become a struggle.

I've tried all kinds of home remedies. Nothing seems to work.

The next morning, he woke early.

Hearing him stir, I drowsily opened my eyes.

He noticed, leaned down, and kissed my hair.

"Did I wake you?"

I shook my head gently.

"Sleep a little longer," he whispered.

He turned away and took off his pajamas.

In the soft morning light, I watched him.

For a man his age—and size—he's kept himself together pretty well.

At least there's no potbelly.

But the loose skin along his back… that doesn't lie. Time leaves its marks.

I remembered suggesting a few days ago that he try the gym.

He snapped back, accusing me of thinking he wasn't attractive anymore.

I didn't argue. Just turned over quietly.

Soon, I was asleep again.

That afternoon, I showed up at the beauty spa.

My best friend, Sophia, was waiting with a pout.

"Some people hold the title of shareholder but are never around!"

I laughed. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry!"

She turned away, pretending to be upset.

"How about I buy you that designer handbag?" I offered.