It’s late. I trudge upstairs to our darkened bedroom. Peering through the crack in the door, I spy Paul on the computer again with the eerie blue light illuminating his face.

Then, I see her. He likes the old-fashioned types — curvy, voluptuous.

The caption reads: 1977 Bayliner Bucchaneer Motorsailer. This Bucchaneer Center Cockpit Sloop has been in the same family 24 years. Has new bottom paint in the fall of 2010. Two staterooms, two heads, great sail inventory, upgraded diesel engine, diesel heating system and more. SV sensation is in very good shape. Sails cleaned and checked. Spacious cabin including generous headroom. Board this vessel.

That’s just lewd, I think.

Generally, I feel that I’m lucky. Paul is a one-woman man. Everyday, he tells me I’m the sexiest woman alive. Everyday he tells me I’m beautiful, that he loves me, and that I’m wanted and desired.

With other women, he doesn’t even see them. We can chat with an absolutely stunning woman. When we’re done, we’ll start for home, and I’ll bring her up. Invariably, he’ll say “M__ who?” So, he’s either oblivious to all others or very, very savvy.

He lets me cover his eyes during the nude scenes of an R-movie. At dinner, his eyes never leave mine. His attention is wholly focused on his one and only — little ol’ me. What else can a woman ask for? He’s mine, completely and utterly mine.

Except …

that he double-takes on Land Cruisers, and kind of goes slack-jawed at a re-done Volkswagen bus. And I catch him late at night gawking at … sailboats.

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