After several weeks of clever (and I must say, good natured) needling and cajoling, he persuaded me to use it, by myself, in my bed. But I would leave...the bedroom door open just slightly, and he would be free to spy on me. *I tried hard not to look toward the door.I wanted to feel that I was being watched unaware. The sensation was – well, sensational! I did nothing different in my routine, circled and teased and took my time, luxuriated in the feeling only a woman knows how to deliver to. Kaho to batadu sabko aapke bare mein?”Then our conversation goes like this:-Me:- See we can’t talk this on the phone. Main message karta hu ok.Pooja:- Ok.I messaged her on WhatsApp.Me:- Where we can do this?P(Pooja):- Location to baad mein decide karenge, lekin karna kab hai?Me:- Today.P:- Are you serious about this?Me:- Ha.P:- Okay then location is decided.Me:- Kaha?P:- Yaha.Me:- Matlab?P:- Yaha office mein.Me :- Tum pagal ho gayi ho kya?P:- Yes dear, jabse aapka message padha hai tabse.Me:-. Both Janet and Dave had fallen into this routine almost from the day they married. Yes, the honeymoon had been every night, several times on most of them. But once normal life was resumed, and the daily grind of work took its toll the three times a week schedule seemed to suit them both. Or did it?As is often the case, both felt inside, they wanted more, but didn't know how the other one would react, so said nothing. Until that particular Monday, after the usual missionary position and mild. I think that was also when my headaches began. The nurse noticed my grimaces and asked if I was in pain. My speech center had been damaged by the accident, so I could not talk. I could form the words in my mind, but I couldn't get them out of my mouth. I mumbled and groaned something, and the nurse took that as a yes, so she asked the doctor for some sort of pain killer for me. I got it and went off into never-never land for the next few hours.Well, the headaches diminished over the next few.