Eventually (about three very long weeks later) I was in their garage bidding them farewell. I watched them turn the corner, waited for the roller door...to close then dashed through a door they had from the garage to the kitchen. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. I was in a fairly cosy corner of the kitchen behind a bench and in no time I had my jeans and panties around my ankles. With my bare ass against the cool door I used my right hand to rub my clit and my left to reach up. ”“I know. You’re already helping.” I sighed, already missing his arms around me. “I’m afraid helping me will only hurt you, at least for a while.”“How do you mean?”“I doubt I’ll feel like sex.”“Oh. That sucks.”“I’m sorry. If you hire a hooker, or I discover you in bed with a sex doll, I’ll lend you my credit card or change her batteries.”“You’re not funny.”“No.” I was miserable, sitting on my bed, beside my loving, wonderful husband, unable to touch him, unable to tell him, unable to shit.. More

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