When my lover, Simon, whispers my name into my ear, feverishly telling me how much he wants and needs me, I feel light-headed with desire. At home, I hear my name called out with great urgency all the time. Usually by my husband, Andrew, wanting to know where the other half of his favourite pair of socks has gone. Otherwise it’s my teenage daughter, Abigail, begging for a lift because she’s missed the bus into town. In other words, as an integral part of the mundane, everyday stuff of family life that’s bound to turn any woman’s passions to stone.
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