Whatever activities I imagined I’d be doing on my honeymoon, phoning my mum in floods of tears wasn’t one of them. But my husband Alan and I had just consummated our marriage — and it had been a huge disappointment.Far from sensuous and thrilling, it was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it perfunctory affair. And it didn’t help that as soon as he’d finished, Alan plonked himself down in front of the TV to watch football in the Devon hotel, where we were staying for a week after our summer wedding. Convinced I’d made a terrible mistake, I rang my mum and told her I wanted to come home. Not sure what to say, she put Dad on the phone, who reassured me it was just early days.This was back in 1978 and you’d be forgiven for thinking that after getting to know each other’s bodies, we went on to have a fulfilling sex life during our 35-year marriage. Particularly as we would have five children together. But though I was devoted to Alan, who sadly died nine years ago having suffered from Parkinson’s, I did not have a single orgasm in our entire marriage.
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