I know a man who has listened to me more attentively in one month than my husband has ever done for the last eight years. A man I can reach out and touch more intimately than any other man I have ever met.

Even adulteresses can occasionally be completely happy.

I just repeat to myself the eternal questions lovers whisper in their sleep: does he really love me, or the idea of me? More appropriately, the distance of the idea of me? Is there a right and a wrong way to love someone?

Can we ever stand up to a past life and its bearings?

I have had sex with men. I have slept with men. I have even - God help me - married one.

But I don't think I have ever made love to one until now.