25 - The Morning Wood in Climate Change

I’d marked foreign territory like an untrained pussycat, been serenaded naked with poetry, celebrated the end of Ramadan with Amar, and gone on a fully clothed park-bench date with a new guy. But for the first time, storm clouds were gathering on the home front. Until now, the concept of “the dating wife” had only ever been a brief, contained phenomenon. I’d never quite managed to turn it into a routine.

Why not, you ask?

Honestly—I ask myself that, too. There were school holidays. There was male fear of blood tests. My hesitation. And maybe a hint of cosmic irony. Ever since London, my curiosity had been reignited. For a while, I was even tempted to launch “Open Marriage – Global Edition”.  My search for English-speaking dates had already taken me around a bit, and I thought, why not expand?

But if I’m completely honest, the dates were interesting, yes—but I had no idea anymore what I was actually looking for in all that variety. And apparently, that confusion had started to affect my husband’s libido, too. Our open marriage was supposed to be a network of meaningful connections—not a penis map.

The mister had never had performance issues before. If duty called, I could wake him at three in the morning, and he’d rise to the occasion—literally. But lately, there’d been… technical difficulties. Repeatedly. I noticed, of course—but I wasn’t alarmed. My husband has never been a fan of change, and right now, our whole life is one ongoing experiment in transformation. There are other women now. New, unknown, exciting. It’s understandable that the familiar sometimes loses its edge. When he finally brought it up—and said openly that the situation was weighing on his mind as much as pressing on his penis—it became one of those rare conversations that make a couple grow, if you truly listen and don’t treat every feeling as a personal attack.

Casually, almost in passing, he mentioned that he hardly ever woke up with morning wood anymore—and hadn’t for about a year and a half. I was embarrassed not to have noticed.

Or had I?

Maybe I’d simply chalked it up to wear and tear.

But no, dear readers, we have since learned: the regular morning erection—from toddlerhood to old age—is one of nature’s vital signs. If it’s missing, it might be time for a chat with your doctor.

Because, as many men know all too well, once you start thinking about erections, you can pretty much say goodbye to having one. That’s exactly what happened to the hubby. He booked an appointment online. The doctor seemed more interested in our sex life than in his patient’s blood pressure. A blood test was ordered, along with a temporary prescription—a little chemical support until the root cause was found. To be honest, I was surprised by how fast it all went. On Friday, the mister complained about his third failed erection. By Monday evening, both of them—my husband and his buddy—were standing confidently in the bedroom doorway again—pharmaceutical support in hand.

Funny, isn’t it?

Men get blue pills. Women get PPP—not Penis-Pause Prosecco, but Pseudo-Psychological Podcasts with titles like “Find Yourself Before He Finds You Too Exhausting.”