I’m a 29-year-old woman in the middle of a sticky divorce with a life dreadfully lacking in sex. And what were my plans for the evening?

I was going to my nephew’s hockey game. Talk about a wild life. After fighting my way through a major traffic jam on the way to the rink and arriving about 45 minutes late, I discovered that my brother, my nephew, and everyone else had already left the arena. Wandering into the locker room, I ran into Doug, the maintenance man. Doug is a strapping six-foot-four, 215-pound Adonis. I had noticed him at previous games because he always wore tight T-shirts that showcased his ample biceps. We had spoken on occasion, but had never talked at length.

At the moment he was working on the shower heads. His shirt was off, displaying a chest right out of a muscle magazine. He... Read More