Two weeks later, Arthur and I are at the local after work. He’s on his second pint, I’m feeling brave, so I just go for it.
"Simon, mate... how do you and Jen still act like teenagers?"
Simon laughs, but not like he’s taking the mickey. More like he’s been waiting for someone to ask.
"Cheers, Dave. But three years ago, I almost lost her."
"What? Seriously?"
"Dead serious. We were finished, mate. She was looking at flats online. Zero spark. Maybe once a month if I was lucky."
"Blimey, Arthur."
"So I tried all the normal rubbish. Weekend breaks, therapy, flowers. Nothing worked. I was 50, making good money, successful career, but feeling like a total failure where it mattered most."
Simon leans in. "This is going to sound a bit mental, but I figured out our problem wasn't in our heads. It was physical. At our age, we need to work smarter, not harder."
"Physical how?"
"Our bodies changed, didn't they? We’re not 25 anymore. But we’re still trying to do the same stuff that worked when we were lads."
I’m nodding because this is hitting home.
"Everything hurt. For her especially. Intimacy became this thing we both dreaded. So we did it less, which made us want it less. A total death spiral."
"So what changed?"
"I found out there’s this specific angle. Twenty-seven degrees. Sounds crackers, but it’s the sweet spot for maximum pleasure and zero pain."