I gotta get this out somewhere, even if it's just to strangers on the internet. It’s midnight, maybe later, and I can't sleep. Again. It’s about… well, it’s about something pretty embarrassing, to be honest. I’m 62. Retired. Teacher. And something's just… broken, I guess. It started a few months ago. I remember the exact day. It was a Tuesday. I had finally gotten around to cleaning out the garage, you know, one of those projects you put off forever. And Marla, my wife, she came out with a couple of cold beers. We sat on the step, just looking at all the junk we’d actually managed to get rid of. It felt good. Accomplished. And then… she just looked at me, with that look. The one that means, "Hey, we're alone now, let's go inside." And I just… didn't feel it. Not a flicker. Not even a spark. I made some joke about being too tired from all the lifting, and she just laughed, sort of. But I could see it in her eyes, that little question mark. And in my head, a much BIGGER question mark. Because usually, that look from Marla? It’s like flipping a switch. Always has been. For 35 years. This wasn’t just a one-off thing. It kept happening. A week later, another quiet evening. She put on some music, lit some candles. You know, making an effort. And I just felt… nothing. Like my body was a separate entity, observing the scene, but not participating. Like I was watching a movie about someone else’s life, someone else’s desire. It was weird. Like being a ghost in my own bedroom. I started making excuses. "My back’s a bit off tonight, honey." Or, "Long day, you know how it is." Even though my days now consist of gardening and reading the paper. It felt stupid to say that out loud. The truth is, I just didn’t want to. The thought of it, honestly, felt like another chore. Like filing taxes. Not something I looked forward to, but something I felt I SHOULD do. For her. And that’s the part that really gets me. Marla is still… Marla. She’s beautiful to me. Still makes me laugh. Still catches my eye across a crowded room. Everything about her is the same. But something in me, something deep down, has just… shut off. Like a circuit breaker tripped and I can’t find the fuse box to reset it. It’s not a general lack of happiness, either. I enjoy my retirement. I golf. I see my grandkids. I like my life. So it’s not like I’m depressed. I don’t think. I mean, I’m not crying all the time or anything. My sleep is a bit off, but that’s probably from thinking about THIS all the time. It’s just this ONE specific thing. This… function. Or lack thereof. It feels like a betrayal. Of Marla. Of myself. Like my body decided to pack up and leave without telling the rest of me. I keep thinking, is this just… old age? Is this what happens at 62? But all my friends, the guys I golf with, they still joke about their wives, you know? They talk about "getting lucky" like it’s still a regular thing. And I just nod along, trying to look like I’m in on the joke, but inside I’m screaming, "WHAT AM I MISSING?!" It feels like everyone else got the memo, and I didn’t. I’ve been trying to google it, but you know, you type in "no libido old man" and you get all sorts of ads for pills and weird supplements. I don’t want pills. I want to understand. Is this normal? Is there something WRONG with me? I feel like I’m a science experiment gone wrong. Or like I failed some kind of final exam of manhood. It’s a lot to carry around, especially when you can’t talk about it to anyone. Because who do you even tell? Your doctor? Your wife? No. No way. Not yet. It’s too… personal. And embarrassing. Just typing this out, I feel my face getting hot. But I needed to say it. To someone. Anyone. Even if it's just the void.