I met K, a young waitress at a bar, a few months ago. The first time I noticed her, I was there with my wife and her parents. She was incredible looking -- curvy, with long black hair and blue eyes. She was sweet and a great waitress. I found it hard to keep my eyes off her.

The next time I noticed her, I was alone at the bar. Her friend mentioned that K was getting married in a week, so I asked her about it. As she told me her story, her incredible beauty washed over me, and I couldn't help but leer at the poetry of her movement -- her thighs moving against the hem of her short skirt, the gravity of her large breasts.

But as I learned her story, I started feeling ashamed for objectifying her so. Her soon-to-be-husband was an injured war veteran. They moved up their wedding date to give her access to his medical decisions.

Here was a woman who could easily be sucking dicks on a yacht but was marrying a vet so she could take care of him. I was humbled to hear her story, both by what he gave up for his country and by how ready she was, at her young age, to commit to better or worse with someone whose health was anything but secure.

I saw her today. She told me about her wedding -- how the zipper broke on her wedding dress and how her stepmom had to sow her into her dress. I thought, briefly, about the joy her husband must have had ripping her out of that dress when the festivities were all over. I'm glad for him. I hope he fucked her well, again and again. They both deserve it.

Seriously, why?

I'll tell you why I am here. I'm 37 and I think maybe I've been sleepwalking through my sex life.

I grew up in the 80's, when we were bombarded with "Just Say No" and other abstinance slogans and, somehow, they took root in me. Sure, I had a girlfriend and lost my virginity in college, but I've always kept my sexuality at a distance.

I had a few women along the way. I got married when I was 29 to a wonderful woman who was ideal in every way except, I realize now, she was frigid. It was difficult for me to touch her since she was extremely ticklish and she could never cum during sex. She could, however, cum through masturbation.

Naturally, I thought the problem was me. I tried harder and harder to satisfy her. I tried to be positive. I took this as a challenge but not a goal. She was very good at pleasuring me and we both refused to every make myself feel guilty. Still, I felt guilty and incompetent in bed.

Then my wife died suddenly of advanced lung cancer. There were just eight days between the first time a doctor said the word cancer to us and the day she died.

I still miss her terribly. She was my best friend, the person who got closest to me.

But I have since learned that I am a competent lover. Though my experience is not broad, it is deep. I've been witness to some orgasms that would have liked to have torn the room asunder! Of course I can't take full credit, but I am eligible for partial credit for these.

My religious upbringing makes me feel guilty about sex. Even though I'm educated enought to put that scripture into a proper historical and cultural context, I can't help but feel, well, repressed about certain things.

I want to pierce through the barrier between knowledge and realization. I want to feel free to explore my own pleasure.

That's why I'm here. You people inspire me.