So what if I lied? Telling Arie that we’re cleaning the shed this weekend has the positive effect of sending him to bed early on a Friday instead of binge watching his current obsession until the early morning hours. It’s just before nine o’clock when he disappears into his room, pajamas slung low on his narrow hips, lean chest bare and damp after taking a shower. I count every tick of the clock—seconds that spiral into minutes—with my heart in my throat and my stomach in knots, until an hour, then two, has passed. My cock is rock hard and…