It seems that there really is a problem. I know this because I checked with my friend Rowena*. She’s 28, drop-dead gorgeous, prone to fishnets and bikinis, and the proud owner of a four-year relationship. If anyone could keep things jiggy, it’s she. But Rowena admits that “daily routine” can start to take priority over a love life.

She recommends vacations together as a pleasant jolt to things. And whenever her man splits town solo, he arrives home to find her juices a-flowing. I’ll call it the Reunion Principle. If all else fails, I can send my guy to Botswana for a month. Or beg him to temporarily dump me.

Redheaded Lucy*, 34, corroborates this thing with what she calls The Slump. Regular date nights help, she says. After a while together, candles and a dress go a long way. Lucy no longer worries about being a sexpot Monday to Friday, but she does try to stay habitually cute. Sex might grind to a halt, but God forbid the compliments should, too. Sally*, 41, stayed cute all right. When asked how she dealt with a bad case of fizzle, Sally said denial.

“Basically, I just denied that sex should be part of any healthy relationship. I completely forgot about it and started spending a lot of money on clothes.”

No roundup would be complete without a chat with my oldest friend. “Does sex dry up and, if so, what do you do about it?” I asked blond boxer Candace*. Her reply came fast and furious. “Yes, it happens. Then you get a divorce.”

I needed renowned psychiatrist/sex therapist Dr. Frank Sommers on the job. There are a number of reasons for dwindling sex drive, he told me. Job stress, children and accumulated resentment all serve to kill desire. Interestingly, sex lives are, to some degree, inherited. Dr. Sommers says we need to be taught good sex health by parental example or otherwise. And monogamy in itself complicates things.

“The things that bring about security in a relationship—predictability, routine, constancy—those very factors create routine and its twin, boredom, in our erotic lives,” he explains.

I’m glad the good doctor and I had our chat. Awareness is half the battle won, he told me. And so is being honest from the start about the extent of your sexual appetite. My guy and I just have some “dynamic dance moves” to work out to make for more pleasurable compromises as the need arises. I asked Dr. Sommers whether he thought we humans would be a happier species if we were more like Bonobo apes and use constant sex to create social ease. He laughed.

“There’s a lot to be said for that make-love-not-war concept,” he replied. I asked for final Valentine pointers. I listened hard, as the doctor told me women tend to do. Men, he reminded me, like to watch.

I’ve been holding out. There’s kryptonite to be had and it comes in the form of ex-stripper Mary Taylor’s new book, Bedroom Games: Stripteases, Seductions, and Other Surprises to Keep Your Partner Coming Back for More (Random House). Taylor runs a popular series of Peel and Play workshops, which are attended first and foremost by ladies with rekindling on their minds. Now you can learn her road-tested moves during the privacy of your own lunch break.

As is my habit, I began Taylor’s book by reading the final paragraph. This shows such terrible disrespect on my part for the proper construction of a climax that I don’t deserve to have learned nearly as much from Taylor as I did. Right away, I liked what I read, though. At the end of the day, Taylor is all about getting as hot over your latest love as you did over your first love. Yummy.

Besides many tangy autobiographical details about what it was like to strip for a living, Taylor includes a multitude of tips and pointers when it comes to treating your honey to your show business: steer clear of the bedroom; avoid chewy snacks; rescue that lingerie he got you; don’t lip-sync; clear a space at least 35 feet square; put out the dog and feed the cat; ship the kids off to your mother. And there are a few cautionary tales regarding peeling gone wrong: for instance, don’t opt for cling wrap—it gets too fiddly and screws with your momentum.

Taylor advises that we bring Halloween energy to Valentine’s Day. Have fun pondering your fella’s friskiest preferences (Mae West? rubber? discipline?), then go all out on the props and costume. Taylor even has provocative uses for those stray earrings that long ago lost their mates. Thanks to Taylor, I will now include the garage and a kiddy pool in my own repertoire. And I’ll provide deep shag carpet for my bumping and grinding comfort.

Taylor’s advice is sage. Remember that he has cycles, too, and it’s best to respect them: not every man likes a birthday bonk. And don’t go all burlesque on his ass the night after he flubs that big sales pitch he’s been planning.

Taylor reminds us that “learning to strip for your partner is not a form of therapy.” She warns there’ll be tears if you seek “to use seduction instead of communication to revive a failing relationship.” If all is basically well, however, there’s nothing a little “stirring the pot” won’t cure. “Think chicken soup,” recommends Taylor. If you want to know why, you’ll have to read her book.

There’s an incredible kiss in Mike Leigh’s latest movie, All or Nothing. A couple who’ve been on the rocks for ages lock lips for the first time in years. In the next scene, the little lady finally has on lipstick and the gent has ceremonially washed his hair and they’re both twinkling away like fairy lights.

This is not a glamorous couple, but the uplift in their affairs is the most deeply romantic thing I’ve seen on the screen in a long time. I was happy for them, but I never want to need a kiss like that myself. In my newly informed opinion, those kinds of kisses have got to be taken on at least as often as the garbage gets taken out.

The more satisfied I am, the more generous I am, so, quite frankly, I feel like I owe it to my mate, my society and my world to keep on getting it on. I know it won’t always be easy. I know I’m sometimes going to have to grin and bare it. But it’ll be worth it to always have a secret to tell, to always have a wiggle in my walk, to always have that apple of my eye.

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