Today, in the last boxes I have yet to unpack, I found five versions of this novel I had forgotten I'd ever written. Five versions and a publisher's rejection letter. Somewhere there is probably a whole file full of rejections."I'm sorry, darling," I whispered. "I'm really sorry."
It was the first time in my life I could remember being at a loss for an explanation. All I knew for certain was that I was to blame.
My shoulders ached, my throat was so tight I could hardly speak, my head swam in guilty panic. My entire body was shaking.
Quite rightly. It had failed me utterly.
It would not let me do what I wanted to do. What I had dreamed of doing for as long as I could remember. And it wouldn't let me do it with the first woman I had ever met whom I totally, absolutely desired.
The woman I had just married.
"Maybe you're nervous," Sonia suggested brightly. "Maybe we're both too nervous." Surely it must be obvious that, however much I tried, I was feeling no lust at all. How could she be so calm about it?
Yes, I had honestly forgotten I had written this novel. I'm not even sure it is anywhere on my computer's memory, either. Yet, when I was transcribing the opening praragraphs here just now, I barely had to check the hard copy: I knew the words by heart.
PS It is, or was, called This could be the Last Time. Of course it wasn't.
SeasideMan
Pro 
Was that your first novel? Most first novels get rejected. It's normally the 2nd or 3rd where the writing is good enough for consideration.
Have you written more?
Tom.