It finally happened…we’d been together for five months now, but I was so flustered at the question, I couldn’t have begun to remember when we actually started dating…not officially. But there it was, the question to end all questions…how many…she wanted to know my number. It had to be obvious, the stalling, the nervous laugh…”oh, you know…a few…” attempts to deflect, change the subject…stall for more time…but in the back of my head, I had no clue and then the panic set in…I had no clue about that week even…five days, how could I not even remember how many from the last five days.
What would she think…hell, what would I think if I actually counted them all…the shame…embarrassment…everyone’s number is high, right…right? I started to count…and count…I tried to remember each one, what they looked like…when the last time was…and the number grew, double digits…three in the last week alone. I panicked, my face surely betrayed all of the thoughts racing through my head…and then the look on her face when I blurted out a number, was it disbelief, shame, shock….had I just confirmed what she’d been thinking all along?
But you, good reader are not getting my number. Not only is it none of your business, but I have added more to it since that conversation…one more…today…not even an hour before writing this post and my god, they were sexy…they felt so right, so exquisite, so perfect…
Not the legs!
The Shoes…what number did you think I was talking about? I have a lot, and I want more.
Leave a Reply