It was the first time we’d slept together, and we were lying there in that post-coital bliss when he turned to look at me.
“So, how many people have you had sex with?” he asked casually, calmly, as if it wasn’t the biggest F**K OFF question in the world.
Red flag officially raised.
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How dare he, my feminist mind growled to itself, utterly flawed that in this day and age a man could have the audacity to even think that such a question was appropriate. I'm 32 for God’s sake, ARE WE REALLY STILL DOING THIS?
But through my shock and horror, I quietly reasoned with myself. Flying off the handle would surely only indicate a guilty conscious. And in the throes of our first night together, I didn’t want to figuratively rock the boat.
And, I suppose if I am truly, positively honest with myself, I didn’t want him to judge me either.
Because that’s the thing about this line of inquiry.