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The editor's quite bizarre social life experiences.

"I mean, you're in your late twenties, successful, you've gone to college, you've been in the corporate world for six or seven years. You've traveled a bit.

"I know we've never really talked about it, but if I asked you with how many women you've been intimate would it be under ten, between ten and twenty-five, over fifty?"

"I, uh, um" I responded, somewhat aghast. I'd been with a good number of women I figured, but fifty? Not even in my wildest dreams! What was "a good number" anyway? Was it five, ten, twenty? I did a quick count and my total was probably two dozen -- thirty tops, especially if you include some of my crazy college years, polluted by a prior pal with a proclivity for potent pot.

I suddenly felt a tiny, but distinct chill accompanied by a commensurate excitement. Was she going to tell me that I was only the second or third man she'd been with? Or, was she, on the other hand, going to tell me that she was way up in the two or three digit (It couldn't be four, could it?) category?

Just considering that, grossed me out about her, made me feel a tad less significant in the manhood department, and simultaneously turned me on.

Who said men are simple? We may be childish, but we occasionally rise above "simple."

"I'd rather not say specifically, but it's probably between twenty and thirty," I finally answered her. "In college I dated a lot of different women, but in the last five or six years I've had an average of one or two steady girlfriends each year. I'm not necessarily looking to sleep with every woman I meet. At some point, when my career settles down and I'm done with school I'd like to find 'the one' and get married, have kids. You know."

She eyed me for a few moments, seemingly pondering what to say. To my surprise she appeared to change the subject.

"Ed, my mom died in an accident when I was a very little girl. I don't have any memories of her, just some photos from before I was born. My aunt helped my dad raise me for a while but then she moved away. Dad was good to me, but distant. After a while he began traveling for business. A neighbor or two stopped by every so often, but I was alone most of the time. When my dad was around he seemed always to be depressed or lonely and consistently laconic."

She stopped, thinking about things. I was thinking about how depressed this conversation was making me.

"Well, this conversation has really raised my spirits. Thanks so much," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "Oh waiter, one kabob skewer, please. I don't need a plate, just shove it in my eye."

Finally, I got a little smile out of her and even a chuckle.

"OK, OK," she said, "you don't want to discuss this. I get it."

"No, it's not that," but of course, it was that. I didn't want to discuss it. Was I crazy? I just wanted to go back to my place and let her have her way with me.

"You probably just want to have sex, don't you?" she asked me.

"Du-uh!" I answered. "You're the sexiest, most beautiful woman I've ever known. You make me laugh. And I think you underrate yourself because you've never gone to college. You may not have a degree but you're so bright and well read. I'll bet you're smarter than 99% of the people in my MBA program. I'm glad you're looking into taking some classes."

By the shine in her lovely blue-green eyes, it was clear she liked everything I said. After a moment, though, she turned serious.

"Ed, sometimes I think my breasts are like a binary star system. It's like they even have their own gravitational field."

That made me smile and laugh. I was glad to see her lighten up.

"One of the things I'm trying to say, but just can't seem to get out is that, though I know I'm pretty young, I've had a lot of things happen in my life.

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