What’s Your Number

35 is my Sleep Number but I’ve slept with more women than that.

My answer would be “enough”

If she insisted the answer would be “under 100”

What’s really my number? Beats me.

More than 70 less than 80 I think. I lost count around the 50’s. If I attempt to list them today there’s a few I’m not sure if we had sex or maybe we blew each other. I know I tend to forget about coyote ugly indiscretions. Does my number sound high? Let’s break it down.

I lost my v-card at 16. I’m in my low 40′s. It averages out to around three a year. Which is healthy.

Do I care what her number is? No. Hell no.

I will ask when the last time she had sex was and about her last relationship. That’s a much better question.

If a woman volunteers her number and it’s higher than about 10 a year you start to wonder. If that’s the case take it for what it is. A one night stand.

Six years ago, I began a relationship with a woman. She was 35. I had already made plans to live with her and her son. My girlfriend volunteered her number first.

“Four.” She said proudly.

Four? The fuck? She was married for 6 years before me. She was attractive. What the hell had she been doing before that?

Long term relationships.

She wanted to know my exact number. She wanted to know who every girl was. She interrogated me over the next week. I should have lied. She looked them all up on Facebook and started comparing herself to them. She was would be towards the bottom of the list if I ranked them by looks. She was pretty but some of my girlfriends were gorgeous.

But so what?

She was attractive, she wasn’t a bitch, and fiercely loyal to me. Her lack of experience was a non-issue. Sex was great. She was GGG (good giving and game) but best of all we had simultaneous orgasms every time we had sex. Simultaneous orgasms before and since are as common as shiny Pokémon. Zero fucks given that she was a 6 and my exes averaged a bit below an 8.

Her previous lovers were either virgins or had slept with one other women. Lights off. Missionary position. Maybe a kiss before. She had never received a proper deep dicking.

Her love morphed into infatuation. Her favorite thing to talk about was my exes. It drove me nuts. They were exes for a reason. I never talked about any of them nor did I want to. She would tell me what they were up to on Facebook. Because she friended all of them. I never even told her all their names!

I know how to fix low self-esteem. All you need to is keep telling them how helpful and beautiful they are until they believe you. Because you mean it when you say it.

Not this time. After 9 months of reassurance and compliments she wasn’t buying it. She didn’t want to hear that she was beautiful. She wanted to talk about what I did with my dick in my 20’s. Every. Single. Day.

I had to end it. The final straw was when I went to the store to get milk because she asked me to, then accusing me of picking up women because I was gone for 15 minutes. It shouldn’t have taken more than 10 minutes according to her.

So how many? Enough. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Founder of my keys every morning. Ex-baby. Google me, I autofill.

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