But instead, I throw my head back and laugh a forceful laugh. “Are you crazy? Why would I care?” I ask, the words tasting like acid coming up. “I mean, I’m sure you’re not over there thinking about me dating, right?” He doesn’t answer, but I see a tic in his forehead. Maybe it does bother him to think about me dating. I’m not going to tell him that he’s ruined my vagina or that when I went to the doctor, I asked him if my vagina could, in fact, be ruined from ever orgasming again. I don’t tell him that the look on the doctor’s face was utter disbelief or that the nurse whispered, “Oh my.”

“Are you busy next Saturday?” he asks me.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” I ask, surprised.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I have this gala with the SPCA, and I was wondering if you wanted to join me.” His eyes never leave mine. “It’s for a good cause.”

“What type of event is this?” I ask him, knowing full well I’ll go with him.

“Black tie,” he says. “The richest of the rich.” He laughs. “Just your average Saturday night soiree.”

“I’ll have to check my calendar when I get home,” I tell him, and he just nods. Before he can even say another word, the waiter comes out with our meals. We dance around the subject of next Saturday, and when it’s time to leave, I’ve finished a bottle of wine all by myself, and my laughter is coming out more. I get up, and well, I sit back down just as fast. He watches me when he rolls down his sleeves. “Okay, let’s try that again,” I say and get up, but now he’s standing beside me. His hand comes out to hold my waist and pulls me toward him. I look up at him, and he’s honestly the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. And I know that some men would cringe at being called beautiful, but that’s what he is. “Thank you,” I say, pushing out my chest a little like the hussy I am.