There was a message in my inbox from her. I opened and read it. She was interested in talking. I didn’t want to get my hopes up because it often started this way but then wouldn’t pan out. I replied to her message and we started texting. After a few days we decided to meet each other. We agreed to meet somewhere public and have a coffee or something. I almost couldn’t believe that this beautiful and sexy woman wanted to meet me but I kept my cool. I showed up at the coffee shop; she would be wearing a red top and a black skirt. I enter the shop and scan the room. I don’t see her so I order a drink and find a table. I’m not waiting long before I see here enter the shop. She is even more beautiful than her pictures. I get up and walk over to meet her. She smiles when she sees me and she gives me a hug. Her body presses against mine and I feel her breasts press against my chest. I have to remind myself to let her go so as to not make this uncomfortable or awkward. She orders a drink and. I would've run out of their screaming if not for the social inertia, the artificial construct that flies directly into the face of the fight or flight reflex. The deer-in-the-headlights pause human beings can also feel when confronted with their own unnatural sense of shame.And I thought I was so fucking progressive.And still that part of me was underneath, lurking, lying to me, chipping away at all my confidence.I'd like to think my cause gave me courage, but that would be bullshit. It was a sort of stubborn pride that for some reason made me feel that to walk into a classroom naked and then walk out as if I suddenly realized I had forgotten to put on the top, would've seemed more ditzy and fucking dumb than deliberately having no sense of modesty.There weren't any seats available except up in the front, so somehow, I summoned the sheer will to take each tentative step slowly down the room, past over 100 eyes. Each step seemed to last an eternity, especially with the knowledge that.
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