The man approaches nervously. Asks her name. She nods with a smile, and he takes the seat opposite. It’s one of those first dates that just clicks: conversation flows, beats between topics act as punctuation rather than awkward silences. Drinks turns into dinner turns into cocktails turns into a taxi back to her place, where things continue to flow – this time physically. She reaches for a condom, but he touches her lightly on the wrist.
“Don’t worry, I’m on the gel.”
