Post It


I wake up slowly, my latest conquest lying naked next to me in bed: silky and blonde.  Her name is written on a postit stuck to her forehead: Sheila.  I've not yet worked out a better way to remember their names - there are so many. I tell them I love them, and they melt, of course - I'm a catch: handsome young six-figure executive, and not to mention SUPERB in bed.

I get up and go to the bathroom, still basking in the glow of passion. I had to tell her I loved her, but words are cheap.  I turn on the tap to wash my face and stop - in the mirror is a man looking at me with a postit on his forehead.


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