He gave me a disbelieving look. “You’ve never kissed anyone besides your husband in—how long? How many years have you been married?”

“Fifteen years. But we were together for a year before that and I never cheated on him.” Fact. “So sixteen years since I’ve kissed someone else.”

“Just…Wow.” We gazed at each other over the crevasse that lay between our world views: his flagrancy, my virtuousness. My virtuousness, which on some level I knew was a veneer or an overlay.

“Well, what’s the worst thing you have done?” he asked, settling left ankle onto right knee, leaning forward, really interested.

“This,” I said. But I smiled at him. Love me, said my smile.