“As if you were that much older!”
“At least I was old enough to know what a condom is.”
We're drifting off and I don't like where the current of this conversation is taking us. He's meant to find out who I am, but instead I'm wrapping myself in lies like rice in seaweed. Gary pops his sushi – wasabi and all – in his mouth while I close my eyes, preparing myself to break the tide.
“No man,” I say, “you're right. I'm more of a virgin than Holy Mary was when she gave birth to baby Jesus. My word.”
When I open my eyes again, Gary's eyes and mouth are wide open in disbelief.
“Oh come on,” I say, “don't be like that.”
But he's having none of it; he drops his chopsticks in the saucer of soy sauce and starts banging on his own chest in a rather apesque manner. He even rips open the collar and top buttons of his chequered shirt, baring a bit of chest hair. He's demonstrating his virility as if my virginity is contagious, to make sure no one mistakes us for two virgins.
“You like wasabi, sir?” The waiter is smiling like a frog while putting a glass of water in front of Gary. “You like wasabi very much?”