The fingers slid up my sleeve. They were my own. I just wanted them to be someone else’s; to feel attention on me, physically and verbally.
I talked to myself. Told myself how attractive I was. I giggled in response–but I wasn’t sure if I was giggling because I was flattered or because I was talking to myself.
Anyway, the date with myself went alright. I might go out with me again.
Unless I find someone better.