Number 1: Memory

Number 1. Oh, number one. Did you know I never told a soul, Number 1? But this is a good way to start this revelatory confessional, in the spirit of honesty, so I hope you won't mind my telling too much.

Before the wedding, my band was on tour in NZ. I was 22, back in my old stomping ground, with a notorious reputation and free of my fiancé, Medusa. 

Cue first hometown gig. As the opening band were getting into their stride, I saw her sipping on a long straw, listening to her friend, blondie, ~7.  Number 1, my memory told no lies of you. I punched my drummer in the arm and pointed her out.  He studied her head to toe, button nose and big blue eyes framed by hazelnut bangs, ivory skin with vanishing freckles and sparing makeup, hourglass figure hugged by a short, silvery skirt, skin, skin, skin... and heels... oh Number 1, you'll always be my favourite. The Badger (my drummer) let out a low whistle and simply said,

"Dude, it's a pity you're getting married."

"Yep, it certainly is. But I've gotta do the right thing."

I didn't.

After the gig, as we were loading gear into the van, she cornered me. We talked for half an hour - the boys got my gear packed up for me, cheers fellas! She wrote down her number and told me to call her, we'll have a smoke and catch up. With trembling hands I took the piece of paper, hugged her and said I'd see her soon.

In the van the boys jeered and laughed. They mocked and scorned. They wanted to know if I'd fuck her...? I took an eftpos receipt out of my wallet.

"Boys," I announced, "this is her number. I'm going to eat it." I munched away on that scrap of plastic-y paper to their cheers.

Two days later I called Number 1. She picked me up in town, and that afternoon we layed down on her bed smoking joints and listening to Tool on her dodgy old Sony mini-system. Fucking to Tool was a bit strange, as much as I like Tool. But she was into it, and I wouldn't have changed a thing.

There was history though. I'd dated and banged her older sister while we were all high-schoolers. After I graduated high-school, Number 1 and I got together, briefly and turbulently. A virgin, with sometimes severe bipolar, it was a forbidden coupling, which served only to make it deeper. We share that bond to this day.

When we finally fucked it was like scratching a primordial itch. It was animal. I remember it as an almost out of body experience, as if my genes had taken over and the spirit of my ancestors had determined to continuate the lineage with this woman and no other. I'd never fucked so hard in my life. Medusa is a solid 9.5, built for my exclusive preferences almost, and I really did love her at one time... but she could never have the effect on me that Number 1 did that day. No other woman has since. The reasons for that are myriad and beyond the scope of this blog. And probably beyond what I grok, or care to grok, about myself.