Friends

Chapter 39

A/N: Chapters 40-76 are on Patreon along with other exclusive content if you want to check those out!

Jasmines POV;

He looks like he's seen a ghost.

"That's a broad question. You have to ask something more specific," he says, sounding a bit nervous. Normally, he's smooth and poised, but the alcohol seems to be affecting him. He usually takes his time thinking through his words, but now it seems like he's struggling to focus.

"What's your body count?" I ask. "And don't lie."

"I honestly don't know. I stopped keeping track a few years ago," he admits.

"Ballpark it," I push.

"Above fifty, less than one hundred and fifty," he responds.

That's quite a wide range. I let out a short laugh, but it feels hollow, forced. I don't know if I should be amused or horrified—or maybe a little bit of both.

A knot forms in my stomach, tightening with every second that passes. I shouldn't care. I shouldn't let this get to me. But how can I not? The sheer number alone makes my chest feel tight, like I'm suddenly smaller, less significant. Fifty. A hundred. More. It's not just a number—it's a history, a past filled with people who came before me.

How many of them thought they were special? How many of them believed they meant something to him, only to become another tally in a list he no longer even remembers? Will I be any different? Or am I just next in line, a temporary fixture in his life until he moves on to someone else?

The thought makes my skin prickle with unease. I hate that I'm even thinking this way, but I can't help it. I've always struggled with feeling special, with believing I could be someone irreplaceable. And now, sitting here, I feel like I'm already losing a game I didn't even know I was playing.

I steal a glance at him, searching for something—anything—that might make this feel less overwhelming. His expression is calm, almost casual, like this conversation is just another night for him. But for me? It's something else entirely.

"I feel like you're not being entirely honest. That's way too broad. Be honest," I challenge him.

"I am being honest. Once I hit around forty-five, I stopped counting. I had a list, but it was on my old phone, and I lost it. I tried to keep track, but without the list, I just lost count—especially after I moved to Atlanta and started gaining some popularity on tik tok. Then it went from me not only pursuing women but also women pursuing me. I'd go out with friends, an attractive woman would approach me and then we would hang for a bit. One thing would lead to another..." he trails off.

I nod slowly, letting his words settle, but they don't really make me feel any better. If anything, they make me feel worse. It's not just that he's been with a lot of people—it's that he's lost track. Not only does he pursue women but they pursue him, so now I have to compete with the internet. They've all blurred together, faces and names and moments all blending into a haze.

I don't want to be a part of that haze.

"That's a lot," I mutter under my breath, unsure how to respond.

"Hey, don't take that as an insult," he says, giving me a look. "I'm just being honest."

"You're only saying that because you're a guy. If a woman told you her body count was that high, you'd probably be disgusted," I reply.

"I'm actually insulted that you think that I think that way. This isn't the 1900's. I don't look at women like they're children who are super innocent and incapable. I look at them as human beings, adults with cravings just like me. Some women have high cravings, other women have low cravings. As long as y'all are being safe and not hurting anyone, including yourselves—and quite frankly I can't even say that because I love women that love pain—but the point is, the more the merrier if you ask me."

That might be the sexiest thing I've ever heard a man say. His words catch me off guard, leaving me deep in thought. He really doesn't see things the way I expected. But then another thought hits me, something heavier, something that makes my heart squeeze. I've met men like Kendrick—men who believe a woman's worth is tied to her purity, men who think sex is theirs to judge, to gatekeep. I've spent too much time around those types, hearing them talk about women who "give it up too easily" while simultaneously chasing those same women. And here Marc is, sitting across from me, shattering everything I thought I knew about how men see sex and women's choices.

I didn't think men like him existed. Men who don't expect women to be untouched, untainted. Men who don't assign value to a number. It's... shocking. A relief. And yet, I don't know what to do with it. But wait... if he prefers a woman with more experience... Does that mean...?

I chew on my lip, considering. Maybe he means it. Maybe he doesn't. But that doesn't erase my insecurity, the nagging feeling that I'm standing in the shadow of people who came before me. That no matter how much he claims the number doesn't matter, I'll always be compared to them in some way.

"I've only been with two and a half guys, so why would you be interested in me?" I ask, feeling self-conscious.

"Two and a half?" He chuckles. "How do you get 'half' a guy?"

"I slept with two men but only went part of the way with the third," I clarify, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Got it. But to answer your question, it's not about the number itself. It's what the number suggests. People have different experiences, and the more experiences someone has, the more they learn about what they like and don't like. It's not about quantity; it's about variety."

I let that sink in, but I'm still not sure it makes me feel any better. It still feels like a gulf exists between us, like his world is so much bigger than mine, and I don't know if I'll ever be enough to hold his interest.

"I don't really understand, you can be with one person and try a lot of things with that one person," I admit.

"Okay, I'll give you an example. I had slept with this one girl and I choked her. Afterwards, she told me that she was surprised that she liked it because her ex used to choke her and she hated it. He was the only man she'd been with. As opposed to if she would've gotten choked by, let's say 50 other guys, at least one of them would've done it in a way that she would've liked or at least in a way she didn't hate."

"Yeah, but it's not guaranteed," I retort.

"True, but 50 times more likely to find something better in that regard," he retorts.

That makes sense in theory, but I'm still not sure how it applies to me.

"Body count just suggests variety—different experiences. As long as you're open-minded and give off the energy I'm looking for, I don't really care about the number."

"What energy are you looking for?" I ask, curious.

He places a hand on my leg, his expression turning serious.

"Someone that can be a princess outside of the bedroom and a slut in the bedroom."