There was a girl I dated once who didn't know my real name until we'd been dating forever. Or maybe it was just a few weeks. She'd heard it once but she didn't remember. She just called me by a pseudonym she knew was false. It worked. And then it had gone past the point where you could ask, and should I have told her? was it funny? and neither of us seemed to care that much.

I'm just thinking one evening where we were watching some movie on my laptop, just lying on my bed one hot summer night, and the air conditioner was broken in my building, and she kissed me and next thing I knew the movie was over and it was hot and dark and we were naked and it was still hot out, and it seemed so peaceful and perfect.

This was early on in our relationship and she hadn't figured out my name yet. And she said something like "This is nice," and I agreed, and she laid her head on my chest and just seemed so happy, or maybe contented is the word I want, and all I could do was sit there and think "she doesn't even know my name."

She didn't know my name. She found out at a party a few weeks later when one of my friends called me by name. "Oh, your name's Rob?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Sometimes I wonder if things would have been different if she never found out.

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