He took out his pocket diary and showed me that the page for November 30 was torn out. “I do that every year on my birthday,” Ulay said. I just stared at his little book. Because I hated my birthday so much, I would always rip that page out of my datebook. Now I took out my pocket diary and opened it. The same page was torn out. “Me too,” I said. Ulay stared back. That night we went back to his place, and we stayed in bed for the next ten days. Our intense sexual chemistry was only a beginning. The fact that we shared a birthday was more than coincidence. From the start, we breathed the same
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