When The Past Screams 'Vagina'

As opposed to 'When The Wind Cries Mary'.  Oh, ha ha.

Ahem.

A little bit past 7pm on a Friday.  Walked into The Body Shop with The Boyfriend and there she was.  In uniform behind the counter.  The face hits me first, then name tag confirms it.  It's Her - dark-haired, pale, pretty, rounder, older.  Aren't we all older now?  Yeah.

In a blink my mind yells 'Vagina'.  And it's not so great when that happens, because it usually means, "I've seen you naked".  Which leads to a fumbling in my skull for context because I have seen so many gorram tits and vulvas and assholes in my lifetime, more than any human could want or stand.
That's what happens when you used to work in 'The Adult Industry'.

I see her and I see... breasts, round, full, large-ish nipples.  Great hips, freckles, throaty laugh, very good curves.  Insertion scene with garden trowel (miniature, green and purple, spotted).  Couples video with then-boyfriend (blonde, average appendage, average handsome).  Solo stills, various.  Group stills and video (girls only, beach?).  We booked her so much; one of our regular girls - friendly and easy to get along with.
It's like in sci-fi shows where there's a close-up of the character's face then a 'swooshing' effect to cue the flashbacks.
It's like Doctor Who meets Fleshbot but awkward.

Last time we met it was in a club bathroom where both us us were really very drunk.  We hugged like long-lost ex-soldiers from the same platoon.  She was no longer with the blonde boyfriend ("god no, I'm not with him anymore the abusive motherf**ker!") and I was no longer in The Industry.

Now I make my purchase with my my best blank consumer face on - right here, right now we do not share a past.

Then The Boyfriend starts to enquire about the shaving products placed helpfully at the register's display shelf.  The three of us chat about soaps, creams and synthetic brushes; then she says to me, "I'm sure I know you from somewhere."
And I say, "Hmm, I don't think so...but, well, maybe we met at a party or something?"
She shakes her head. "I don't think it was a party. But I swear I know you, your face is really familiar."
I furrow my brow."Did you ever work in a call centre?"
She shakes her head again. "No".

The Boyfriend's interest in shaving gear ends.  "Good to chat with you," I smile and say as we leave, with the most naive and well-meaning look I can muster.

Everyone says I'm a terrible liar, that the look on my face gives it away.  They're right.  I'm a crap liar because  lying isn't important to me and I'm not good at things I don't care about.

But when it comes to someone's dignity, their professional standing in their current workplace, the person who they are now in front of me, the person they had been - I will fucking lie my ass off to honour that.

And I like to think I lied well.