Or is it?

She didn’t seem shy last week.

But now she’s hiding. Closeted away, even at her most vulnerable moments, beneath cotton fluff and silky panties.

She likes the attention, I suspect.

The whisper of her name; hushed conversations about her health and happiness; the constant, burning desire for closeness and connection.

Catch me if you can.

Shy perhaps. Seemingly distant and aloof as if the mention of her name barely attracts even the faintest response.

A no show for our party of two.

Or maybe she likes it.

Aware of cheers erupting from my legion of sperm impatient for an end to her leave and a return to the holiday that was only just beginning.