I used to hang out and drink with a male friend in crowded bars and noisy dance halls. We started as buddies, and as time went on, we began flirting. One night while out drinking, we were talking about our past relationships and spicy situations we had been in. The conversation was heavy with innuendo, unspoken thrills as our knees touched. As he ended one of his stories, he leaned forward and whispered, “Is that something you would want to do, Baby Girl?”

I inhaled the name–Baby Girl. The speaker protective, the receiver diminutive and precious. And of course, dripping with sex. I had never been called a pet name that I instantly loved so much. Baby Girl.

Today, DH calls me Sweetheart, Kitten and Beautiful. I love every name he calls me. But I did ask him once if maybe, just perhaps, he could call me Baby Girl. He replied, no, that was another man’s name for me in another time and place, and he had his own nicknames for me.

But I’ll never forget how delicious it felt to be someone’s Baby Girl.


Just so you know: Whispers is the only category where I might embellish the truth…but it’s always based on my real life.

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