I am five. Sitting on my father's shoulders as he gallops around the park while I make horse noises. We buy ice cream and lie in the shade of a tree and point out images we see in the passing clouds. He swings me around in his arms and tells me that I can do anything I want and be anyone I want, and I believe him. He is the first.

I am sixteen. Already tall and leggy. I tower over most of the boys at school because they haven't yet hit puberty. Their mental age is still in single digits and when combined in a pack, their collective intelligence drops tenfold. He isn't that different to them but I decide it's time for me to become a woman. He is the second. And the first to finish first, leaving me unsatisfied. I do not mind. I am young now but I know that the other men in my life will treat me better.

I am nineteen. Still tall. I leave a man who I was never really serious about - you can hardly call four coffees, two dinners, and several movies serious - but who hurt me nevertheless when I found out he was also seeing someone else. He is the third. Less painful than I expected because, even though I lost a man who never had the potential to become anything more than a fling, I gained a good friend who I still see to this day. I count him because, afterward, I vow that I will never let a man treat me like that again.

I am twenty one. Still in college. I do not know what I want to do with my life so I change majors and minors. I figure I will stumble on something eventually, and I do. I want to take care of him so, when he asks me to defer, I eagerly agree. I work, clean, cook. I am there when he wakes up, and there when he comes home - no matter how late he is, I stay up for him. Number four is intelligent, athletic, and sometimes - when he isn't tired from long hours interning at the hospital - loving and gentle. The sex is incredible, then great, good, satisfactory, and then... sucky. He is cheating on me, I am sure of it. With the recollection of my vow not to be screwed over by men, I leave and get in my car and just drive.

I am twenty four. He is thirty six. He gives me a chance, but smooth talking, apologetic phone calls lure me to return to who I was running from. I try desperately to renew whatever we used to have, but a fall knocks some sense into me. I am welcomed back without question by the man I subsequently label the fifth, and I start to believe that he is how all men should be.

I am twenty six. He is number six, still believing what I believe, still saying the things I know need to be said. I want to help him change the lives of millions of Americans, like he has changed mine in so many ways already. He lied but he is still a decent and honorable man, and I will do everything I can to help him lead the country.

I am twenty seven. He is... short. But he makes me laugh and I am attracted to him. It might have gone somewhere but, once I know who he works for, I turn away. Still, it's been such a long time since I've had sex that, despite knowing how this could affect the others in my life, I invite him to my place. A one night stand, but I count him as my seventh because he had an irrevocably bad effect on my friends.

I am twenty eight. My eighth wears a uniform with a long row of buttons. He is a romantic and generous lover; he keeps secrets from me but I know he has no choice. We are together for awhile and although I don't see a future with us, I want to support him so, as I did in my youth, I choose to protect his career instead of mine - a decision I quickly regret and, consequently, I decide to never let any man suppress my talents and abilities.

I am twenty nine. Dressed in blue. I am amazing. He is still the fifth and sometimes I think he could also be the last. There's a flicker in his eyes, and in mine as well. He is clever, witty, kind, caring, gentle. He does not treat me as a child - not often, anyway, and other times only teasingly. He is a teacher, a mentor, a guide, a good friend. He believes in me. I do not want that to change and I try to keep him at an emotional distance so nothing will happen.

I am thirty. He shows me the world through a camera. He is my ninth because he makes me see clearly. He also makes me believe in a better world, the good in all people despite their vengeful anger. But he is a camel, passing in the desert, and when we say good bye I don't expect to see him again; when I do, I send him away because he is a reminder of pain and death.

I am thirty one. I need to move on because the fifth man on my list gives me no other choice. I believe I have to take my future into my own hands and make a decision that is best for me. He moves on as well and my guilt is lessened, but our relationship has changed forever. This time, having proved my value without his guidance, I hope to be able to return but, despite him taking me back all those years ago, his door is closed to me now.

I am thirty two and given another chance; reluctantly at first, but I am determined to prove that the third time is a charm. I am good at my job - a fact he says was never in doubt - and slowly we fall back into place as time goes by. He is still kind and gentle, still a mentor but even more... my best friend.

I am thirty five. He is forty seven. We are wearing silly paper hats and celebrating our combined birthdays because they are so close together. I give him a CD mix of all his favorite songs and, on the pretense of testing the suitability of his present, he wraps his arms around me and makes me dance with him. I am dipped, twirled, pirouetted, and boogied until we lose our breath and collapse in a corner. No one cares when he takes my chin in his hand, and turns my face to his.

I am fifty. In the future there will, of course, be many more names to add to the mental list of men who have made significant impacts on my life. I don't regret those already there who could be looked upon as negative influences. They are counted for the simple reason that their presence changed me for the better - even if it didn't feel that way at the time. I am where I am because of all of them: happily married to a man I have known for over twenty five years and, in retrospect, loved for almost as long. It might have taken me awhile to get here but I know I will be here forever.

I am sixty five. My daughter is now a mother and, unexpectedly, there is another man in my life. A baby, who immediately after entering it, is christened on my list as number ten, and Jacob to the rest of the world. He has no hair, whines all the time, and demands my constant adoring attention. He is the spitting image of his grandfather.