Inside his moderately neat bedroom, I worked hard. I concentrated on not thinking. It took a lot of effort to stay there, in that moment, in that apartment, with that boy. I was lightly exhausted even before there was any reason to be.

Is this the best kind of sex? The kind that’s all about you, only about you. He doesn’t matter. He isn’t even really there.

It’s all in the mind, isn’t it?

Appearances.

It’s in the perfectly timed arch of a back and nails that hurt just enough to feel good, to feel like she’s lost control. It’s a cry brushed up against an ear so the sound is tactile, soft lips grazing a soft lobe. It’s holding a gaze right before she slow-shuts her eyes and bows her head back, showing you the hollow at the bottom of her neck where the beats of her heart are recorded. She’s lost control, you think—God yes, come for me, damn that feels good.

And you feel your power surge through you and out of you and you put it in me, desperately, and can’t you see that it’s my hands and my eyes and my tongue on your skin that’s doing this?

Not you. Never you. You’re nothing. It’s always him, and I should apologize to you, but you wouldn’t want me to.

All I have to do is pretend to lose control and, because you are a man, you believe it your due, you accept that you can do this to me. But the reins will always be in my hands and your fucking world will be in my mouth. This is a flawlessly executed play, and you lie back and your chest is level with the surface of the nightstand and then it’s rising to the top of the alarm clock. Nightstand-alarm clock-nightstand-alarm clock-nightstand-alarm clock.

‘Fuck.’ His voice is just threads. ‘Fuuuuuuuuck.’

Please don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me.

But, of course, you’re going to sit up and shake your head and hold me and say something nice and I’m going to want to throw up but settle for shrugging out of your hard, sick embrace.

‘Do you have a cigarette?’

‘I don’t smoke, love.’

I blanched. ‘Okay, well, I need to go out and get some. It was nice meeting you.’

‘I’ll walk you out, yeah?’

‘No, you won’t.’

He looked confused, again. This is all I would remember of him, this confused expression and the blue jumper that was now lying on the floor.

‘You could sleep here tonight, if you wanted to.’

‘Jesus, man. Get a hold of yourself. Bye.’