"I never play."
“Take off your clothes” he said to me from the corner of pursed lips. I could see that he was curious how I’d respond when we finally found ourselves in this precarious situation.
Why not? It’s warm enough, early enough, quiet enough.
It was just before sunrise at prospect park. We had been roaming around Brooklyn all night. Walking from bar to bar, traversing the neighborhoods trying to find exactly where we belong.
It turns out it is nowhere, but this place will do.
I took out the perfectly twisted joint behind my ear.
Stop playing with me I say, as I spark the lighter and stoke the ember.
He grabs my wrist. He is serious, he wants me to see that. He squeezes me then slowly rubs up my arm. Bringing me closer, he leans into my ear, “I never play.”
I inhale my spliff and breathe it into his parted mouth in defiance.
He continues to stare. Intense and playful. I pass the weed and start untying my dress. Interlaced all the way up the front, I delicately and purposefully unravel every ribbon weaved through the loops.
I drop my dress from my shoulders to the ground.
It was a quick disrobing, as I rarely wear panties and never a bra. He stood silently. Dragging his breathe as the ember of the spliff illumined bright orange.
He took a few steps in, to reach out and touch.
This is all he wants. To control when my body is exposed and when it’s hidden. To see me obeying him. To touch gently at his will and to turn me down when he is sees fit.
He takes one more hit and passes it to me. He motions to my dress without a word. Then he turns away and walks over to the bench, crosses his leg and lights a cigarette awaiting my fully clothed arrival.