I will call you and we will meet.
The location doesn’t really matter as long as the sheets are clean.
The meeting point will be at an inconspicuous café across the street. When you arrive tactfully ten minutes early, we can perhaps make attempts at small talk, work the weather.
Push open those glass doors; walk up to the counter together, but not quite. You would tactfully pay the overnight rate though the seemingly disinterested cashier girl and we both know otherwise – this wouldn’t last more than a few hours.
Tap the key card. Listen to the robotic beep promising a false sense of security.
But before you enter,
Leave yourself at the door. Leave your personality by the threshold of the room. Take off your likes and dislikes, dreams and fears. I don’t want to know what your favourite colour is; what makes you laugh, what makes you cry.
Don’t tell me about your beliefs and principles. When it comes to your God, it matters not if there is more than one or if you believe in none.
Be static; an uninteresting sum of body parts, devoid of distinguishable marks. Don’t tell me what caused that scar or whom that tattoo was meant for. Be a uniform, mass-produced, manufactured, artificial product. Homogeneous and predictable in every form and manner.
Bring nothing through the door that I may remember you by.
Foreplay is optional; there is no need to waste time in coaxing each other to a place we both want to go. We will go through the motions, the well-practised moves. I will time my moans and sighs just right.
Don’t worry – you won’t be able to tell if I am faking it.
But in and throughout, call me no affectionate names. You can, however use something derogatory and predictable.
No, I will not refer to you as my father.
Run your hands over every inch of me, but memorise nothing. Explore every space and crevice but leave no marks, claim nothing. Kiss me nowhere unpredictable; don’t whisper sweet nothings into my ear.
When you finish, do not offer to cuddle or lie next to me.
I don’t need to hear how good it was, or if I was the best you ever had. You don’t have to make false promises to call me next week, or that we should do this again. This whole thing already reeks of bullshit, we need not add to the steaming pile.
You will come prepared with an excuse and have to leave. I won’t question it. I will feign despair at your hasty departure. But you will insist and I will relent.
You will dress yourself – No, I won’t help. Gather your things, comb your hair – leave no evidence but a used foil packet and crumpled sheets tinged with regret.
At the door, there will be neither handshakes nor awkward hugs. No transactions, be it affectionate or monetary.
You came through the door with nothing, you will leave with nothing.
Walk out the door.
Don’t look back.
How many must I get under before I get over you?