I have played the field long enough to memorize its rules—and how I can bend them to my advantage or break them whenever necessary. And this is what I learned:
A body is only a body; nothing special. It only becomes more than itself when it meets with another, in an unfamiliar bed whose smell you won’t remember when you wake up. The two unknown bodies greet each other in a language only they can comprehend, like old friends; it is when as if your hands and legs have brains of their own and you watch them slither around his body—travelling into foreign territories and dominating them as you go. But when he grabs you by the neck and thrusts deeper and deeper into you, you’ll get what I mean.
I’ve had my fill of conquering lands and claiming everybody’s body as mine. That’s why, don’t undress me with your gaze if you don’t intend to help me put them back on at five in the morning, or when you want me gone at first light without breakfast nor a goodbye kiss. You can’t entirely conquer my body without conquering my heart; dethroning someone who’s been king all his life is never quite an easy task.
His body says hello. Don’t be rude. Invite him in. ■