J.B.
No! I do not share stranger-stained cabs with beautiful guests of the nightlife.
A face of carved angels. Features of a majestic creature. Chiseled perfectly. A gaze that cannot and must not, be disrupted.
No! I do not go home with men that I've only known for 20 minutes but under the streetlight he is exactly what I asked for.
No! I do not sip from the rim of alcoholic cans, laughing hysterically, with men I barely know. Periodically peering at my friend between coded messages. To see if she too has passed the realm of comfortability. Like me. Inebriated. Pure bliss. With that man in my peripheral
No! I do not kiss strange guys! Who chain smokes nicotine right after our lips met. Underneath the green gymnosperm. My high top sneakers providing the neglected inches from his face.
No! I do not sleep at strange men's homes! Changing out of my garments into his. Holding me. Hands that are unfamiliar. Cold. And unemotional.
No! I do not allow strange men to touch me! After my friend leaves. The door closes and my nipples are out. Pinched by his fingertips. Sweet nectar glides down my thigh. Wanting it, but for later.
No! I do not meet with the semi-stranger later! In a dress as red as punch, on my body, as ready as a virgin.
No! I do not have sex with semi-strangers! Who seduces me. In sweat. Under nightfall. During my second visit. Rough thrusts that I do not recognize. That are not weaved with love of the spirit. But of the flesh.
No! I do not fall in love with strangers. Who over 16 months constrains me. Confines me. Scars me. Kisses me. Sexes me. Neglects me. Excuses me. Disrespects me. Lies to me. Smiles at me. With the face of a literary God.
No! I do not do that!
No! That doesn't happen!
But yes.. His name is Justin..