HIM: Absolutely the only reason i smoke is i don’t know what else to do. ME: I smoke because it is a socialization ritual. HIM: You smoke because i tell you to. ME: Nothing could be further from the truth. HIM: _[sounding maybe a little tired, but still, for better or for worse, turned on]_ Would you like to try to prove that? ME: _[not really fooled, but then, there’s just enough of a chance, that...]_ Yes. HIM: _[getting up, realizing (again) he has to pee, swiftly also realizing that need could turn into an advantage]_ Come over here, shit boy. ME:Yes. _[goes over. Considers falling to knees without being asked; decides instead to remain standing, pending....]_ HIM: Get down on your knees. ME: _[so this is a real one, then...]_ Yes. _[gets down, eyes up]_ _HIM stands elaborately unmoving before ME. Hands on hips, he looks, no he gazes down upon ME. This pause glows with its own pregnancy, fat, oily, golden, wet. Sweat beads on the slick slick surface of this pause. HIM hands me a cigarette._ HIM: Smoke it. _[he doesn’t even have to say “cunt.” I heard it. Didn’t you?]_ ME: Yes.