"What exactly did I say?"

"You said ok."

"To what did I say ok?"

"I said I would suck you if I could fuck you. You said ok."

"I did?"

"You did."

"Did you do it?"

"I did it."

"I don't remember."

"Ok, I'll do it again." He moves towards you.

"No," you say, clutching at the covers. "I mean I don't remember saying ok."

"Well, how else did you get here?" he asks. "You don't think I knocked you out and dragged you kicking and screaming, do you?"

"I'm not a faggot."

"And your point?"

"I'm not going to play mama."

His smile fades as he ponders a moment. He sits up demurely, and adjusts the sheet over his folded legs. His long fingernails are lacquered bright red. The mop of brown hair is long on top and sculpted down to a fuzz around his ears and the nape of his neck. You try to remember if you've seen that look on magazine models recently. His full lips are still tinged with the red lipstick that had been on them last night. He has a small gold ring through his left nipple. Didn't that hurt? Both his nipples are surprisingly pointed and pink.

You ask, "What's your name?"

"Phyllis."

"How old are you?"

"Old enough that you don't have to worry." His eyes are a deep green.

"I want a number."

"23."

"Ok, Phyllis, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mislead you, but I am not gay."

Phyllis ponders a moment longer. "Ok," he says, "then you fuck me so I can come."