CW: unwanted sex

I fucked a man without protection. Nothing bad happened. I wasn’t attracted to him, but he was a man who sought me out for one purpose. It didn’t matter when my body started shaking moments before he felt me up on the couch. I knew and my body knew, but I still fucked him. We watched two episodes of Game of Thrones as a pretense. He hunts wild game and I still gave him head. I saw his collection of Civil War history books as he bit my earlobe. Probably Republican. Whiskey dick, he grunts and slides out. I’m cold and emptied. I attempt to put my sweater back on, but I’m sweaty and my arms get stuck in the sleeves. Where are you going, he asks. I thought I was supposed to leave. I tell him I thought I was supposed to leave. Stay. I’m tired but I don’t fall asleep. I just want to go home.

We don’t have coffee or a morning-after conversation. He’s hungover. I’m not. He drops me off on a side street in the downtown area. It’s not quite far enough for a walk of shame to my car, but just awkward enough to make smalltalk. That was fun, he says, but not to me. I ask for his phone number. Anything to make this feel normal, like I meant for this to happen. Pretend that he likes me, could actually like me. Uh sure, yeah. He gives me his number but I already know he won’t text me. I shower. I haven’t had breakfast. I try to act like it was fine. Nothing bad happened.

I just want to go home. I’m tired but I don’t fall asleep. Stay. I tell him I thought I was supposed to leave. I thought I was supposed to leave. He asks, where are you going. I attempt to put my sweater back on, but I’m sweaty and my arms get stuck in the sleeves. I’m cold and emptied. Whiskey dick, he grunts and slides out. Probably Republican. I saw his collection of Civil War history books as he bit my earlobe. He hunts wild game and I still gave him head. We watched two episodes of Game of Thrones as a pretense. I knew and my body knew, but I still fucked him. It didn’t matter when my body started shaking moments before he felt me up on the couch. I wasn’t attracted to him, but he was a man who sought me out for one purpose. I fucked a man without protection.

Nothing bad happened. I try to act like it was fine. I haven’t had breakfast. I shower. He gives me his number but I already know he won’t text me. Uh sure, yeah. Pretend that he likes me, could actually like me. Anything to make this feel normal, like I meant for this to happen. I ask for his phone number. That was fun, he says, but not to me. It’s not quite far enough for a walk of shame to my car, but just awkward enough to make smalltalk. He drops me off on a side street in the downtown area. He’s hungover, I’m not. We don’t have coffee or a morning-after conversation. I just want to go home.

—

Hannah Cohen resides in Virginia with her two cats. She’s a graduate of the Queens University of Charlotte MFA program. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks: YEAR OF THE SCAPEGOAT (Glass Poetry Press, forthcoming 2022) and BAD ANATOMY (Glass Poetry Press, 2018). Hannah is one of the co-editors of the online literary journal Cotton Xenomorph. Publications include Qu Lit Mag, The Offing, The Rumpus, Cherry Tree, Entropy, Drunk Monkeys, Glass: A Journal of Poetry and others. She was a Best of the Net 2018 finalist and a Pushcart Prize nominee.

Photography by: Matthew Kerslake