Our first date, June insisted that we meet in a very public place. The entire date was to happen as we eyed eachother while sitting on facing benches, right in the middle of the heavy rush hour traffic of the train station. When she had suggested we meet there, after asking her where she would feel safest, i grinned to myself as i held onto the phone. The obvious security she'd feel in such a venue didn't make me feel defensive or creepy. I liked that she felt the need to put up safety measures, but i wasn't certain from who she was protecting herself.
As one of my favorite pastimes, I had spent many hours in peaceful solitude anchored to a seat in the veranda of the depot, just watching people. I'd watch them walk, the way they stepped their feet down, how they shifted their bodies to avoid oncoming pedestrians. The pageantry of flowing bodies fascinated me, and i found myself thrilled to be a pebble in the midst of it as a static witness. I knew that June felt the same way, but as shy as she tried to pretend she was, she also wanted the attention and eyes of those who walked by. June was an exhibitionist.
When she finally arrived, she was wearing many more layers than the hot weather demanded. She rushed in, late, flustered and incredibly apologetic, offering both vocal and postural penance. I knew all of this was on purpose. She'd spend the next 30 minutes of our rendez-vous sweating, fidgeting, fanning her face with her hands, then eventually peeling an article or two of clothing off. She wasn't attempting a civic and pathetically clumsy striptease. She sought the endurance of being humiliated, degraded and put in severe discomfort while the hundreds of eyes that hurried by looked at her in pity. Recognizing this desire of hers, a very familiar hunger rose up inside of me. I became quite merciless.
I didn't say anything for the next ten minutes, staring at her quietly behind tersely held eyes. I watched her body give over to the abuse she was putting it through, changing right in front of me. Not one to carry a conversation on her own, June fumbled through her explanation for why she'd arrived late. Ignoring her pleas for polite forgiveness, i eyed her appearance with disgust.
I leaned forward, putting my head right at her shoulder and sniffed heavily through my nose. I let her scent take root in my nostrils for a few seconds, then whispered into her ear.
"You smell...dirty. Couldn't you even stay clean enough to last through our date? You reek like a filthy, desperate slut."
She sucked in a pocket of air through her mouth. Her face reddened as her shoulders rolled into her lap, shrinking her already minute frame. Clearly, she'd given her appearance some effort, but was it the effort of someone who only had so much to offer or that of someone who hoped to be called on her shortcomings.
I got up from the bench and left her sitting alone in the train station.