This morning I was up by 3 to be out the door by 3:30: my perfect coffee and questionable coordination hitting the road.
Some of the things I love about being up so early is the lack of filters. Having a pop song lodged in my head at that hour means that it will be played in the car on repeat for the duration of my trip. I will grip the wheel, swerve slightly as there are no other cars on the road to hint at lane locations, and sing as loudly as I can while giving the driver's seat a lap dance.It wakes me up.
This morning's pop song was Lady Gaga's Do What You Want. I sang along. I fantasized to it in the bold and drowning way one does when just waking up and so would swap the lyrics, unconsciously. "Do what you want with my body" became "Do what I want with your body" without fail the whole 30 minute drive.
In the still-dark-early mornings, need it be said:
We are all still
slightly unmasked.
If you're wondering, know that I'm not sorry
I arrived in the dark to a well-lit industrial cityscape that had been awake for hours.
Decades.
Barbed wire fence, reflective vests, pedestrian walkways marked in yellow.
I stepped out toward the forest of lined up semis, their steel silhouetted by the flood lights above and behind them. As I followed the yellow paint across the lot, a forklift rounded the corner and hesitated, as I did, wanting to make sure they could see me in my black jeans and sweatshirt. It stopped to let me pass- headlights glaring into my eyes.
"You must be new here." a voice snarled.
I stopped directly in front of the forklift, though not facing it, and let the voice hit my throat, slide down my chest to my stomach and spread between my legs.
I've been here a hundred times before. So many times, in so many cities, in so many states, throughout my life. I knew the rules. I knew its heightened chivalry and even the tamed the-boss-may-be-watching advances from the men of this world would never allow this.
It was a woman's voice.
My favorite kind.
The voice of a butch unsure of her own masculinity. The un-finessed touch of a wannabe bully. All work pants and strut without having found the delicate tension and timing of tender and tough.
You don't own my life but
I let a cocky smile spread slow across my face before I turned to face the headlights of the lift, and walked directly towards them.
"Now, I bet you're someone who could help me...", I said, continuing to walk towards her, my steps taking longer than necessary.
In the shadows above the glare of the headlights, I see her shift her body in her seat. Push herself back. Maintain her grip on the steering wheel.
[A curtain, this time heavy and black, closes upon our scene]
[A beat]
Although there are many things that open me, nothing opens me more than being the first hand to slide a bit
into the mouth
of an unsure and sloppy stallion.
Do what (I) want with (your) body
-k.
(all italicized words are lyrics from the pop song mentioned, Do What You Want and should, arguably, be sung in your head as you read this.)
(photo from Tobias Rocks tumblr)
i love this
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