Loose Woman (Substack post)

It's a Thursday night. I reached deep down into myself, pulled out the version that likes to go out, and got her all pretty. This was my domain, this solitude going on hiatus. A lover was to be found. Butterfly clips over twisted curls, shea butter, almond oil, and lipgloss because, I thought, maybe some kissing. What God am I having tonight? I leave the house with my keys and siren eyes, hell-bent on calling a good time. I could be in somebody else’s night sky. Now, how bright I’ll be is the only question, and he has the answers—he who is unknown.

I blew smoke before I came in and wanted to have some strong hands and whisky eyes inside of me instead of liquor. Weed helps with the focus, in any case. I take the coke, smile like I was taught, and scan the room. Tonight, I am not prey. I am the stage, the performer tonight, and he is the audience—he who is unknown. I feel the music, and I do my dance. Twisting and smiling because I know my ancestors would be proud of how my hips are moving. And there he was, strong hands and whisky eyes staring at me like he knew my plan, his role. Bobbing and weaving through the crowd I no longer knew existed. He smiled, and I lay, a puddle on the floor with the other spilled drinks and body fluids. I giggle.

“You’ve been looking for me.” How did he know? All of my life. Our bodies move close now, like two drums, along with the beat. He was smiling down at me, sweat beads racing down his forehead.

“Can I buy you a drink?” How did he know?

I text my homegirl and tell her about my conquest. I’ll go into detail in the morning. The whiskey eyes comes back with a drink and shame I didn’t quite see earlier, but I know how to lie real good to myself. We dance. His hand was on the small of my back. A pit in my stomach that climbed into my throat like a warning sign. How fast of a season I am to change without warning. Yet, how fast I am to ignore. Typical.

“You shine real bright.” How did he know?

That was enough coincidence for me to remember the last, tall with ocean eyes, who swallowed me whole but spit me out because he liked to binge but not keep things down.

Yet, here I was still, silent, dancing and smiling because how do you say you changed your mind?

He takes my hand and leads me out the door. The air is cold; it's January. The girls are outside smoking cigarettes, and I ask for a drag. I don’t smoke cigarettes, but to continue making bad decisions was the plan.

“The Uber is almost here.” What he knew was that I would unfold. What he didn’t know was that I didn’t want to anymore. I remembered that solitude was a friend and regretted the casting aside.

I climbed into the Uber and left the girl inside of me who spoke up on the sidewalk with the cigarette-smoking girls. His hand climbs up my thigh, and I could be anywhere but in this Honda Civic. His shame finally touching mine.

He opens my door and grabs my hand because he wants to show me things as if what he had planned was new. We stumble upstairs and through a few doors. A kiss on my neck. A hand down my pants. My shirt, on the floor. I watch myself be loved on. Be devoured. Taken apart piece by piece, and when he was done, he did not help collect me, as I knew he wouldn’t. He smiled the way they do, turned over to go to lands you can only visit in your sleep, and I giggled. What else do you do when you’re disgusted with yourself? When all you want is love, but you don’t realize that it's in you where you find it?

I pick up my shirt and hurry down the stairs, returning to my solitude, once again.

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