An act of congress between two unconsummated bodies
Because I cleverly disguise my sinuous form in the cloak of a 14-year-old boy, I am often left alone by boorish, defensive delivery men and heaving, corpulent South Asian immigrants who stare with psychotic insistence for psychosis-inspiring durations on the Coney Island-bound F train. But every so often when I revert to the female variant of my humanoid form, a not unattractive middle aged man in a tweed suit and pretty parcel under his elbow will discretely eye me in my unmasked female magnitude, glancing askance from a suitable distance while allowing me the opportunity to return the overture without looking foolish. The playful look of my partner in philandering crime is then abruptly aborted if I do not respond. But because I am easily charmed by manners and mischief, because I am awed by a mysterious professor’s gentlemanly consideration for my volition (which, in my mind, means he’s human which means we could plausibly procreate which means I’m biologically into it), I say yes! to the darting eyes and downward gazes, interspersed head turns, hip swivels, silly smiles, masculine cigarette flicks and corner skirting and it’s SO much more fun to be an equal player in the flirting game, with both parties committed, neither harassed! Three cheers for civilized sexual levity!