i.

He looked repulsive and I'd only agreed to sleep with him because he had promised weed. He sat by me, recounting his previous sexual encounters, commending the physical characteristics of the people he had slept with, as if they were his trophies. He lacked all discretion, he revealed, with pride, their names and even their roles in bed. Homosexuals in Pakistan usually abide by a strict code of discretion but today was all about breaking rules so I ignored his crudeness. I kept silent, nodding away, pretending to be interested in what he was saying but hoping he would just take out his stash of weed.

After around twenty anxious minutes he pulled out a plastic bag from his shoe containing what looked like crushed brown autumn leaves. I watched intently as he yanked the filter out of a cigarette and rolled the crushed brown leaves into a piece of paper. He continued speaking but my eyes were fixated on the joint in his hand. He lit it up, sat back in his seat and began to smoke it. After a couple of huffs he handed it to me.

I held it to my lips and inhaled. It felt like any other cigarette and I was almost disappointed by it's lack of effect. I continued smoking, until only the filter remained between my fingers. I slouched back on the sofa and waited for the weed to kick in. I started feeling heavy. I could feel the blood rush through my veins. The furniture in the room began dancing and his voice became this inaudible echoing sound. He offered me chalia saying something about my sugar level. I took it from his hand and dropped it to the ground.

'Where is the wash-room?' I demanded.

'Over there,' he said pointing somewhere, I wasn't quite sure where. I got up and, with immense confusion, found the bathroom. I'd imagined that I'd simply drop my face into the commode and start vomiting but the commode was the Indian kind (a hole in the ground) and my entire body fell to the ground as I tried to release the contents of my stomach. I suddenly realized how empty my stomach was. I hadn't eaten since last night and only managed to make loud puking noises; no puke. He walked into the bathroom and told me to go lie down in his room and in my state of mind I was capable of doing nothing but complying with his suggestions.

I noticed him coming into the room and closing the door behind him. He laid down on top of me pressing his lips against mine. I wasn't aroused but I instinctively pretended to be. I realized how distant I was from him and from everyone else I've slept with. I couldn't even remember his name; I just knew that I didn't really like him. I was in no mood of doing anything sexual and my honest weed induced self felt no shame in telling him this. I knew that we'd agreed to have sex and that the honourable thing to do would be to simply go through with it but my brain capacity had diminished and I felt like a little child. Little children don't pretend to enjoy things they don't enjoy.

He insisted that I'd enjoy myself once he shoves his penis up my ass. He'd told me earlier that he had a condom in his apartment but ignored me now when I told him to put it on. I pushed him away from me and assured him that he wouldn't get to fuck me today. He compromised and a hand-job later, he offered to drop me to a rikshaw.

I knew that I was in no state to go out in public but wanted to be as far away from this man as possible. I sat up and regained some of my sanity. The furniture still danced but I forced myself to focus solely on the task at hand; I had to get away from here.