When he approaches me, I am already spacey and sad. I’m watching to make sure my friend doesn’t get kidnapped from the play party. It’s her first public scene, and we’ve decided it’s best she be tied up and beaten to tears with a coal shovel where I can see her. For safety’s sake.

The first time he approached, I made eye contact. He wants me to top him, and I turn him down in the regretful tones that women use to avoid being murdered. Ever helpful, he offers to come by again later.

Later arrives, and I don’t even look up from her scene to reject him. He lingers, making conversation with himself. “Black pussy tastes so much better than white pussy,” he says, as though it’s a compliment. He leaves shortly afterward. He does not give his comment a second thought.

I will think about this exchange every time I consider topping.