Hello Nameless,
Let's start with your name. I don't know it, and I don't even know if it's because I don't remember it or if I never asked you. It's been about five years since we saw each other for the first and last time, and that's probably why you don't remember me, although I don't know if it's possible for someone to forget someone they've had sex with.
That day, a Wednesday, I was with my French friends at a bar we frequented because they had an open bar for women. It was an open bar for women because that's how the macho culture works: they drink, they pay.
I saw you from a distance and thought you were very handsome, bearded, and well-built. I immediately told my friend I was going to approach you. I was a little drunk, and as cowards say, that gave me courage. And I did. I approached you, said hello, told you my name, and we started dancing. To be honest, ever since I said hello, I wanted to take you to my house and take off our clothes. I was very clear about that, and that's why I approached you without too much hesitation. We danced for a while—I don't remember how long—until you asked your friend for a drink. I said, "Look, I already have my glass." It was the free plastic glass they gave out to women at the bar. And I showed it to you. You took it from me and gave me the one your friend made for me, the one I imagine you all had to pay for. I thought it was flirtatious of you.
I received it from you. I remember us being in a taxi. I remember you buying the CD from the taxi driver. I remember telling you I wanted to go home. I remember us arriving at a motel. I remember being in the shower together and you asking me to lend you my colorful necklace. I remember putting a condom on you. I remember waking up the next day. I remember seeing my phone with a bunch of missed calls from Lena. I remember calling a taxi. And I only remember these images, each lasting no more than two seconds.
I arrived home the next day and I remember going to sleep until after noon.
From the moment I got up to eat and drink as much water as I could, I began replaying every detail of the previous night in my head. Was I so drunk that I couldn't remember how we got to the taxi? Was I so drunk that I didn't demand my number one rule when fucking a stranger, which was to do it in my house?
"Friend!" Lena shouted at me from the balcony.
"I'm dead," I told him.
"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving last night? I was desperately looking for you until Claudio told me he saw you leave with a boy."
–I don't know why I didn't warn you. I always warn you. You know that.
Was I so drunk that I didn't tell my friend we were leaving? Was I so drunk that I barely remembered anything since you gave me the drink your friend handed me, right when I drank from that glass?
The truth is, I've had doubts ever since, and I always imagine that maybe you put something in that drink. That maybe you didn't fully trust your ability to seduce a woman and make her desire you. Maybe you didn't like receiving no for an answer, and that's why you needed a little help. Maybe it made you feel powerful to take away my ability to choose, until the last second, whether I wanted to have sex with you or not.
Since then and still today, I feel the sensation that you took away my ability to decide something that I had already decided and just by taking away that power, you took away my complete decision.
