K told me over wine and pasta and dim lighting that he no longer met people on the internet for sex because, he said, it was just too easy that way. What he was doing with me, then, was baffling. We ate, drank, made empty eyes at one another before going back to “[his] place” to, I thought, have sex despite his declaration that he no longer did such things. Instead, he sat me down on his couch and told me the difference between rich and poor people. Rich people, he said, and I mean real rich–the people with the word foundation after their names, the people who are not seen–they care only about dynasty. He then led me by the hand out to his garage, where I found one of the royals bound and gagged and naked and cold. I recalled the reporters who solemnly spoke of abduction.
Then K and I had sex.
In a practiced manner I gathered my things and said Thanks and made toward the exit. In a soft voice, he called from his bedroom, You can’t leave.
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