Offering

I'm talking to a friend - the news - movies. Another man walks up slowly, stops about 6 feet away, and settles his body to face mine. His hands and mouth are empty. Nothing to drink or smoke, and no words either. He's quiet, he tries his best to stand as still as possible. He catches my eye, once. And then fixes his gaze down at my boots. He doesn't kneel, doesn't get on his hands and knees. He doesn't talk. He waits. He's impatient, he's anxious, he's afraid of being ignored or insulted by me. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. He wonders if some friend of his, slumming it at the leather bar, will try to strike up a conversation and ruin the mood.

But tonight he's lucky. No blathering chums to distract him show up. And my friend who's talking to me, takes notice, and finishes his sentence and gives me a little smile. I ask my friend to excuse me, I shake his hand, and when he's walked away, I look at this man who's here waiting. I look at him closely, I assess what persona he's showing to me. He's wearing black cowboy boots, but not anything else that describes him as a leatherman. He looks to be in his early thirties. A time in his life when he probably could afford to dress like a leatherman if he wanted to. But perhaps he's traveling or came out after dinner, or perhaps he doesn't have a leather fetish.

That's not as important to me now, because he's offering something very valuable to me - respect. He's offering me patience. He's offering me his attention. I ask him his name. He answers, he keeps his eyes down. I tell him my name, I offer my gloved hand to shake, he grasps it firmly but less firmly than I grasp his. Now we talk a bit about trivial things, I take a pull on my beer, I enjoy my cigar. I watch him, I measure what he says and how he holds his body. I want him to be a man, I want him to look strong, I don't need him on his knees, - yet - but I want him to know and feel me as dominant. He doesn't cross his arms, he doesn't cross his legs. His head is slightly inclined downwards, his weight is balanced equally on both feet, he doesn't put his hands in his pockets. His body shows me that he's not hiding his vulnerablilites, his chest faces me, his crotch faces me, he doesn't armor his torso with his arms.

Trivial talk is over. Time to command. I tell him to place his arms behind his back, and hold onto his left wrist with his right hand. I tell him to stand with his feet as wide apart as his shoulders. This lowers him an inch, it gives him a posture that's defined, no more indecision about what to do with his hands. I step forward into his space, I put one of my thighs close enough to brush his crotch, I reach around and lightly place my right hand on the back of his neck, I lean over and let my beard brush his ear, and quietly tell him what he can expect if he agrees to accompany me home. I tell him that what I do to him won't hurt his health. I tell him that what I do to him won't make him feel like less of a man. I tell him that what we do is private between us and that it's his decision whether or not he's photographed or videotaped. I ask him if he needs someone to vouch for me, to tell him that I'm trustworthy.

Then we go.