Two days later

In my childhood, doing something like what I had forced Jonathan to do would have been unthinkable. That thing would have permanently marked a man, as well as his friends and family. But in this new fluid world, everything is possible. I revisit the Instagram post in which Jonathan, dressed in tights, announces that he quits martial arts for classical dance. Under my instructions, he wrote that he was afraid of that violence and believed himself not to be man enough to compete. There was a long list of incredulous messages from his friends, mockeries from former opponents, but even several girls expressing support beneath the post. "Such a crazy world!", I think, smiling. I grab the phone and text my favourite ballerina "Come at 4 PM, we are alone". I was enjoying our time together. After the clarification of our roles, we met another time. I rented a little space near my house and arranged it like a little gym. I used the guy there as my personal fuckable punching bag. I tried vovinam techniques, and we even wrestled, but he was just too scared and ended up screaming between my thighs in no time. I ridiculed him, saying that he had never been a true fighter, and asked for submission; nobody had ever shown so much love for my legs before. I stand and take the ironing board out. Today it's Jonathan to do the chores.