…minding my own business, when a girl came up to me and asked for my autograph. I looked at her and asked “Who, me?” “Yeah”, she said. “You’re Maxi Priest, right?” I had a moment of clarity, right there, wondering if I should assume the role or be honest. There were two paths laid out in front of me, one where I accept the misunderstanding as truth and play into it, maybe talk her up and take my own pleasure from her, and one where I tell the actual truth, and just walk away. The first path would end my loneliness if just for a few hours, giving as well as getting, letting her fantasies be fulfilled as I indulged in my own. What did I care if this just led to heartbreak? I didn’t know her, wouldn’t care about her, would be all ready to leave her stewing in her own misery and embarrassment and humiliation. Something she could never tell her friends, her family. It would be hers, forever. The idea of it didn’t even bother me. I would enjoy myself then leave her in a puddle of our sweat, making sure she knew what had happened so that the tears could commence. Isn’t that what all women deserved? After all the women who have lied to me, cheated me, cheated on me, I’ve come to the conclusion that they were all alike. So abusing this girls trust seemed fair. The problem was that that isn’t who I am, so I said “No, I’m not, sorry”, and walked away to her apologies.
Arid Testimony 