Serial Monogamist. Whatever that nonsense means. I moved away (or toward depending on perspective) and I like the feeling of being lost. Went to the beach after work. A gorgeous woman in a swimsuit slightly less tan than her golden molded body models for her boy-friend in front of a scarlet sunset I barely glance at. Runnng through the surf with Bruno. Running out my sexual frustration. Running out my exhaustion of the last 10 days, the last 10 months. Running. Hungry. She has an electrifying smile. Running toward (or away depending on perspective) the edge of the world, following the sun, only the surf keeps me at bay. Surf Pun. Google it. The tracks are crossed. The sun has set. Bruno is ready for a bath and a nap. I stop within the outer limits and am advised on the benefits of kratom. Psychological advantages. I opt for a more basic element. Bruno and I are in the apartment. The first canister expands the balloon and it immediately pops. The sound echoes across the quiet suburbian beach complex with acoustics seemingly designed to amplify center stage of the Sydney Opera House. I shrug and walk to the bedroom thinking. I probably should have used the new balloon that came with my questionable purchase. Never too late. But still horny. No internet. Masturbation is so much easier with porn. Too much work being imaginative sometimes. I pull my phone out of my pants and pull rope to some pixelated throttled down triple x stream. Looks like schoolgirl anal but it could be my imagination. I hit the new balloon. Feelings. Physical. Nothing else. No emotion. Perhaps should have tried the kratom? I exhale. Just routine rote action. Bruno looks at me. I can't even. I walk back out to the quiet kitchen, sit at the breakfast countertop and write a short story.
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