Intimacy (Fiction)

He felt like fucking. Not fucking just to fuck, but to feel connected to someone else. He needed a mental reboot, a defrag, a moment of transcendence.

His consciousness had been dangerously unaltered for several days. He felt like dirty sock lost in the abyss between a bed and wall. If he sneezed, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see a bunch of cobwebs come flying out.

He’d missed many opportunities over the years, always stuck in his head at the expensive of his penis. Missing social cues, botching dialogue, and frequently falling off the merry-go-round to go frolicking through thel void.

He’d given up on romance several years ago, but, like any animal, his mind responded to spring with a, “Wow, I need to get laid.” Blue skies were yawning overhead, a cool breeze danced across his face. Instead of soothing him, the tranquil scene just made him feel even more restless. His father’s wanderlust chimed through his blood like a ceremonial bell.

To go, to do, to see, to screw. He ached for his long dormant humanity, and gazed across the fields wondering how it all came to be…

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