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By John W. King

(The best thing here is possibly the gif, but never mind:)

Sand and dunes, pebbles.
Short, cracky waves on the water.
Gusts of wind for no particular reason.

I've spotted him a minute ago.
I'm distracted.
How he moves.
It's unfair.
Of course.
In speedos.

Speedos for the color of the sea.
He's young.

He's here for a reason.
This is a lonely place.
The only place on earth.

He's not distracted. 
He knows where I am.
Far away. Close.

He's thinking. I don't.
His bulge is calculated, I know.
Mine isn't.
Always the same.

We're still alone---hurry.
Let the sun hide behind a cloud,
Let it rain,
Let him turn around,
And ask for money.

Give it to him.
Fifty funny money.

Chuck your trunks,
Grab his dick.

He's far away. Close.
Always the same.
It rains.
Fifty drops of milk,
Lost to the world.

He's gone.
There he cums again.

John W. King teaches forensics and negotiation at San Francisco State University. He's infamous.