The condom she gives me doesn’t fit and I’m too embarrassed to say anything, so I just deal with it, but it keeps slipping away whenever I pull out. I end up wedging my fingers either side of my thing like a backwards version of the knife game, perpetrating the thrust instead of avoiding it. My free arm aches from balancing and I wish I’d done more push ups, ever. I can feel her body growing tense beneath me as she moves towards the edge. I see myself fading from her world, a vestigial body attached to an appendage.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.