A woman’s body- an object of sexual desire, meant to titillate, to spur the fantasies of males young and old alike, yet for Ryan Sullivan, now simply flesh and bones. This realization, which has shaken his masculinity to its core has left him vulnerable to the whims of a somewhat bossy little girl. For the former alpha male, with this seemingly critical piece gone, what else is there left? Why continue the fight?
Excerpt: A tingle of pleasure ran up my spine followed by a contented sigh. I knew that the girl wasn’t my real mother, and that she was probably only eight years old, but she made me feel like I was a little boy again. A memory flashed- my mom lifting me out of the bath, and then rubbing me dry before wrapping me in a towel. I slipped into a cozy bed, wearing my favourite Batman PJs, the ones with the tear in the left armpit. It was a time when that hated target, the person I eventually wouldn’t respect, wouldn’t listen to, when she was mommy. It was a perfect, pure memory, and the further I descended into its warm embrace, the more my life- the one where I struggled to survive, where I wore pain and betrayal and loss like tattoos, angry lines and spiteful colours striking a pattern of cynicism, distrust and excess- the more that life faded away.
Gone as if it had never existed.
I never wanted this moment to end.
