The thought of pricking her fair maidenhood tears feverishly at my clammy clothes. I climb atop my swivel chair, perched like a beady eyed dolphin, blowhole glistening with the whispered promise of sweet release. Her name is like a rotten fish beached by low tide and driven by the wind, carrying me to ruinous shores.

I dive deep, and rub myself upon the coral to completion.