He never saw it coming. This compulsive, mind-nibbling urge that now resided within his chest. The infinite craving that no man would be brave enough to have without the fearful shame of being pushed down by their fellow kind. And now, he was constantly looking around at them, multiple herds of them, each with a hypnotically charismatic shepherd with enough charms and looks for all of them combined. And he wanted her. No, he wanted the other too. And the other. And maybe a few of the sheep. His libido began to stir up a concoction of instinctual yearning. And so the legend of Freud lived on, within his very own startled psyche. He did not know what to do. His chest was pounding, filled with an intangible ball of energy, a gushy, mushy, awkward ball of energy that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. And now, he had been put to mission to fulfill it. To satisfy his new desires, to let it control him like a puppet attached to its treacherous strings. He didn’t know why, but he knew how, and so he got his head together, as quickly as he could, and began to walk out the door.
His mother didn’t care. He could leave anytime he wanted, to go anyplace, anywhere. His mother never cared. She was too busy with work or her countless number of boyfriends that sprouted every which way. She wasn’t the most appealing woman in the world, but she wasn’t unattractive enough to not be able to fill her void. A void that he had now…a hypocrite, he was, for wanting to do the same exact things, the same exact way.

He met her at the park, her presence all glowy and bright, while the wildflowers on the grass swung smoothly in the soft, gentle breeze, the birds chirping about, and up, up, up to the sky where it shown in its magnificence of blue and white shades stood as a canvas to the blazing sun. It was a perfect day for this type of practice. As her deep, earthy green eyes shown in the limelight from the sun, he came up to her, held her soft, smooth hands, and led her onto to a nicely carved park bench, the best of them all. They sat and talked for countless hours. He thought she was the one. Or at least the one who can satisfy him for the time being. And then they went for a walk, to grab some ice cream at the local Ben and Jerry’s. They ordered some cones, hers being cookies and cream, his favorite. And so he ordered the same, though wondering if she suspected that he was copying her. He wasn’t. He swore to himself, he wasn’t. So they had something in common. This was going better than he had planned it to be…

So after the nice, sunkissed walk along Eastwind Lane with his new girl and two cones filled with the marvelous ever-sweet sensation of the coldness that melted in his mouth, the crunchiness of the Oreos filling his tastebuds with joy. They finished it slowly and joyfully, having a deep conversation in process about their pasts and the parents they lived with. She was touched by his story. Son of a single workaholic love-addict mother, semi-neglective to the point where he felt as if he had raised himself. And his father? Never knew him well enough to remember. All he knew was that when he was at the mere age of three, his father had come home one night at night, his head skewed to such a point that in an instance, he had found himself to be snatched, beaten, and finally stuck in the fireplace, ashes dwelling around his knees, spotted with the bruises that