There’s four condoms instead of three. A little sticker on the side of the box says that there’s a free scented one, and that means there’s wiggle room for one more round. You throw the blue box into the pile of clothes you’ll wear later and walk into the shower.

Its cold, the water. Cuts your skin like how you’d imagine a striking machete would feel on a ripe branch with mangoes hanging on it. You think of her the entire time. How supple her skin is, How attractive her laugh is. How fleshy her butt is, and how you like to grab it as she laughs and tells you to grab yours. How her breasts have stretch marks, and how nice she says you suck on them. You realise you’re wasting water. And so you focus and start lathering the bathing towel.

Its 3:41 p.m on a Sunday. You just stepped out of your house. You smell like Old Spice, Gucci by Gucci and sexual starvation. You grab a packet of chewing gum, strangle the top and two unlucky pellets are thrown into your mouth. You crush them as you make a phone call. Your shoulder holds your phone as you wear your shoes. It’s her. She’s asking how far away you are. You lie. Say you’ve just woken up. You want to surprise her. Walk in on her as she’s about to dress. Make sure she will never end up dressing.

There’s football on the screen. It’s only one game until you’re off to her place. You feel how clean your skin is. You imagine her mouth on you. Sucking. Licking. Teasing you. Testing the limits of your patience. You close your eyes as your body shudders. She’s calling. Its strange. You pick up. She hesitates. This is not good. She asks where you are. You say you’re in town. She breathes an audible sigh of relief. You clench your teeth and ask what’s going on.

You’re sitted on a patch of grass. Around you, young men play football. There are shouts for the ball. Screams as chances are missed. Celebrations as rival teams are vanquished. You stare into the sky. It’s a peaceful shade of blue. Just like the pack of condoms in your pocket, that you won’t end up using. She said she wanted to change. That she had second thoughts about you coming. That the casual sex made her feel dirty. That she was on a path to recovery and she didn’t see you on it. You nodded the whole conversation. It was like those scenes in movies. The slow motion scenes where you can see things happening but can’t hear anything.

You’re back home. Angry. Frustrated. She ruined your day in her attempt at fixing her life. It’s selfish but you don’t care. You smell good and its all a waste. You go through your phone book. See who else can catch a case of whatever is stirring in your pants. You check the pack. There’s four condoms instead of three. A little sticker on the side of the box says that there’s a free scented one, that means there’s wiggle room for one more round if you get a response back. You throw the blue box into the pile of clothes you just removed, grab a tube of lotion and walk into the shower.