The lights turned down to an amber glow, fragrant candles lit, Flute Dreams--the enchanting melodies of the lute over the soft rhythm of splashing ocean waves against rocky cliffs: the mood is set. Getting on his hands and knees, he pulls the coffin sized crate from under his bed. His heart-rate quickens and a surge of energy shoots through his whole body. He's aroused. She seems to be moaning his name from under the straw of the crate. She wants out of her box. She wants him. He rips the lid off, his lover: a Christmas surprise. He scoops her out throwing her on the bed face down. He takes her arms and legs and bends them into position. Beyond his passion and excitement there is an uncanny feeling. Something from childhood. Something like GI JOE. His lover is on all fours, her back arched, her head up, and he's behind her. The sea surges and crashes into the cliffs. The candle flames grow tall, redden and explode. He's lost. Blissfully, violently, lost. Chemicals are flooding his body, rewiring his brain, bonding him forever with his lover.
When he finds himself again, he's behind his lover. The room is silent but for the lute and the waves and the sound of his own breath. He pulls away from her and falls into the sheets. Leaning against the headboard he lights a cigarette and looks upon her. She's still and silent, facing him. Her mouth is half open and her bright eyes refuse to blink. Was it good for you? he asks. A part of him is missing, forever bound to a plastic caricature.