A lovely, more-than-just-slightly-disturbing new story from Pia Z. Ehrhardt on Opium:
I’d run about half a mile and was headed back to our motor home. I was admiring my feet. They were tanned, and against the white sand they looked darker. From a distance this guy was running toward me in long cutoffs, like we were slow-motion in a shampoo commercial. A moment like this was why I’d gone by myself to the beach. Maybe I’d tell him “hi” in an easy, accidental way, and we could sit awhile and watch the surf. When he got closer I saw his dick hanging out of his pants. I didn’t know what to do. Water was on my right, sea oats were on my left, so I jogged past him like I didn’t notice, and then I ran hard to the RV park, but it seemed desperately slow.