The Real Mrs. Robinson Takes a Moment to Reconsider

by Stephanie Johnson

Half your age, he drinks too much, listens too little.  After sex, he talks about twisted metal and sirens, collapsed bridges and blind curves.  He wants to believe you're capable of colossal collisions.  Danger is a turn-on.

But accidents are rarely happy.  Without clothes, skin—like wreckage—tells a story.  Next to his youth, your geological profile is marred by natural disaster.  Scars and stretch mark dots, when connected, form considerable constellations.

Stick with me, Kid, you kid him.  I'll show you the stars.

For now, he's blinded by beginnings; you know what matters more is how everything eventually ends.