(The title should read as the following but was too long)
Not by the paedophilic play ground that is wet and sandy, but in front of… “Welcome to Disneyland. Please count your children before you leave as any mistakes cannot be rectified later!”
“Oh I do like to be beside the seaside…” no I don’t actually. I think I would rather be above or in front. Perhaps it could come from behind and pretend to sneak up on me like in one of those old 50’s style camera shots that little families from Texlahoma would have, with their stripy swim suits from their knees to their neck. The only skin protruding from their heads shoulders knees and toes knees and toes, sufficiently ensuring the highest quality of forced dignity at all times. Their parents, all the while, become increasingly aware that under the flimsy material the child is still naked and an old man is taking their picture, imagining their nakedness beneath and pleasuring himself at nights dreaming about how if he were on a desert island, his one luxury item would be that bathing suit on an immortally small child. (The dream is not gender specific).
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