Panic and run

The moment is too much. He's not thinking. He's horny, desperate, and near hysterical. He runs.

He runs down the stairs. He runs out the door. He runs past the neighbors. He runs past the end of the street. He runs past the nearly naked forms of women he'd previously have given any but one particular appendage to get a look at. He runs until even panic cannot sustain him. He falls to his knees and struggles to breathe until he can regain some semblance of control.

He looks around, and his face flares fire-engine red. Home was bad enough. This was so much worse. And worst of all, he was so embarrassed he was on a hair trigger to spurt his pathetic jism onto his toes.