Johnny...

How would I describe Johnny? Jonathan? Jon.

Johnny, is a man that "IS" the embodiment of what it means to be a man in the Bursting World.

He's tall, handsome, and confident.

He knows what he wants.

And what he wants, is to watch women explode.

Johnny finds Bursting to be so normalized, it doesn't even register as dramatic to him. While still being what he craves most, on the bordering level of need.

When he finds a woman attractive, the first thing he thinks about is how hot it'd be to watch her be reduced to scraps.

It doesn't matter what relationship he has with her. Whether she's a life long friend he grew up with, someone he's dating, a hooker who's resigned herself to pop, or a woman walking down the street.

That's all women are to him.

Scraps.

Scraps to flutter in the air after a deafening bang.

He's handsome, and not just because men are rare in this world. He's got chiseled, defined features. Dark eyes and a wry smile. He keeps himself shaven, but not enough to prevent stubble. His glasses accentuate his features, often making him look dangerous. His jet black hair is kept short, not buzzed close to his head, but doesn't sag or tangle.

He's athletic, he works out regularly. Not enough to become muscular, but enough to be consistently toned. His tan is even, cause it's entirely aesthetic.

Is Johnny cruel?

It's hard to say.

According to many men, he's simply what men are supposed to be. Confident, powerful, and knows what he wants. Regardless of who it hurts or how many women get burst. This callousness and focus on his own pleasure is what makes him an inspiration for many. So many men get caught up in the implications of their lusts, of the nature of inflation and popping. But for Johnny, it simply is. It's his right. His need.

Johnny has many wives. Wives pumped full of children. Slowly swelling as great big balloons of babies. That will burst in the coming years. He'll father enough children to fill an entire city, maybe more. Because of his family, a wealthy family. Privileged patriarchs who've shaped American history. Despite how many baby balls he has on the backburner, they're of no concern to him. He still dates and hangs out with random women like he's any other single man.

That's the fun for him.

He likes making women feel special. Before he destroys them entirely.

The strain, the sound, the painful anticipation. As his partner sits there, quivering, shaking, pulsating, ready to blow apart at any moment. Coated in sweat, slick and tight. Smelling of sex. Drooling and taking every ounce of concentration to not blow apart.

He thinks about what would surprise her most.

Maybe another pump of air. Maybe just staring at her, not touching her until she pops from lack of concentration. Maybe tickling and teasing her, until she can't hold together. Maybe cumming into her, over and over, until she pops like a water balloon. Maybe just stabbing her with a pen.

The important part is, it shocks her.

That's all that's ever been important to him.

The moment of detonation.

When all that's left. Is scraps in the wind.