A girl you know, though not that well. A girl you know through a very good Mutual Friend and whom you’ve only experienced surface-level interactions in the most amicable of situations. Someone who you’ve always considered somewhat of a ridiculous person (in the nicest sort of way); nutty and loud, sassy, obnoxious even. Easily enjoyable in small doses but you’d never imagine being more than an acquaintance. You don’t know her middle name. You’re unsure of how to spell her last. You don’t know where she was born, what her parents do, what high school (or even college?) she went to, what her life entails outside of the statistics and factoids you would garner from a very brief study of her Facebook page and what your Mutual Friend relays through run-of-the-mill conversation and/or morsels of gossip from time to time. But you did go to Vegas with her in celebration of said Mutual Friend, and, to your pleasant surprise, you had a great time with her, even in spite of some mild, yet rather entertaining drama. And although most people find her a polarizing presence and a notorious trouble-maker, you’re not at all invested enough to concern yourself, or care.
Imagine seeing this girl’s bare-naked ass, her manicured fingers akimbo, hands spreading her pale cheeks asunder with such a violent force that the skin above her asshole is stretched tight and silvery, reflecting off a harsh porch light on a sinister, moonless night.
Imagine her, doubled over, legs spread and the sound of your name radiating through muffled yells where layers of denim are gathered between the top of her thighs, screaming,
“Hey! Look at this!” Its my asshole!! Isn’t this FUNNY?!! Look at myASSSSSSHHHHHOOLLEE!”