Beautiful girls. I don't understand it. Because he likes them, he likes beautiful girls. But you aren't. You aren't the classic, or the textbook, or the novelty. You aren't pretty, and for that I am thankful. Truly gracious. If I could ask for anything, it would be to smother your red and wind-burned face. Hold your pale neck tight in my grip and push down hard. But I can't right now. It's temperamental. The situation is too temperamental.
She drags his friends by their hair down each flight of stairs. She props them up, facing West, in a straight line. Methodically, she gets up close to their cheeks, brushing lips with skin to tease, and tells them a lie. A different lie each time. Her face is pressed now. On the skin. Skin on skin contact. It increases her chances. Methodical, the fucking is just like her straight lines.
But why all of them? Why would a young lady do such a thing? Composure is compromised during certain periods. Falling apart is not an option. Her job is on the line, but thankfully she has perfectly round breasts. She is blessed with fattened calves from pumping on her heels. Integrity hasn't had an introduction. Juvenile behaviors have to suffice.
At least she is gracious. But she isn't content with just one. She likes to see the pain in a girl's eyes. She takes the girls and twists their arms behind their backs. She makes them do it. She forces their friendship, down to the last detail. She shows her Polaroids to the willing audience. Documentation is key; what good is a fuck if no one else sees it? To make it worth her while, she blacks her eyes out of every picture. This lazy anonymity makes it feel real.
The girls fit nicely between her legs. She holds the head tightly with her knees, forcing the photos into each victim's line of vision. The fingers of her other hand are shoved down their throats. Her grip is firm, not desperate. Her thighs are taut, not frantic. She runs her ship tight and her friendships are equally seamless. Things must be molded, plastic, and perfect. Such manipulation must be induced. And this preparation is key.
She trains them. She treats them well. She slides her hands so easily up skirts, through zipper openings, deep in purse pockets. Once inside, she grabs at skin, undergarments, and address books. There is no fun in fucking him twice. And there is no fun if the other girl really knows. To lead the illusion that sex is non-existent is the ideal situation. Each friendship is virginal. This is her prize. A fuck, a boyfriend who is not hers. This is her prize. The friendship stays virginal until properly documented.
But she must get back to work. Manipulation is a full-time job. She has a system to keep. A face to maintain. And the air of a girl who is saving it for the right boy. With the correct girlfriend.