“I feel so pathetic, though!” Ashby exclaims. “Like, I’m supposed to be going to a party tomorrow night and it’s one of those things where you dress up as what you want to be, right?” she gestures heavily with her hands before throwing them up with a frustrated confusion, “And the only thing that I can think of is to pad my bra or give myself a big belly from all the guys I’m going to eat.” You laugh as she continues on through her own laughter, “Seriously, it’s ‘where do you see yourself in five years?’ and everyone else is going to be doctors and lawyers and I’m just going to be there with nice tits.”
“Hey, at least you’ll have that.” You say as consolation.
“I guess.” She says as she’s stopped laughing “At least I’m being honest about it. But I wish I had something more, you know? Some kind of big plan for the future.” You nod understandingly, but can come up with very little to say to make her feel better.
“Well I mean, it’s better than what I’d have to do.” You say, continuing your efforts to console her. “I mean, in five years I’m probably going to be some girl’s shit, so…”
Suddenly Ashby starts laughing again. You weren’t really trying to be funny, but you seem to have succeeded in raising her spirits as she laughs hysterically, her cushiony chest pulsating with her laughs. You chuckle too as she composes herself and tries to form a response.
“Oh my God!” she says between laughs. “That’s perfect!” You start to realize that she’s taken what you said as a suggestion.
“What?” you ask, still not sure you get it.
“If you came as my date!” She says, springing up into your lap and grabbing your hands excitedly, putting the two of you in an uncomfortably erotic pose. “I can be me in five years and you can be my shit!”
“You mean like…” you trail off not wanting to describe the next part.
“Like I pad my bra and stuff and we make you a costume to look like a giant one of my turds.” She continues to laugh furiously, convulsing on top of you as you sit there somewhat stunned. You suppose it’s better that she’s suggesting dressing you up like her shit rather than opting for a more natural method, but you’re still taken aback by the entire idea. It excites you in all sorts of shameful ways, this kind of pretend with a fun loving girl with a rocking body, but doing it at a big party sounds pretty humiliating.
“You HAVE to do it!” She implores you. You don’t feel like she’s going to take no for an answer on this.
