Like this?
Madeline streched her neck out and to the left, which brought the softest parts of her lips into the sunlight. The window let it in just enough to drape her nose and nipples, and now the glisten of her tongue, which crept out just briefly to moisten her lips. She bit them, hard too, with the rationale that they would puff out and make her beautful by her own design, in the same way you might pinch your cheeks in order to make them look rosier.
Perfect-- then a sound like: bee-beep and then click and then good...
This was exactly like she had pictured it. This was what Steph had told her it would be like. There was no romance or pride. No plush modern furniture and coked out blonde getting fingered in between shots-- her cigarette mouth laughing.
There was no thumping house music and nitrous oxide. There was no sweaty Grecian beefcake with deep amber toned abs and wet black eyebrows.
...again...same thing, just kind of point your ass up in the air a little more this time...
This was exactly like she had pictured it. There was Paul, the photographer, with his tight, round belly, with his gray mustache and gin burps. bee-beep...click...good
Madeline felt a sneezing fit coming on and signaled for a break.
In the bathroom, two thumb sized pieces of shit patroled the toilet bowl, and Madeline blew her nose violently. She washed her face off, rubbed her eyes smiled in the mirror, and wondered if she was really fooling anyone.
