My Only Thought
Whenever I find myself arching forward, mouth gaping, engrossed in that scene, the one where the lights dim as her strap slowly and so surprisingly slides down her smooth swan arm as his pulsing, now flexed biceps hoist her up to the kitchen counter or dining room table or washer/dryer, I think to myself, Did she shave her vagina? Did she know that the evening would take this turn (the film made it seem she did not). So did she possess enough forethought (the film made it seem she would not)? And hasn’t she been running or doing heavy lifting of some kind? What if it’s swampy? Can she excuse herself to the bathroom now? How will she ever unwind her legs and get down off that high countertop? And then I think…..Brazilian and am calm enough to reenter the story to the glowing candle light or crackling firelight or humming city light and as she arches her neck to feel his lips on her back I think….But what about that hairy asshole?
