I am so bougie for boats. It’s a terrible weakness. Like, I don’t care who’s dick I gotta suck, I will suck it if it means getting my hair combed by that lake breeze and getting sprayed in the face by that sweet lake water.
I’m kidding, ya’ll. Totally kidding.
For the record, there was no dick sucking on this particular trip, which may make this story less exciting, but so be it. My stories are 100% true according to my best recollections and my slight tendency to embellish details for the reader’s enjoyment, which is a habit I picked up from my mother, who is by far a better storyteller than I will ever be. My mother, who is a stay-at-home mom and uber conservative cult member, tells stories that rarely involve dick-sucking, but they are always interesting regardless. #lifegoals
Back to the boat. Oh, and also back to Bradley, whom this story is really about. I agreed to a boat trip, so I arrived back at his house the next afternoon after a nearly sleepless night. In my own bed. True to my promise to Luis, I tried to fall asleep with him. However, he snored really loudly and put on “A Star is Born,” and between the snoring and the existential crisis that Lady Gaga’s singing was giving me, I couldn’t sleep at all and snuck out.
Bradley gave me Adderall to help me stay awake.
At one point, I found myself super duper enjoying his company, leaving me to ponder that eternal question that faces every Millennial at least once in our lives: Is this love or just the Adderall?
Our first stop was the gas station. Bradley knew five of the people we ran into at the gas station. The guy behind the counter was a little person, Peter Dinklage style, and Bradley told me that he ran a “midget wrestling company.” I realized I don’t even know if the word “midget” is considered politically correct anymore. Another guy walked over and handed Bradley two hundred bucks, and Bradley introduced him as Frank Castle, a legendary deejay on Dirty Sixth. I must admit, I was rather impressed with the extent of Bradley’s vast networking skillz. What kind of person goes to a gas station and knows nearly everyone there? Bradley, that’s who.
That was the weirdest part about the day. It was pretty low-key otherwise. The highlight was when we linked up with another boat manned by a guy Bradley dubbed, “Lake Jesus.” Lake Jesus was anything but and without my consent, took a close up video of my butt while dancing.
When he showed it to me immediately after, I wasn’t even mad. I was rather quite fascinated. I had never seen my butt do its thang from that angle. I wanted to throw it up on Insta on my entertainer account for my clients to enjoy, but the lake lacked data and no one was able to send it to me.
My partner helped me recreate it later at home in Slo-Mo. WHY is it so fascinating to watch fat jostling fat? I watched, completely mesmerized, as the fat in my butt rippled outward, slammed slowly into the other cheek and sent the fat in that cheek rippling in the opposite direction. “You could draw a profile of a face on either side,” my partner remarked, “and it would look like a face kissing another face.”
No wonder thicc is in. Truth be told, despite what Hollywood has been saying for ages, thicc has really always been in. You fat girls been keeping secrets about how much fun you are, but the secret is out now, ladies.
My partner offered to edit it for me and add music, and if he ever gets around to doing so, I promise I will drop it here. Like it’s hot. Cuz it is. Like summertime in Texas on the lake.