It's awful... scrutinizing, staring so fixedly, wanting this skeletal girl so badly.  I want to span her waist with my hands, my small hands made huge by that body. Perfect, fragile.  I should maybe be giving her literature, feminist bibliographies on disordered body image, that last pack of Sultana's in my left jacket pocket... instead I am hopelessly attracted, I am glad she is so painfully thin, probably disappearing as I watch her; she will maybe drop to the floor because all of this week she's eaten only one green bean.

Does she have the energy to take off that yellow child-sized t-shirt? No. She will need help.

The emaciated ones are not usually my type.  I like to feel that the legs wrapped around my body won't let go, that the arms in my hands are flexing and firm and able to break away, if only in jest.  I like to think that once pinned down I really will have to beg and that the hips swaying under my body as I grind my clit against them won't shatter... I want to know that once inside a woman's cunt my fingers won't break through the taught, translucent skin stretching across the hips.       

Ok.  So it's true, I'm watching this girl and thinking about fucking her... she's dyed her hair red -- against the yellow shirt I can only think safety vehicles -- fire, police.

She is an emergency. I should pull over and stop. I should lay my mouth across hers and let her breathe from my lungs; I would carefully blow her to the floor, place breast on breast, belly on flat, hips against razors, knee on bony knee, finally, ten toes touching ten toes... one girl disappears.... anyone watching us would see only my strong back, sturdy legs, all perfectly still and keeping the anorexic chic warm like a blanket.  When I got up it would be Spring and she would be thinner than a shadow...

She has no back; only vertebrae.... I cannot think struggle... we could not roll or tackle each other lustily, but she might flutter, maybe, if she could rest between attempts.  She is a bird -- better yet, a butterfly... she doesn't have limbs, more like insect arms and legs.. she could throw herself at me and I mightn't notice... there are no restraints small enough to hold her....  

Her fingers inside me feel like spiders, she rides my body and there is no weight, only breeze; I roll over and over her screaming that I want her and she snaps like twigs and her body is a bonfire and I am coming because she burns as hot as a match, even if she only weighs 90 pounds, even if she'll never lick chocolate from my thighs, even if I know she only fucked me 'cause it was way too cold outside, even if she thinks that if I see her she's way too big; even if she's already at the mirror.