Ass Is Lit

All my life, for as long as I can remember, whenever girls asked me the question, “Tits or ass?”, I’d always answer without hesitation — “Ass.” God, it was obvious, at least to me — round, firm curves that pulled your gaze like a magnet and bounced with every step like the whole damn world danced to their rhythm. And how gorgeous it looked in tight leggings, short shorts, or even a regular summer skirt that lifted just enough with each step to give a split-second view of perfection that could drive any sane man crazy.

And now… now I have that dream. Literally have it. Because that “perfection” belongs to me. And I’m not happy about it — it’s like all my male obsession backfired and turned into a curse.

I stood in the middle of a deserted beach, feeling the swimsuit fabric stretch at the sides, the straps dig into my shoulders and between my legs, and my whole body react to the breeze brushing across my bare back and thighs. But the worst was the damn weight — that unbearable, constant weight that never left me. I could feel it.

It reacted to every move I made like it had a life of its own: bouncing, jiggling, pulling down. I walked — it swayed. I stood still — it dragged me down or tugged off to the side. God, when I used to stare at girls with curves like that, I had no idea what kind of burden it was.

— Holy shit... — I whispered, stopping and taking a breath. — What the fuck did I do to deserve this?..

I wasn’t even freaked out by my own voice anymore — high-pitched and soft. I ran my hand through my hair, feeling long, smooth, blonde strands slip through my fingers, and a tight bun at the back of my head — probably messy, but neat enough. And then it moved again — that heavy thing behind me — swaying in sync with my C-cup tits, which, yeah, were bothering me too, but not as much as the other part. I winced — and then I heard a voice somewhere nearby.

— Damn, girl, that ass is lit!

“Girl.” There it was again — that fucking “girl”, and of course, “ass.” The only thing worse was if someone dropped that dumbass line: “Are you a model or something?”

And, right on cue, from somewhere off to the side:

— Hey gorgeous, you a model or what?

There it was. Bingo. Cue the clowns, applause, fanfare. If I had a list of the cheesiest, most overused pickup lines on earth, that one would be at the fucking top.

I spun around fast — or tried to — feeling my hips lagging behind, responding to the turn with a delay. God, even just turning around was a whole goddamn operation now. My legs almost tangled, my tits swung to the side, and there he was — just a couple steps away — boldly eyeing me like this beach, this morning, this body, all of it was his, and I was just some prize dropped into his lap by fate. My mouth was already ready to snap something like “Let me show you how models tell guys like you to fuck off,” but I bit my tongue.

Because he — the guy in shorts and a grey T-shirt, with messy hair and that cocky stare sweeping over me from neck to toes — he was the mission.

The one I was here for. The one I had to squeeze into this bright yellow, stinking swimsuit for — the one that yanked my tits forward, dug into my crotch, and, most importantly, showed off the thing that left me mentally scarred for life — the ass. That insane, ridiculous, heavy-ass ass.

I had to seduce him. Yeah. Him. It was the mission. To get back. To make this body, this ass, all of it — disappear.

I almost groaned out loud.

— You’ve gotta be straight off a magazine cover — he went on — I’d subscribe to anything with you on every page.

He squinted, flashing that half-grin. I saw the way he was checking me out, and it was clear he wasn’t looking at my eyes — no, he was staring lower. Then lower. Right where the yellow swimsuit cut into my hips, showing off curves that, fuck, I’d be staring at too for hours if I were him. But I wasn’t him. I was in this cursed swimsuit with these hips and tits.

— Uh… thanks, — I mumbled, forcing a smile. My lips stretched into what was supposed to be a grin, and I immediately felt the damp breeze touch the gloss on them. Fucking perfect.

He stepped a little closer.

— You here alone?

— Yeah, — I answered, silently cursing the entire universe. — Just… felt like taking a walk.

He let out a chuckle and looked down at my legs.

— Your… I mean, your walk is insane. Thought girls like that only existed on TikTok. Are you even real?

That’s when I felt my cheeks flush. “Walk,” seriously? Just say “ass,” what’s the point of pretending, though… I couldn’t scare him off. Couldn’t act like… “a slut.” God, I never thought in my life I’d ever think that way about myself. But… the mission. Just focus on the mission. Show some initiative — I always liked girls who made the first move. Every decent guy’s dream, right? Shit… fine.

— Hey… — I made myself smile again, burying the rage and humiliation. — Wanna… take a walk with me?

He raised a brow.

— Depends where. You’re not a psycho, are you?

A psycho, what the fuck, is he stupid? Did he even look at me? A girl like this hitting on him — a literal dream come true — not even roasting him for that dumbass pickup line, and he cracks a joke?! I forced a wider smile — as much as I could muster — just to stop myself from rolling my eyes or straight-up crying right there on that dumbass beach, where even the fucking sand clung to my ankles like it was in on the humiliation. I took a deep breath, my chest rising involuntarily, and exhaled, feeling the fabric of the swimsuit pull even tighter at the sides.

— Only if you promise not to make any more TikTok jokes, — I said, trying to sound playful, even though I was dying inside. That goddamn elastic biting into my thighs decided to dig in even deeper, just to spite me.

He laughed and rolled his shoulders like he was weighing it out. But I already knew — he was coming. Of course he was. What guy in his right mind would say no to a walk with a chick like this, even if her brain came on loan? The real question was… how far was I willing to go to complete this “mission”… If it even was a mission, considering I only saw him in a dream and just somehow decided he was the target…

After all, there had already been a shitload of “targets” these past few months…