I saw a blurry photo of Shakira’s ass this morning and it spoke to me.  It woke up what I did not know was asleep.  It knocked on my morning wood.  I rolled over.  I put my pillow to where I could grind it.  I rode the pony.

I said, “Hello, Shakira’s ass.  You look so nice and soft and round.  I like how the brown color fades to a light white as the coverage from your bikini bottoms lessens due to your bending/lounging position.  I want to put my face there it and try to die.” 

No response.

In the quiet grunting of the pony ride, there was a moment inside of me that wanted to lay my hands on Shakira’s naked ass even though she might start screaming for help or fighting me off like she doesn’t like it.  The moment was called, “I Understand Rapists.”  But it was just a moment.  A moment that wanted to grope and grope while whispering, “Just hold still and this will all be over before you know it.”