Mmm, baby, how you doing? I seen you lookin' fine all night, girl. Yeah, you, in your faded purple tube top and ca. 1998 hip-hugger jeans. Bet you haven’t been able to fit into those since 10th grade, huh, baby? That’s hot, girl. You’re hot. Aw, look at you blush. So bashful. So demure. You’re the kind of girl I could take home to my great-great grandmother, if she were still alive. But she isn’t. Too bad. She was a very talented botanist.
Yeah, I seen the way you were looking at me, girl. All the way over here, from across the group of kids playing flip cup. I seen the way you were eyeing my sensuous lips. You like them lips, huh, baby? What’s that? You’re out of Bacardi Limon and Diet Caffeine-free Coke? Let me get you another one, girl. No, please. Allow me. Make sure it’s caffeine-free? You don’t want to be awake all night? Alright, girl. I can dig that.
So, honey, what’s your major? Poli-sci with a minor in womens’ studies, huh? You don’t see a lot of that here at Bard. You’re an individual. I can tell by your unshaved armpits. No, babydoll, I think the hair is sexy. It lets me know what color your other hair probably is. …On your scalp, I mean. Your natural hair color.
Hey, dudes, check it. She’s passed out on the couch. Help me take her upstairs to my bed, where she’ll be more comfortable. No, assholes, I don’t want to do anything to her. I just want to make sure she sleeps comfortably. I would hate for a luscious lady such as she to awaken in the A.M. with a cramp in her lovely neck. Okay, fine. You can watch. But don’t videotape it.
Ooh, you like that, huh, sweetie-pie? Yeah, you like the way I’m lightly kissing your neck and earlobe. Mmm, how’s that, my porcelain princess? You like it when I tickle your collarbone with the tip of my tongue? Yeah, you do. Yeah, girl. I’m totally kiss raping you. Ooh, take it. Yeah, baby, take those gentle butterfly kisses. Let my eyelashes brush up against your cheek. Don’t struggle. No, baby. It will be easier this way. Just let the Smoochmeister work his sensual magic.
Yes, Randall, I realize that she is unconscious from the roofies and therefore cannot respond. Shut your gaping pie-hole.
Not that kind of pie, you sicko. Like, apple pie. Or blueberry. Some kind of pie made of fruit and a flour-based crust. Yeah, sure. Maybe an Oreo-or-graham-cracker-based crust, if it’s a cream pie. But for real, homes. You’re ruining the mood.
Ooh, what do you think of that, darlin'? You like it when I touch my pursed lips to your closed eyelids? Yeah. Ooh, baby, now I’m slowly planting the most tender of kisses upon your silky smooth forehead. You like that, you little slut? You like it when I kiss you like your grandma kisses you? That’s what I thought. Yeah, bitch, take it.
Oh, my kisses are so soft and loving, aren’t they, you cheap hooker? Yeah, I bet you only charge $15 for this rendered service. Take those closed-mouthed kisses, you dirty skank. Oh, what’s that? “No, Travis, don’t play with my hair or tuck it behind my ears in a sweet and emotionally-charged display of affection?” Well too bad, Courtney. You were asking for it by exposing your entire angelic, rosy-cheeked face at the party tonight. You knew what you were doing when you curled your hair into little ringlets with a hot curling iron on the medium setting. When you applied that Dr. Pepper chapstick, you knew just what was coming to you: Light, gentle kisses that would tickle your perfectly dimpled cheeks if you were cognizant enough to feel them.
Yeah, boys, did you see that shit? I totally just kiss raped the fuck out of that girl. She’ll probably be totally unaware of it tomorrow morning when she wakes up. Hey, somebody call the campus EMS. I’m worried she might have alcohol poisoning.
Yeah, that’s right, you filthy cum receptacle. Only the most attentive medical care for the fine young women I kiss rape.