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“Yo! This bitch is bad as fuck though!” He says this all the while knowing that way back when in high school, although never confirmed, we had always speculated that she was in special ed. He hastily navigates his way through her profile to the photos that she has on display to share with the rest of the attention starved social networking masses. Then suddenly and without warning I find myself silently mouthing the words, “Yo this bitch is bad as fuck though.” A momentary wrestling match inside of my mind ensues as I struggle with the notion of my sudden attraction to a girl who was sparsely seen all throughout high school. We mainly attributed this to the fact that the special-ed classes were taught in a building separate but adjacent to the school. The pictures flash across the monitor in a blurred frenzy of breasts, tanned flesh, and red lipstick. There she is sprawled out in a sequined thong across some kind of animal pelt inside the den of some extravagant big game hunter. Sometimes I find that I pay closer attention to the background and foreground instead of the subjects of photos. I like unearthing the dirty little secrets that people have hidden in plain sight. More often than not this proves to be far more rewarding than the original intent of the picture. A few summers back I had suspected my girlfriend of cheating on me with one of the managers of the restaurant that employed us. We will call this manager, Paul. Now Paul was no stranger to social networking so as logic would dictate eventually he posted up a picture of himself topless and all pouty-lipped hiding behind a pair of overpriced, oversized sunglasses. Beauty isn’t always in the eye of the beholder but my girlfriend was. There she stood in a bra and panties, reflected in his lenses. The photographer to this pre or post coital photo shoot. In retrospect I find myself wondering if maybe she hadn’t been just a little retarded. If you strive to succeed at lying, and this applies to everyone, you should really take the necessary time to disable the date and time stamp on your digital cameras. March third, two thousand whatever, the week of her great aunt’s supposed seventy-fifth surprise birthday party. My buddy, he continues to click away with ferocity as images of the scantily clad retarded girl flash across the monitor. “Wasn’t she in special-ed?” I ask. “Umm , I don’t know, maybe?” You know pincushion used to fuck with her right?” Pincushion was a kid who we also went to high school with. When confronted about his girlfriend’s mental capacity he was always reluctant to give any semblance of a straight answer. Instead he would say things like, “Yeah, she screams like a retard when I’m hittin it from behind!” or “Her big fat titties ain’t retarded.” This only further fueled the mental retardation argument. Pinhead’s family abruptly packed up and moved to Nevada midway through freshmen year, so we never actually did get a straight answer from him. And now years later, here she is splayed out on a hardwood floor with only whip cream covering her nipples, squeezing a heart shaped pillow in between her long tanned legs. A few of the photos almost appear as if they were taken professionally. I find myself trying to approximate the number of times that this girl had possibly been defiled by some unshaven creep in a leather jacket toting a pricey digital SLR and claiming to be an important photographer. I wondered if she had a family if she did they were easily replaced by the one that I had imagined up, white trash, mobile home, creepy step dad. Without the good and proper upbringing of two loving parents she was surely condemned to a life of depraved sex acts or at the bare minimum stripping. She was an attractive girl, the offspring of two people with good physical genes. Where were her parents? They certainly wouldn’t condone these photos. I’m fairly certain that she’s not a teacher, doctor, or lawyer. I’m guessing she has no real reputation to uphold. I base this assumption on the fact that she has next to no inhibitions when it comes to posting seminude pictures of herself online. Is she a model? An aspiring actress? Maybe she is a teacher with but one with a wild streak, the kind that has sex with her students. If not that then surely the trophy wife of some dinosaur hedge-fund mogul. I try and look beyond the obvious, that being prostitution, her profile lists her location as Vegas. I wonder if her and Pincushion hooked back up, started a family, bought a house. My brain races and I find myself wondering a lot of things. So many unanswered questions. My buddy he says, “That’s it! End of show” as he arrives at the last photo in the set. It’s an outdoor shot, gorgeous day and she’s in the sun straddling a chaise lounge wearing a camouflage bikini seductively licking a giant vanilla ice cream cone. Most people they go through life wanting to know the meaning of life. Ask ten people get ten different answers. Maybe it was the giant ice cream cone that triggered something inside of my head but I needed answers. Later that night while at home sitting in front of the computer, I hesitate, my mouse hovering over the word, “Send” for a couple of really long seconds.

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