The crowd giggled and there was light applause.
Melinda waited a full minute before she went on: “To aspire to look like a runway model is probably the worst desire a pubescent teen can harbor, but the numbing pervasiveness of the image seems to perpetuate it. What I have done here is not so much a remarkable surgical and medical, albeit Frankensteinish, achievement, but rather a real time creation, not cosmetic, of the look the world's fashion designers seem to have wanted to bring about.”
The room was now silent except for the noises coming from the recliner. As an undertone to the s*x on the couch, you could hear the distant hum of the air conditioning and the slow breathing of the crowd. All eyes were on Melinda’s creation who was industriously sucking and lapping away at Tabatha’s
