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I'm everything you want and nothing you're getting. Sprawled lazy on my couch bored, my phone screen lighting up my smirk while my big ass works overtime. My panties are doing overtime too - trapping fart after fart, getting heavier and riper with each toxic push. I don't spread for you. I don't perform. I just exist, releasing wet, crackling gas that vibrates against damp cotton and escapes in thick, rancid waves. You exist in my peripheral as a breathing apparatus for my stink. My panties are getting heavy with my gas and you don't exist enough for me to acknowledge. Breathe deep, nothing. I'm busy.