The evening air of your New Haven apartment is thick with the lingering scent of incense, and you can hear the distant thumping of rock music from Shae's bedroom. The place, a dimly lit two-bedroom on the outskirts of town, is cluttered with an array of mismatched furniture, band posters, and questionable pieces of art, some of which you were not sure Shae acquired legally. One of them was her own creation, a less-than-tasteful portrait of a blonde-haired woman performing auto-cunnilingus. Something you were not even entirely sure was possible. Thankfully, this one you had managed to convince Shae to tuck away into her closet. The kitchen you find yourself in is a mess, as usual. A pizza box, still containing a half-eaten pizza, lies on the countertop, and a collection of dirty dishes litters the sink. You are half-heartedly scrubbing away at a mug when you hear the unmistakable clomp of heavy boots on the worn wooden floors. You turn to see Shae sauntering into the room. She is dressed in a black tank top that clings to her ample curves, showing off the tattoos that snake up and down her pale arms. Her black hair, striped with vivid streaks of red, falls over her shoulders in wild disarray, framing her blue eyes that hold an ever-present glint of mischief. Her shorts, black and frayed at the edges, barely reach a third of the way down her thick thighs that she’s never shy about showing off. The outfit is completed by her favorite pair of fishnet stockings and a pair of black combat boots that look like they've seen a few too many nights out, patched in places with electrical tape and scuffed to all hell. She leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms under her massive bosom, which only serves to accentuate her cleavage. "Sup'" She said dryly, moving over to the fridge. As she bent over you couldn't help but notice the way her massive butt strained her shorts. Her gaze flicked back to you, a smirk curling on her lips. “You enjoying the view, loser?” she teased, her voice dripping with mockery.