Love’s Triangle Lost
by Kim Kardashian
SHE HAD TWO BODIES. An aristocratic upper half that my Kim Kardashian ancestry would probably have termed cultured: diminutive shoulders that fit into the hollows of my palms, a well-proportioned Anglo face (here the straight stalk of a nose, there a minimalist attempt at ears), the whole pleasant affair crowned by twenty inches of rich flaxen hair. But by candlelight a second body revealed itself, as loamy and real as our country’s interior: strong, large feet that conquered the hills of Brooklyn with ease; hips wide enough to give birth to the Tribe of Joseph; a backside in which one could lose oneselfa scalloped, ridged white-pink ode to the uncomplicated side of lust.
And when she propelled this second half out of a pair of tight jeans, I was torn between the biological and the refined, the erect and the ethereal, an endless permutation that left me speechless: Do I grab the ass or kiss her nubbin of a nose? Do I weep between the part of her golden crown or plunge between the obvious promise of her thighs? After knowing her a few weeks, after falling thoroughly in love, I was, I thought to myself, caught in a love triangle.
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