She dressed for someone else tonight — that much is obvious. The lingerie sits slightly askew, lipstick freshly reapplied, hair carrying that particular dishevelment that fingers cause.

You recognize her perfume but the hunger in her eyes belongs to a story that started without you. She's looking directly into the camera, directly at you, and she isn't apologizing for any of it.

Thirty-eight looks like this: confident, deliberate, fully aware of exactly what she's doing to your head. She wants you to know everything. That's the point.