Aftereffects.

When Lenny returned home, the first thing he did was open his computer up to some steamy image sharing sites, and slip his hand under his grey trousers. Stopping him, however, was a sidelong news headline, which made him go over it a second time. He clicked on it, taking him to an article that was discussing Emma Watson's appearance on the talk show last night with Sebastian Patricks. The surreal thing was how it made light of the display Emma made with her perky breasts, even showcasing a gif with some memetic text overlayed on top. At the end of the article was the line, "Keep on being the coolest chick this side of the Atlantic, Emma!"

"Gotta be kidding," Lenny mumbled, sitting back in his chair.

Same went for near every other source of coverage of yesterday. Nobody batted an eyelash at it. Some pervs made salacious comments, but they were chastised as lacking self-control by the supposedly levelheaded majority.

In other words, the consensus was that nothing Emma did was... unusual. Nobody saw her crazy chest antics as out of character. Nobody cared.

Just like he had written it should be.

Later that day, Lenny took the time off to get some jogging in, as well as a fruit shake or two. Physical activity was far from his specialty, but he tried to take care of his body. These days, it became more and more necessary.

While passing a pair of young and spry female joggers, he nodded a polite hello, bringing up his finger to scratch his eyebrow. A few moments later, the two were jogging up to his side, one at one respective hip, to ask the nice stranger if he was interested in seeing their tight runner's asses. The next second, they were bent over as he looked through the screen of his cell phone camera and took some semi-discreet photos of two sets of apply ass cheeks.

Falling arse first into his chair back home, he took a few moments to gather himself. The ceiling stared back into his probable soul as he played over the events of the day. The eyebrow gimmick worked quite consistently. In fact, nearly every time he tried it, he reaped the plow. In the cafe with the bored-looking barista, by the chapel with those two girls in fashionable wedding attire, even with the breastfeeding mom at the park. How she managed to do that without interrupting her milk feeding still made his joints sore by proxy.

So the effects of the things written in the book, Lenny lifted his head to glance at the spine-bound rectangle lying atop some bills on the table, remain sustained... indefinitely, it seems.

That's good.

Good.

I think.