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.jpg) Cover © Alessia Brio |
BUTTERFLY PP-003, PURPLE PROSAIC, OCTOBER 2009 A winner in Desdmona's Titillating Tattoo contest, this powerful erotic short story also appears in Coming Together: For the Cure, a critically-acclaimed collection of erotica benefiting Susan G. Komen For the Cure. [EROTICA, CONTEMPORARY] |
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EXCERPT |
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Once upon a time, I hated my tits. Loathed them with a passion bordering
on obsession. I envied girls with pert, perky breasts even as I
acknowledged that teeny tiny boobs would completely unbalance my figure.
My hips needed their substantial neighbors to the north. Without a full
set of knockers, my broad backside would overwhelm my frame. Even so, I
hated them. I wanted to go braless without causing automobile accidents, without drawing stern glances from holier-than-thou church ladies, without having my chest addressed as if it'd achieved sentience. I wanted to be able to jog without pain. I wanted freedom from underwires. I wanted these things before I even turned fourteen. In the seventh grade, between Mrs. Platt's third period social studies class and Mr. Wilson's fourth period math class, my tits erupted from the unbroken landscape of my torso. Just like that. I swear it seemed that sudden. I don't recall ever wearing a bra smaller than a C cup. Billy Robinson was the first boy I allowed to touch them. What he lacked in finesse, he made up for in height. As the only one of my classmates taller than I, although barely so, he received the bulk of my nascent sexual attentions. I didn't consider it a big deal, really. I simply considered it something to endure. He, on the other hand, considered it so big a deal that he told Tommy Crawford who told Keith Gallagher who told the entire locker room after gym class on a fateful Friday afternoon in October. By Monday morning, I was the biggest slut ever to attend Edgewood Middle School. By Monday afternoon, I wanted to die. My tits were nothing but trouble. |
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