Lucy looked down at her small chest, she had heard friends with rounder, fuller busts complain, but was never convinced. Complaining that one’s large bosoms were a hindrance, that at times they got in the way, that they were painful, blah-di-blah, was bollocks. Lucy would love to bare such bulbous woes upon her sternum. Instead, as with all the women in her family, large hips were not accompanied by large breasts. Frustratingly, Lucy found that even the fold of a medium weight cloth would mask any definition her bust mustered. Anything thicker than a blouse, would conceal the slightest hint of a contour and appear little more than a slightly puckered crease. Lucy stood and tugged at her tits, trying to draw more from their form. Disappointed, she surveyed her profile and focused on the positives, at least the naked truth was not something that fell to the floor, they were perky and had a good shape. Lucy sucked in her tummy and recounting the article she had recently read, rather than reaching three draws down for a modestly padded bra, she plunged directly into the second draw down and pulled out and on a racy white dress.
The cafe was brimming, Lucy at first glided past, glancing through the large windows. She had never been to this cafe before and wanted to gain an understanding of its clientele before she breached its walls wearing her experimental saucy top. As she had suspected, it was a pretentious little affair and coasting to a stop two doors down, she eyed her reflection in the shop window in order to confirm that her attire was fitting.
She was a pretty young girl, and although her hips were distinctly child baring making her body slightly pear shaped, most would consider her slim. Lucy turned and content that her flirty white number was suitably offset by her baggy jeans, plucked up the courage and made for the cafe. She entered with a chime and several eyes greeted her. Lucy guessed the chiming door was an effort of authenticity, but was not grateful of the attention it aroused. The cafe, as her drive by had confirmed, was a studious little number, a place where people seemingly drank coffee only to show off the text they were attempting to devour. It had been her date’s choice, a date frankly she had no interest in, nevertheless a subject she knew would serve as a prime candidate to test out a theory. The Prat suddenly erected himself at the back of the room. He stood up from the much desired two man couch and smiled with a half-raised waving arm. Lucy could only guess, having acquired such a prestigious seat, he had been there for some time. Thoughtful but too calculated. The nerd clearly wanted to look cool and in the bundle sit in close quarters so as to engage her full attention and with a little luck a knee grazing or two. All of which Lucy, who had had many a hopeless date, knew was the platform for a very intense and suffocating environment. Unusually this pleased her, as it all helped in setting the perfect stage to test the preachings of this hopeful article and consequentially the naughty white dress.
Lucy greeted the Prat with a single kiss to the cheek then, as ushered, took the seat on the couch next to the already plonked idiot. The Prat had dropped to
the couch almost as soon as she had pulled her head from his cheek, his excitement uncontainable. Lucy rather more delicately took her place, pushing forward what chest she had and due to the attention from the door, her pricked teats. Prat eyed them and was not all that subtle about it. Lucy, not used to the attention, darted a glance herself, as her eyes settled she realised that her top was not the fullest of whites and was actually a little transparent in this light. She turned away from Prat as she felt a slight embarrassment ruddy her pale cheeks. She was not comfortable that the shadowing of her nipples could be seen through her vest and struggling to compose herself, took a prolonged moment leant over the arm of the couch.
She brushed down a cushion that she had pulled from her side as means of distraction and once she felt the red drain from her face, she turned back to the Prat. ‘It’s just chocolate I think.’ Lucy gestured to the cushion then smiled up at Prat’s keen face. The Prat nervously tapped at his choice bible on the coffee table and nodded in agreement with Lucy. Agreement with something but not all together sure what. The Prat had failed to notice that Lucy had gone astray for the past three minutes, he hadn’t noticed her teetering over the far side of the settee grooming a cushion. He had been far too involved with himself, his demeanour and the conversation he proposed to strike. Lucy could see his brain firing up and examined his nervous hand fiddling with the book on the coffee table. The author of the book leapt out from between his fingers and Lucy was surprised, ‘Wilbur Smith’ was not what she expected to see smeared across the front cover. She was imaging it would be something pretentious, a catalyst for a prolonged deliberation on the prose of some literary genius. Wilbur Smith certainly did not fit that criteria, at best he was only a conversation piece with ones Father, once talk of the weather had dried up. The Prat, noticing Lucy’s keen eye on his book turned it away from her, he knew Wilbur was no girly read. Lucy looked again into Prat’s large face and felt a twinge of pity. She imagined that the Prat was just the result of a domineering Father, whose sole purpose in life was to regurgitate inherited views. Lucy imagined that if she was to experience the full delights of the Prat, it was the father that she should date, not the bit that dribbled out and merged with a lesser soul. Lucy sat and listened to the Prat fumble and mumble his way through a stream of hand-me-down topics. As was her usual practice when internet dating, she fired objective and belittling obstructions to all that Prat offered, she knew this to be her common practise and was unapologetic about it. Although she chose to date in this fashion and believed it to be a productive effort in finding a suitor, she still believed her man would materialise in an organic fashion. She imagined her man would perhaps fall into her arms from an idyllic bordering shrub, untainted by life. Prat was still talking and although Lucy was bored, she kept him primed with the odd laugh and flirtatious eye. He was perfect, a perfect minion to test the theory.
The third coffee consumed and, unfortunately but necessary for her experiment, numbers exchanged, Lucy suggested the Prat walk her to the bus. She
had routed a stop that meant a short cut down a sheltered alleyway, here she paused. She wanted to say his name but was torn between Matthew and Michael, George also rung a bell. Knowing that if she called him Prat the moment would be lost, Lucy just hung back and readied a seductive stance against the rick wall. The Prat plodded on four more strides before he realised she was no longer clung to the fat Wilbur Smith trapped under his arm. Eventually he stopped and turned to seek her out, Lucy now empowered by the privacy the alleyway offered, pushed forward her chest and circular shadings. The Prat nearly dropped Wilbur as his eyes darted and feet motioned, in all fairness, everywhere. As he approached he showed a little know how and raised his hands stroking her hair away from her face. Lucy responded to the gentle touch by lifting her jaw but with a thud the moment was lost as Wilbur slipped its grip and dropped to the floor. Lucy cursed the sod but made good of the situation, she edged the book towards her and stepped up tall on the block of words. Wilbur’s weight brought her someway up to Prats height and she leant in and kissed him. The Prat keenly kissed back and then kissed some more. Lucy underwhelmed by the plunger action, found herself more concerned that the Prats lung capacity considerably outweighed hers. Lucy worried that she might suffocate whilst stuck to his face, squeaked her face away and took a large breath.
‘God!’ She disguised her need for air with a exasperated cry of joy, fanning Prats ego.
The Prat was excited by her response and nibbled on her neck. Lucy enjoyed this but needed to keep the experiment on track, so she pulled away from his salivating mouth and unlocked his arms from the back of her head. Knowingly Lucy had given him the green card to wander, she had instructed his hands to search out what they may. Lucy went for another dive into the airless cavern of Prats mouth, hopeful that the article held some truth. Were small breasts attractive and not something to smuggle away? If one paraded them in the correct manner, were very comparable to the larger bosom? The Prat now had his tongue some way into her mouth and wriggled it in a fashion a dentist searched for a cavity. Lucy could detect his hands were hovering somewhere around her mid section and that he was still a little weary to engage them. She let him inspect her dentures some more and to encourage him, let out a little squeak
of pleasure. The hands started to amble. Lucy tensed slightly. Would he miss out first base and simply go for glory? Would the Prat in this very alley, confirm her disappointment that a small chest can never truly serve as a stopping point to the final destination?
‘Oooo arrrgh!’ he didn’t, he grabbed them! He tweaked and toyed with them. In fact he didn’t really know what the hell he was doing with them, but they had certainly captured his full attention. It was amazing, Lucy was liberated. The Prat was crap, clueless but Lucy had breasts and breasts men desired.