The Gift of Girls
“My armpits were dripping and my knickers were so damp they had ridden up into the crack of my bottom. I was wearing a lacy blouse that revealed rather more bare flesh than was probably appropriate and my cheeks turned pink with embarrassment as I followed Mr Roche’s eyes down to my throbbing breasts.
My flatmate Melissa had said, if you’ve got it, flaunt it, and the thing with clichés is, while they are usually true, they don’t always apply.
With the push-up bra shamefully tipping my breasts ou...t of my top, I had chosen a pink suit and cherry-red heels high enough to give a girl a sense of presence. That was the plan. My clothes were neat, pretty, feminine and tight enough to ensure that my bones could be seen to be exactly where they should be, pressing through my lightly tanned skin and brushing the inside of the pink fabric.
I was wearing the uniform of a girl with confidence, although I couldn’t help wondering as I gazed back mesmerised into Simon Roche’s deep-set eyes if I had got it all terribly wrong.MoreLess
My flatmate Melissa had said, if you’ve got it, flaunt it, and the thing with clichés is, while they are usually true, they don’t always apply.
With the push-up bra shamefully tipping my breasts ou...t of my top, I had chosen a pink suit and cherry-red heels high enough to give a girl a sense of presence. That was the plan. My clothes were neat, pretty, feminine and tight enough to ensure that my bones could be seen to be exactly where they should be, pressing through my lightly tanned skin and brushing the inside of the pink fabric.
I was wearing the uniform of a girl with confidence, although I couldn’t help wondering as I gazed back mesmerised into Simon Roche’s deep-set eyes if I had got it all terribly wrong.MoreLess
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