Tilda watched her sleeping roommate, feeling something she hoped was lust. Please let it be lust. Please let me be anything but terminally, boringly straight.
The girl then shifted in her sleep, revealing a white crescent of breast.
Nope. Not lust. Definitely not lust. Rats!
Is it envy? No, that’s not right either. Gluttony? Wrath? Come on, Tilda, think!
What Tilda was experiencing—for the very first time—was maternal affection. Maternal protective instinct.
Years later, as her son slid down the slide on his own, she’d recall the image of her college roommate’s boob.
And think, Ah great. This again.
Really good. A surprise and great ending.
Thank you so much, Toni!
Nice turn at the end.
Thank you!!