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She couldn’t have had a bra on but I reckoned I was going to find that out pretty soon.I let my fingers touch her hands and slowly raised both of them, sliding them to her elbow. I looked into her eyes momentarily before dropping my gaze back to her full breasts.I let my fingers graze the underneath of her swell; a glance at her eyes saw them looking down at my fingertips. The cotton fabric was so smooth and thin. There was hardly anything between my hand and her nipples; a fact that she was well aware of.On the one hand, I couldn’t believe my luck, and on the other, I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity. My hands cupped her breasts, rolling them together, softly pushing them upwards. Her dress rode up her body and it was then that I noticed that she hadn’t sat on it. My fingers made a beeline for one of her nipples. I touched it through the fabric, caressing it in small circles before holding it between my finger and thumb. It was hard and erect and I could see that the aureole. Because they didn't simply disapprove of him, or dislike him. They hated him, and he was pretty sure that they liked it that way. And while the matter of why had run in and out of his mind for as long as he could remember, something about this place made him wonder how. How did things ever become... this way?Whatever it was, it was their fault. He'd made his peace with that years ago, no longer willing to carry around whatever guilt he thought he was expected to feel. Because really, as far as David was concerned, he hadn't done anything wrong. Not really. It had taken him some time to get there, though. Because really, when you were hardly out of diapers and your parents insisted that there was something wrong about you--something bad--then you believed it. And this was how David Martin was introduced to himself, how he'd learned to think of himself. For a very long time. It hadn't mattered that he remembered. Remembered and knew that the things they told him weren't true. It hadn't.
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