Memories

Liam tried not to stare, but his eyes kept catching on the worst parts. The dried streaks crusted near the base of her breasts, where heat and time had turned slickness into sticky residue. The shine of fresh release right above that. The smudges where hands had wiped, spread, kneaded without care. Her skin was layered with it—some of it still warm, some of it cooling in the night air.

She wasn’t cleaning any of it. Wasn’t hiding. Her body was a bulletin board of male want, and she sat in the middle of it, serene.

Liam felt something cave in his chest.

He looked down at the edge of her left breast—swollen, pink from pressure, still glistening—and it hit him with the **** of a wave: he had wanted this in high school. Not this exact scene, no, but the shape of it. The weight. The sense of something so big, so obscene, it didn’t belong in a school hallway. The way she looked when she bent over her desk. How he used to volunteer to carry her backpack just to watch her breasts shift under her shirt as she adjusted her straps.

He remembered watching her drink water in class, her arms crossing under her chest without thinking, and how he would stare until he got hard under the desk.

He remembered going home and fucking the underside of his pillow, imagining it was her breasts. Not her lips. Not her voice. Just her chest—massive, heavy, warm in his fantasy, and always available. He never told anyone. Never even admitted it to himself. He wrapped it in the idea of a crush. A soft spot.

But it wasn’t soft.

And now, sitting next to her as she let strangers rub their cocks between the same flesh he once worshipped in silence, he couldn’t pretend anymore.

His jaw clenched.

K glanced at him, as if sensing the shift. “You remember something?”

He nodded slowly, not trusting his voice.

She smirked, turning back to the skyline. “Let me guess. Locker room jerk-off fantasy? Or the one where you drop your pen and I lean over to help you find it?”

Liam swallowed hard.

“I used to catch you looking,” she said. “You always looked sad after. Like you were mourning something.”

“I was ashamed,” he said.

She nodded like she understood. “Of me?”

“Of me,” he said quietly.

Another man knelt in front of her now, pressing her breasts together with both hands and rubbing himself between the soft folds. He didn’t even make eye contact. Just used her, fast and frantic, like he was chasing a high.

“You ever want to be the one doing that?” K asked, still staring at the night sky. “Back then?”

Liam hesitated. “Yeah.”

“And now?”

He didn’t answer.

But his silence was a confession. K knew it. She reached up and dragged her fingers down the side of her chest, collecting a thick smear of cum on her palm, then wiped it absently on her thigh like it was nothing. Like it was just what skin was for.

“I would’ve let you,” she said. “If you’d asked me back then.”

Liam turned to her, stunned.

She smiled faintly, not looking at him. “I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew who I liked watching me.”

Another grunt. The man came and pulled away, fast and quiet, like he’d done something wrong.

K didn’t flinch. She just adjusted her breasts again, resting them on her lap like pillows too big for any bed.

“You still do,” she said, finally meeting Liam’s eyes. “You just don’t know if you’re ready to be like the rest of them.”

Liam breathed in slow.

“I don’t know if I want to be like them,” he said.

K’s smile turned knowing. “You already are. You’re just polite about it.”