Try to distract yourself.

“Well,” you say as a way to punctuate the conversation, “I’ve kept you long enough, don’t you think? I mean, you certainly have things to do, and I have to get dressed sometime. Can’t lounge around all day, after all.” You get up from the table and make yourself busy by rinsing out you’re coffee cup and anything else you can do to keep from starting at Doe’s…unexpected development.

For her part Doe doesn’t seem upset. “I have been talking too much, haven’t I? It’s just that I don’t have much time for conversation these days. It’s either dealing with Courtney or talking to Jack when he comes to get Courtney every second weekend. I’m sorry if I kept you, John.”

“Oh, no,” you say quickly. The last thing you want is for Doe to feel unwelcome. “Not at all. I’ve enjoyed it. I wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime, really. It’s just that I’m not quite done moving in, and I have work tomorrow, so….”

“I understand,” Doe says. She rises from the kitchen table and touches your arm in a friendly way. “You don’t have to explain to me about…oh, no, I didn’t realize I’d sprung a leak! Oh, how embarrassing! Do you have a towel, John?”

“Yes,” you reply, and go searching for the drawer with the dishtowels in. “They’re somewhere around here…yes, here they are. Just one, or—?”

When you turn around, towels in hand, you’re brought up short by the unexpected sight of Doe lifting her tiny, pink top over her head. Her breasts are enormous, engorged as they are, and the posture she holds she as strips off her top only enhances their appearance.

Droplets of milk are clearly visible on the thick nipple of her left breast. Doe smiles at you with a mixture of embarassment and…something else? It’s difficult to be certain. “Just the one, thank you,” she says, and relieves you of a towel.

Doe wipes her breast with the towel, and you can’t stop staring. Her aureolae are dark, and her nipples stand out like an invitation for your lips. Thin, spider-webbing veins, dimly visible under the healthy tan of Doe’s skin, spread out across her breasts. “You must be mortified,” Doe says, not looking up, “I’m so terribly sorry.”

Your whole body is rigid, some bits of it more than others. A part of your mind keeps repeating this is totally normal, this is totally normal, but another part can't stop fixating on the thought of grabbing Doe and….

Abruptly you realize that Doe is looking directly at you. Again, her expression is unreadable, but yours must be as obvious as a billboard. “Um…,” you say articulately. “Uh.”

“I think I understand, John,” Doe says.