Boob


The man on the train platform had a breast in his hand. There did not seem to be any evidence of a woman to which it might once have belonged. The breast was fake, of course: a novelty object cast in some kind of pliable, flesh colored silicone, complete with a nipple. The back side, where it would normally attach to a body, was flat to the point of concavity and rimmed with a faint ribbon of excess silicone. It was solidly the size of a grapefruit. 

The man spoke in the piping tones of a child. He could not have been more pleased with his plaything, which he referred to frequently and ebulliently as his “titty”. His favorite pastime was to throw his titty, with all his might, against the ground. If he aimed it right, the back side would adhere to the cement of the platform sending a satisfying ripple of jiggle through the breast. His companion, the George to his Lenny, scolded him gently: 

“Respect the titty.” He repeated in an undertone. “Don’t throw it on the ground, it’ll get dirty.”

This advice seemed to speak to Lenny. He borrowed a bottle of water that his companion was emptying for redemption and poured it over the breast with ceremony. The titty was not noticeably cleaner, but did now gleam with shining droplets of water. 

Then the train came and the man and his titty went on to adventures in places unknown.

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~ by Gwydhar Gebien on August 11, 2017.

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