Caroline's secret - Sex Stories

Caroline's secret

... till the urges had shrugged themselves and simply ceased their urging. The silhouette behind the frosted glass was unmistakable: there aren't many women in the world with tits like that. Alice fucking 'Tits' fucking Taylor. I hadn't spoken to her since the day - also twelve years ago - that I'd told her to get out of my life. I opened the door and, without looking her in the face, turned on my heel and strode back into the depths of my house. Her voice was so tiny, so broken, I almost stopped and spun around. Almost. 'Can I come in?' I called over my shoulder. 'Come in and shut the door if you like. Shut the d-d-door and ffffuck off if you don't.' I slumped on the couch and waited. I heard the door click closed. Footsteps. Closer. Breathing. Nearer. Timidly - a word I never thought I would use in conjunction with Alice - she stepped into the living room. She was hunched, shaking, and her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks mascara-streaked, with crying. Despite my shock, I retained a sneer. 'What the fuck happened to you?' She perched on the edge of an armchair, blew her nose on a scrap of Kleenex and began. 'The doctors say they've got to cut my fucking tits off.' The juxtaposition of words almost made me laugh. Almost. 'What? Oh, no, Alice. You have c-c-c...' If I could have said it, I still couldn't have said it. 'No, but it's all but fucking certain I'll get it. I've had the tests. Genes and stuff. They say lopping 'em off is the only thing to do.' Her grandma and mum had ...

... both died of breast cancer. I'd heard her auntie now had it too. The poor girl. Her tits defined her. They were her talisman. Without her tits she'd just be Alice Taylor. A middle-aged nobody. 'Cup of tea?' I didn't know what else to say. She nodded, followed me through to the kitchen and sat on a high stool. As I rattled cups, I glanced across at her. My old friend was middle-aged. Too much sun and too many cigarettes had put unnecessary years on her. And as she'd aged, her skirts had got even shorter, her tops had got even lower, and her hair had got even longer and blonder. She was a parody. A caricature. 'I'm going to die, Caz. But I'd rather die than lose these.' She cupped them, clung to them, as if I were the surgeon, as if the spoon I was holding were a knife. An irreverent thought crossed my mind without looking both ways and got hit by my carelessly speeding mouth. 'I could donate some of mine.' Silence. More silence. Suddenly, the clouds lifted and the old Alice began to shine. 'Fuck off! Yer've hardly enough for yer self!' Were it a kidney or a chunk of liver she'd needed, I'd have done it without a second thought. And that was when I realised how badly I missed her and how much I needed her in my life. My voice broke. 'But if I could, I would. You know that don't you?' The smile amongst so much facial and physical devastation looked distinctly creepy. She shook her head. 'Nah. I couldn't accept. It'd be like taking bread from a starving man.' More silence. New ...