Singing the Body Eclectic

She wasn't wearing a bra. Rodney was certain of that. At least not any sort of conventional brassiere he was aware of. He was in no way an expert in women's lingerie, and was quite open to the possibility of great technical strides in the field of mammary support, but the way the thin cotton t-shirt clung to every conceivable contour, he couldn't imagine anything existing between shirt and skin.

Catching himself with this thought, Rodney immediately felt his cheeks burn with shame and darted his head behind the newspaper he held in his hands. The quick movement caused the stiff paper to crumple far louder than Rodney would've liked. He froze, horrifyingly self-aware. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply, attempting to calm his racing heart. Eyes still closed, he assured himself he had done nothing wrong. He was a good man, perhaps a little lonely, but by no means a pervert. He had only made the most casual of observations about another human being. That was all. Well, maybe he should have averted his eyes more quickly, but letting the guilt from what was undoubtedly an innocent glance cause such panic was ridiculous. He exhaled; long and slow, and opened his eyes.

The newspaper before him was an incomprehensible sea of blurry grey. He blinked repeatedly, attempting to clear his vision, with no success. A cold lump rose in Rodney's chest. He awkwardly cleared his throat and began to surreptitiously glance out from behind the safety of his paper to survey the coffee shop. If any of the other patrons had noticed his little episode, they showed no sign of it.

Looking from table to table, Rodney saw a variety of people talking amongst themselves or silently reading. His eyes passed over an elderly Asian couple, an athletic man perusing a cycling magazine, and a huddled group of giggling teenagers all before he found himself staring directly at the initial cause of his jittery behavior.

She sat between two friends, engaged in what appeared to be a light-hearted conversation. In her mid-twenties, she had short mousy hair and a relatively pleasant face. She appeared to be of average build, not overweight and not thin. She was decidedly common. Even forgettable, were it not for the one glaring exception. Unconsciously Rodney lowered the paper for an unobstructed view. Any fear or shame he felt only moments ago had vanished. They were the only things on his mind.

This was completely out of character for Rodney. Never a ladies man, he had been in a few relationships. Intimate Relationships. He was not prudish or blindly driven by libido. He appreciated the inherent beauty of the female form, but felt no desire for pornography. In the sweltering summer months, when young girls paraded about in bikinis and shorts that explicitly defined the term, Rodney far preferred reading a cheap sci-fi paperback to ogling. However, at this moment, he was utterly transfixed by these breasts.

They were not gargantuan, or even large. It was the odd, one could even say bizarre shape that made them so unique. Plunging down from the woman's neck, her breasts held fast to her chest, nearly to the point of nonexistence. They then made an abrupt jump violently outward and upward, forming a practically acute arc which culminated in rather large, angular nipples. In contrast, the underside of each breast appeared to create an almost perfect circle, the epitome of a gentle curve.

Rodney's mind raced as he took in every detail. He was inexplicably drawn to these breasts, intrigued by these breasts, both aroused and repulsed by these breasts. They were simultaneously the most perfect and most hideous pair of breasts in existence. He couldn't comprehend why every eye in the room wasn't glued to them just as his were. And how could this woman display them with such disregard for those around her? Wearing such a tight shirt and no bra, did she not know their power? Or was she willfully flaunting them, daring people to stare; to become hypnotized?

Whatever her motivation, this woman seemed genuinely oblivious to Rodney's intense gaze. She carried on, now talking animatedly, relating some amusing anecdote or describing a particularly memorable scene from a favourite movie. As she spoke, she made exaggerated hand gestures and leaned dramatically back in her chair. Rodney watched as her breasts moved, or did not, in relation to the rest of her body. He tilted his head slightly and furrowed his brow, as if confused why the complete understanding of all breasts could so easily elude him.

The woman finished her story and her friends erupted in laughter. She pitched forward, briefly obscuring Rodney's view, and pushed herself up to her feet with a confident smile. The friend to her left gave the woman a teasing slap on the back and shook his head with amused disbelief. Before he realized what was happening, Rodney watched as this woman, and the mystery that accompanied her, waved farewell to her friends and strode out the door.

Rodney's mouth fell open in silent protest. He instinctively rose up in his chair as if to follow her before thinking better of it and slumping back down. She was gone. They were gone. He felt cold and hollow. He had been given a short-lived glimpse into the realm of the inconceivable, and it had passed all too quickly. He let out a despondent sigh, closed his eyes, and rested his head in his hands.

He slowly massaged his temples, attempting to soothe himself back to reality. It was silly, absurd, even embarrassing, what he had just done. To be so enraptured by a pair of bosoms as to consider, however briefly, following a stranger Lord knows where. Totally shameful. Rodney laughed to himself without humor. He was not that type of man. It was a fluke, a one-time anomaly that would never, could never, happen again.

"Excuse me," said a man's voice, breaking Rodney's concentration. "Are you done with that paper?"

"Sure, go ahead," Rodney managed to mumble, as he parted his hands and opened his eyes. From his vantage point he saw across the surface of the table, following the newspaper as it was pulled towards the unknown voice. The man successfully retrieved the outspread paper and began folding it into a more manageable size. Rodney was too embarrassed to look the man in the eye, so instead he looked only at the man's midsection, most of which was now concealed by the rapidly moving newspaper.

The man finally was able to get the unruly paper under control and Rodney's eyes followed as it was swiftly tucked under the man's arm, alongside a glossy magazine. Turning his gaze back to center, Rodney found himself eye level to the man's groin. The man wore bright orange spandex bicycle shorts which clung to him tight as a second skin.

"Thanks," the man said, turning away.

Rodney's breath caught in his throat, and his jaw dropped. As the cyclist ambled out the door, Rodney remained motionless, save for his right hand, which reached out almost imperceptibly.

Author's Note:
I don't know what to say about this one... Let's just say bodies are weird. And Julianne Moore is naked in a lot of movies.

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