Coming Together: With Curves, edited
by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse
Curvy
girls and the men (and women!) that love them is the theme of this
charity anthology, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse.
From
Zumba classes to Burlesque dancers, all kinds of big and beautiful
women are portrayed between the pages of this book. Read about
birthday surprises, smut at the gym, horse riders, lusty couples,
naughty neighbours, skilled bakers, rope bondage and
misunderstandings from some of erotica’s best authors.
Sales
proceeds benefit Parkinson’s
UK.
Contents: Six
Lengths of Red Hemp (Tilly
Hunter), Cross
Trainer Number Four (Lily
Harlem), Bella
Buxom, Just Squeeze Me (JoAnne
Kenrick), Captivated (Elizabeth
Lapthorne), Red
Rag to a Bull (Victoria
Blisse), Girl
Next Door (Bella
Blake), Lush
Buns (Sommer
Marsden), The
Big Reveal (Giselle
Renarde), The
Wrong End of the Stick (Lucy
Felthouse), Riding
School (Bella
Blake), Flesh
For Fantasy (Lexie
Bay).
*****
Bonnie
stifled a sigh. He was doing it again. Staring at her, as he had been
every day that week. She was on a fortnight’s training course
through work. She was the only one from her office who’d been sent.
As a result, she knew no one and ended up sitting alone in the
college’s cafeteria at lunchtimes. She’d had a couple of invites
from kindly people also on her course, but she’d turned them down.
It wasn’t that she was being rude or anti-social, she just hated
people to see her eat. She was a big girl—that was putting it
politely—and when people saw her eat, she could feel the judgment
rolling off them in waves, the thoughts that she was fat because she
ate so much.
It
wasn’t true. About what she ate, that was. She was fat,
and there was no denying it. But it certainly wasn’t her doing.
She’d been born to large parents, and despite a healthy diet and
plenty of exercise, she was still overweight. All she ever managed to
shift was a pound or two here and there, and that was hardly
noticeable, particularly on a woman her size. She kept at it, though,
resigned to being a larger lady, but determined not to get any
bigger.
Because
she’d always been big, she was used to the snide comments, the
dirty and derisive looks, the open stares. So it didn’t upset her
any more, but she still got irritated when people simply gawped at
her. Surely one glance was enough for them to ascertain that yes, she
was a shapely girl, and then move on. In most cases it was,
particularly if she glared at the person in question. But not with
this guy. She was sure he was trying to be subtle, because he often
averted his gaze as she trained hers on him. But even if he’d
looked away, she could tell by the position of his head and body that
he’d been peeking at her. Again.
Now,
on day seven, she was almost at boiling point. What the hell was his
problem? Had no one ever told him it was rude to stare? She was on
the verge of doing just that.
Eating
her lunch was an unpleasant task, knowing she was being observed. If
she hadn’t been so damn hungry, she’d have left it. But she’d
been running late that morning and had committed that mortal
sin—missing breakfast. So her chicken salad—with no dressing—was
absolutely necessary to avoid making herself feel ill, or passing
out, so she devoured every last morsel. She ate faster than she
normally would, not because she was being greedy, but because the
sooner she finished eating, the sooner she’d stop feeling so damn
self-conscious about the guy across the room watching her.
She
decided to give him one last chance. When she’d finished her lunch,
she’d drink her carton of apple juice, then sit for a few seconds,
doing nothing. If he continued to look at her, she was going to stomp
over there and give him what for. If he didn’t, then she’d carry
on with life and do her best to forget about him and his rudeness.
Deep
down, she knew she was going to have to go over and say something to
him. After seven days, he wasn’t going to suddenly amend his
habits. She was just being a bit of a wimp, really, hoping to find
some way of getting out of confrontation, because she didn’t like
it, not one bit, and it was absolutely a last resort. Unfortunately,
she couldn’t think of a single other way of stopping him from doing
it. Perhaps she could put up a sign in front of her saying “Please
stop staring at me.” But if he couldn’t take the hint when she’d
glared at him, he wouldn’t take any notice of a piece of paper.
Several
minutes later, her salad was gone and she moved onto her drink. With
a sinking feeling in her gut, she saw he was just as interested in
her now as he had been when she’d been eating. Damn, confrontation
it was then.
Draining
the carton, she gathered her plate, cutlery and other rubbish onto
her tray, stood up and slid it onto the rack nearest her. Then she
returned to her table, grabbed her bag, pulled in a deep breath
through her nostrils and marched over to the Peeping Tom. She slid
out the chair opposite him and sat down on it.
*****
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