Chapter 3

“You know, when I was at school I’d have killed for a bust like yours,” she says.

“We should’ve traded bodies,” I tell her. “I always hated everyone looking at my chest.”

“Can’t blame them, though, can you?” She pulls off her Nike pants and the thong beneath, and I can’t think of anything to say. She’s so beautiful. So pale and willowy, like a dryad or a naiad from the stories my mum used to tell me when I was little. The neatly trimmed hair at her crotch is darker, like ginger snaps. I wonder if she tastes as sweet. She smiles. “I’m just dying for a shower, aren’t you?”

And she grabs her towel and a couple of bottles, and pads off to the showers in her bare feet, and I just stand there with my tits out, open-mouthed.

Then I finally get my arse in gear and follow her.

* * * *

She orders a latte in the cafe afterwards, and I have a cappuccino. “Have you heard anything about Mrs MacReady?” I ask her, because it’s been preying on my mind.