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She laughed and pulled up even closer, to embrace me as well.Accidentally, she put her hand on my chest. When she'd forgotten to take it off and we'd both noticed it, she held it, with her palm flat, on me. Then, as I took a deep, nervous breath, she smiled, and traced her fingers across my chest.Nervously, I turned my face towards her to say something, but instead, she leaned upwards and kissed me quickly on my lips. I flinched instinctively."Oh," she smiled. "You're not accustomed to kisses. Let's do it slowly this time.."She slowly turned my head back towards hers, and we kissed more intensely. I felt overwhelmed by her kiss, and gave in, cupping her face in my hands as I kissed her back. We stared into each other's eyes for a moment, before I looked away instinctively."K-Kami," I stammered, "I really.. don't know what to say."She took my hand and held it tight, looking at me. "You're shy."We laughed for a moment. Then, gazing into her pretty face, I breathed deeply, tensed up. I’m the twig in case that little metaphor didn’t get you caught on. I’m only 5’4 and sure as hell skinny like a twig. It’s more of a curse than a gift like some girls here make it seem. I have some muscles, but not enough to actually beat the famous Cody Barren. I’m sure my smack to his head back there pretty much made that clear enough. I looked over at him while he snorted and then farted. I sighed, rolling my neck back and forth before going back into my bed. Why I get myself into these shitty situations is beyond any one’s normal train of thought. -=-=-=- ‘Wake the fuck up, bitch!’ My eyes slowly dragged open and immediately shut tight against the stream of sunlight beating down against my face. I turned off the alarm on my phone that Kasey, my good for nothing best friend, kindly made for me without telling me how to set the ring so now I’m stuck with it. Have been for over three months and it’s such a nice way to start the day. I sat up in my bed and tried to untangle the.
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At least my picture wasn’t on display, but some yummy-looking cookies were. I was debating whether to buy any when the owner spotted me and beckoned me in. He looked like a baker—round and soft– and always with a big smile on his face. His bald head was usually obscured by his baker’s hat. As soon as the door closed behind me, he turned the sign to say CLOSED. I looked around and, indeed, the sketch of me was hanging on the wall behind the cash register, right alongside a framed picture of a dollar bill. Anyone who bought anything in the bakery would see it. He was beaming at me as his hands covered my tits and began to knead them like dough. Such beautiful bazooms,” he said. “I could kiss them!” Well yes, he could, but not in front of the display window where anyone could see. If he was any indication, bakers are very talented with their hands. “I want you to autograph the picture for me,” he said. “Maybe say something like, to Willie, my favorite baker.” “It’s the artist who signs.

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