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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