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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