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— Ooh… — the old woman drawled, looking at me almost sympathetically now, though her eyes still carried the unspoken we’ll fix you. — Such a grown girl, and your first time at the bathhouse.
— And the last, — I muttered, turning my gaze aside, pretending to examine the locks on the lockers instead of meeting the old woman’s piercing stare.
— Well, well, dear, — she went on, slowly pulling on some hideously colorful swimsuit, then added to Samantha, — I have a granddaughter just like her, my Mary. Only, well… she wasn’t as lucky in the curves department.
I nearly choked, snapping my head around and glaring at this “sweet little old lady.” I wanted to say something sharp, but a lump stuck in my throat, and I only pressed the towel tighter over my breasts.
— Lily, stop giving dagger eyes, — Samantha said quietly but firmly, already dressed in her neat blue swimsuit, her wet hair falling over her shoulders. — Come on, get changed.
— I… — I began, but she caught my gaze and tilted her head ever so slightly. Her eyes said it clearly: don’t even think about it.
Pressing my lips together, I slowly reached for the bench, bending slightly and holding the towel and my breasts with one arm, catching out of the corner of my eye that the old woman still hadn’t left, as if she was staying on purpose. The towel rustled over my skin, and I could feel water still pooling on my back, sliding downward. My heart was pounding like I was about to step onto a stage under a spotlight instead of just into a pool.
I carefully picked up the swimsuit—this bright coral madness that seemed even smaller in my hands than it had in Samantha’s. The fabric was cool and elastic, and I already knew it would cling to every inch of my new body.
— Come on, Lily, — Samantha prompted, leaning against the locker and lazily shaking water from her hair. — Stop acting like I’m shoving you into a straitjacket.
I shot her a look of pure disdain and slowly peeled off the towel, feeling the damp air wrap instantly around my bare skin. The fabric whispered as it slid away, and I was left wearing nothing but the ridiculous turban on my head, holding in my hands this coral scrap of elastic Samantha called a swimsuit.
My heart was thudding in my ears as I lifted one leg, then the other, into the narrow, cold material. Bending over made my breasts pull me downward, swaying heavily, and the swimsuit fabric, as if on purpose, stretched taut over my hips and began to strain even though I’d only pulled it up to my knees. The crisp, slightly sticky sound of it sliding over my damp skin made my teeth clench. It bit into my thighs before finally giving way. I sucked in my stomach, trying to work it up to my waist, but my breasts were already in the way.
Both Samantha and the old woman watched me with some bizarre kind of fondness as I stood there half-wrapped in this insanity. After a moment’s hesitation, I slipped one hand under the strap and began carefully guiding my right breast into the tight, springy fabric. The material resisted, pressing upward from below, but finally, when the breast settled into the space allotted for it, I let go of the strap and it snapped against my shoulder, digging into my skin.
— Ugh, — I groaned in annoyance, glancing down only to realize I couldn’t even see the other strap—my breast was blocking the view. I had to lean sideways, feeling around until my fingers found it tucked under my right breast. My fingertips slid over the cool, damp skin until they hooked the elastic edge, which caught briefly on a nail before snapping free. I stretched it out and pulled it up over my shoulder. The strap, like it was mocking me, dug in hard, trapping my breasts between two narrow bands of elastic, lifting and pushing them forward so that I could feel the skin pulling tight.
I ran my palms down my sides, trying to smooth the fabric, but it clung stubbornly to my skin, as if determined to emphasize every curve. Across my stomach it drew in a neat arc, tracing my shape, and my breasts, caught in the taut sling of the straps, rose heavily with each breath. I slid my left hand under the neckline, trying to lift one breast into a more comfortable position, but the elastic bit into me instantly, as if resisting.