MANTRA 3.0
-What are you doing Sunday?—Tom asked while Melisa got ready to leave his office.
—I was thinking of working out... and having breakfast with you—she answered nervously, thinking her routine was about to change, that she wouldn’t get to see him.
—I love doing that and we will, but I meant later—he said.
—Nothing special—Melisa sighed.
—Would you like to go out with me?—he said, like he was really nervous.
For the first time in months, Melisa took more than half an hour figuring out what to wear.
She tried on three different dresses. The first one was blue and very modest. She looked in the mirror and felt invisible. The second, black, was tighter. It showed off her legs, but hid her chest. The third one was red. When she put it on, she couldn’t look at herself in the mirror for a full minute.
Her tits stuck out. That was the only thing she had to offer, she thought. She forced herself to look. The neckline was deep. Her pale skin showed through the fabric. It looked like an offering.
She left the apartment feeling naked.
Soon as they walked into the restaurant, she noticed how every look landed on her. Judging her. She felt the stares the whole time. Everyone knew. Everyone knew it was her fault.
Tom kept looking at her pale skin, the skin she’d always hated. She tried to laugh when he made a joke, but not too much so she wouldn’t sound fake. Tried to flirt, but couldn’t how anymore. If she ever knew.
—S-So what do you think?—Melisa asked shyly after pouring him some of the expensive wine she still had left.
After dinner, neither of them wanted to leave. Melisa invited him up and he happily came.
—It’s delicious. You sure you don’t want to save it for a special occasion?—he said after she poured him more.
—Th-This is a special occasion—she stammered, smiling at him.
Suddenly, without warning, she sat very close to him. Her body was shaking, but she still looked him straight in the eyes for more than a second. Slowly, their lips came together. It was sweet, but mostly brief. She pulled away gently and started crying.
—Did I do something wrong?—Tom asked, alarmed.
—You can leave, please. Please—Melisa begged.
He didn’t say anything else. He just left. No drama.
Melisa stayed on the couch long after Tom was gone. She wasn’t crying anymore. Just staring at the door, waiting for it to open again.
She touched her lips. She could still feel the kiss.
Why had she pushed him away? Why did she always, always ruin everything?
She got into bed fully dressed. Stared at the ceiling. Thought about her tits. How Tom had looked at them during dinner. How she would’ve hated that look a few months ago and now she wanted it constantly.
He didn’t meet her at the park. She looked for him secretly at the restaurant. Every time someone opened the door, she hoped it was him. It never was. She tried not to cry in front of all those people, but she did.
Quietly, but through the whole breakfast.
When she got to his office, she brought coffee from a place they used to go to. On the cup someone had written: missed you today, with a little smiley face. She was wearing a top more revealing than the one from their date. Tom didn’t pretend not to notice. She didn’t pretend not to notice him noticing.
—Thanks a lot, Melisa. You didn’t have to—he said, his tone flat.
—Tom, I...—her voice cracked.
—I don’t know if you mind, Melisa, but I’d like to start as soon as possible. I have a lot of patients today.
—Of course—she answered, disappointed.
—You’re so ungrateful—Tom yelled at her—. This is how you repay Tom? With ingratitude, you stupid bitch.
—I don’t deserve him. I’m horrible. I don’t want to drag him down—she sobbed.
—You have huge tits—Tom said, cutting her off. He did that a lot. She was starting to get used to it.
—I have huge tits—she said, barely ing them, still crying from the argument before.
—You don’t deserve him, but that doesn’t mean Tom should pay for your sins. Right? Or do you want to push him away?
—No, no, no...—she shook her head desperately.
—You have to make him happy. It’s the only good thing in your life. It’s your duty.
—He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t. He deserves to be happy. It’s my duty.
She repeated that, and the thing about her tits being huge, over and over.
Soon as she came to, Tom wasn’t looking at her. He was shuffling papers, pretending as best he could that they were vitally important.
—Tom, can we talk for a minute?—she asked timidly.
—Can it be quick? Like I said, I’m kind of busy—he answered without bothering to look at her.
—I didn’t mean to... offend you. I just don’t deserve someone so good. But I swear I really like you... I...
She couldn’t get the words out. Too nervous. She moved as close to him as she could and when he turned around, she kissed him. This time it was longer. Freer, if you could call it that. Soon as she pulled away, he pulled her back and she didn’t resist. They stayed like that for a couple minutes. When they stopped, she could see that look in his eyes again.
They had dinner that same night and when they said goodbye, they kissed again.
Melisa tried to make her kisses ionate, but overthinking made them clumsy. She could feel Tom close to her, his body pressing against her tits. It was unavoidable. They were huge.
After three weeks of just sweaty hands and kissing, Tom tried to go further. One night, he slid his hand over her stomach. She tensed up, but didn’t stop him. So he kept going up, until he reached one of her tits. The word sounded so natural in her head. She went stiff at the touch. She was uncomfortable, but refused to pull away. Tom let go after a few minutes.
The next days followed the usual routine: workouts, breakfast, kisses, therapy, dinner, more kisses. Sometimes he’d risk touching her. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t complain. Once in a while she’d try to smile, but it looked too forced.
Until one day, at her place, he moved his hand toward her blouse. Started sliding it in. Melisa’s eyes opened wide and she almost said something, but then just gave in. She stared at him, trying to look expectant.
They were softer than he’d imagined. Didn’t fit in his hands. They were heavy. And from what he could see, whiter than the rest of her skin.
—If it bothers you when Tom touches your tits, why don’t you tell him to stop?
—Because I want him to be happy. I don’t want him to leave.
—Are you attracted to Tom?
—Yes... Maybe he’s not the hottest guy I’ve been with, but that’s not the problem... I... I’ve been dry since the pregnancy.
Only someone in a trance could be that honest. Tom didn’t take it personally.
—Melisa, I think I have a way to help Tom and punish you at the same time. Can’t forget about your punishments, right?
—No, of course not.
—Your tits are huge—he had to remind her what mattered first.
—If we had to define punishment, what would you say it is?
—Exercise.
Hard to reason with her like this.
—I mean in a general sense—he had to be patient with someone like this.
—Mmm... something unpleasant—she said after a moment.
—Exactly. And how long have you been exercising?
—Four months.
—I’m guessing you don’t get as tired as before, right?
—No, not really.
—So it doesn’t bother you as much as before, right?
—Mmm...
—Right?
—Right—she said after thinking about it.
—So we need to find something new that bothers you. How many times did you tell me you masturbated in a week?
—Never. I don’t like it.
—Excellent.
—Your tits are huge.
—My tits are huge...
The alarm went off at four ten.
She sat up slowly. Her legs hurt. Her back too. Lately everything hurt.
She went to the bathroom. Washed her face. Looked at herself in the mirror for a second and looked away. She never looked at herself much.
Went back to the bedroom. Took the leggings from the drawer. The sports top.
She stood there in her underwear in front of the bed. She was about to get dressed and then she felt it. A tickle.
There. Between her legs. Nothing strong, barely a brush. She stood still. Her hand halfway to the top.
The tickle didn’t go away. She waited, she’d have to leave soon.
It didn’t.
She touched herself. Over her underwear, the tickle grew, she moved her hand again. Slower.
She bit her lip. She didn’t know why.
She touched herself again. And again.
Her hand moved on its own. She closed her eyes.
She saw Tom. Tom’s hand under her blouse.
She brought her other hand to her chest. Over her bra. Squeezed.
The tickle got stronger. She took off her bra. Her breasts fell free, they were so heavy and they were bigger than she ed.
She tried to grab them with her hand, it was impossible, they were huge tits. She still squeezed, it hurt a little but she didn’t care.
Her other hand kept moving. It wasn’t a brush anymore. It was pressure. Rhythm.
She took off her underwear.
One leg. The other. She stood naked in the middle of the room, in the dark, shaking.
She moved her hand, fast, deep, steady.
The other squeezed her breasts. Squeezed them hard, they were so big.
The rhythm picked up. Her breathing too. Short gasps, broken.
The image of Tom came again. His mouth. His hands. The way he looked at her.
Almost.
Almost.
Almost.
When she felt it was about to happen, she squeezed her breast with all her strength.
Her fingers dug into the flesh. The pain was sharp, direct, right when the orgasm hit. She stayed with her mouth open, the spasm lasted seconds.
When it ended, she opened her eyes.
The room was still dark. Her hand was still on her breast. The other was still between her legs.
She was naked, sweaty, her breathing ragged.
The alarm clock said four thirty-two. Twenty-two minutes had ed. Twenty-two minutes.
The only thing she understood was why she’d started crying.
She was a horrible person. Masturbating when... she lost her son. When she lost her world.
She was stupid. She was guilty.
She stayed a while longer, sitting on the edge of the bed, crying silently, one hand still resting on her chest.
At four forty-five she put on the leggings.
At five she was already running in the park, in the fitted sports top.
She didn’t think about what had happened.
Or she did.
But she kept running.
It had been a perfect day. Or almost perfect.
Tom picked her up at ten. They had breakfast at that place she liked, the one with the view of the park. He ordered the same as always. She did too. They laughed about stupid things. He held her hand across the table. She didn’t pull away.
Then they went to the office. Short session. He said he was proud of her.
They had dinner at her place. She cooked. He helped. Their shoulders brushed a few times in front of the stove. When they finished, he kissed her at the door. A long kiss but calm. She tried to say something to keep him there, to invite him to do more but she couldn’t.
—See you tomorrow at the park—he said.
—Yes—she answered.
And he left.
Now it was eleven at night.
Melisa was in her room, sitting on the bed, still wearing the clothes from earlier. She hadn’t wanted to change. The dress still smelled a little of him. Of his cologne.
She touched her lips. She could still feel the kiss.
And then she felt it again.
That tickle.
There.
She didn’t bother asking why. She didn’t bother thinking. Her hand was already going down before she decided anything.
Over the dress. Pressing.
She closed her eyes.
Tom. Tom again. His mouth. His hands. The way he’d looked at her when she laughed.
She brought her other hand to her chest. The dress was low-cut. Her fingers found skin directly. The soft flesh, heavy. She squeezed.
The tickle grew.
She got up. Took off the dress in one pull. She was left in her underwear. She didn’t take anything else off. She lay down on the bed like that, half-dressed, urgent.
Her right hand went down. Her left squeezed her breast.
She moved her hand. Fast. Already wet. Very wet.
The other hand squeezed hard. Pain and pleasure.
The image of Tom didn’t leave. His mouth.
The rhythm turned frantic.
Almost.
Almost.
Almost.
When she felt it coming, she squeezed her breast with all her strength.
She moaned. This time she did. A low moan, muffled against the pillow.
The spasm ed. Her breathing calmed. Her hand stayed on her breast a while longer, no longer squeezing.
This time she didn’t cry much. She fell asleep.
The next morning, it happened again.
The alarm hadn’t gone off yet. It was three or four, she didn’t know. She just felt the tickle. Stronger. More urgent.
Her hand was already there before she opened her eyes.
This time no doubts. No waiting. Her right hand went straight down. Her left went to her chest. Both moving at the same time, like they’d been doing this for years.
She squeezed. Squeezed hard.
The rhythm was faster than last night. More desperate. Like her body needed to reach something before it was too late.
Tom.
Almost.
Almost.
Almost.
When she came, she squeezed her breast so hard her nails dug into the skin.
She lay there shaking, mouth open, breathless.
Minutes ed. She didn’t know how many.
When she could move, she looked at the alarm clock.
Six ten.
No. It couldn’t be six. Tom got to the park at six thirty.
She sat up suddenly. Her head spun. Her legs shook when she stood.
And then she saw it in the wardrobe mirror. Her left breast had a big bruise, right where she’d been squeezing.
She touched it. It hurt. Pulled her hand away fast.
She put on the leggings. Ran to the door.
The park was five minutes away. She ran all the way. Not for the exercise but because she needed to get there before him.
She arrived out of breath. Sweaty. Her chest burned with every breath.
And there was Tom. Leaning against a bench, two coffees in his hand.
—Good morning, beautiful. I have a surprise today.
—A surprise?
Tom nodded. Handed her the coffee. Their fingers brushed when she took it.
—Tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven. Dress nice.
—Where are we going?
—The theater. Do you like it?
Melisa’s face lit up like it hadn’t in years.
—I love it—she said, her voice shaking a little.
—Then it’s settled.
The play started at nine.
Melisa tried on four dresses before deciding. She chose a black one, low-cut, hoping Tom would like it.
She looked at herself in the mirror and this time she didn’t look away so fast. She had huge tits.
The phrase came on its own. She left the apartment feeling almost pretty.
The theater was nicer than she ed. Or maybe it was Tom next to her. The lights, the well-dressed people, the dimness of the hall right before the play started.
It was a classic. Something about love and betrayal, the kind she used to watch with Raymond in the old days.
But she couldn’t focus.
Not because of the play. It was the tickle.
It started in the first act. Barely a brush.
By the second act it was stronger. A steady throb between her legs.
Melisa pressed her thighs together. Tried to think about something else. The play. The actors. Anything.
The tickle wouldn’t go away.
She shifted in her seat. Tom looked at her.
—You okay?—he whispered.
She nodded too fast.
—Yes, yes. Everything’s fine.
But it wasn’t.
The third act was unbearable.
The tickle wasn’t a tickle anymore. It was burning. Need. An urgency spreading up her legs, through her belly, through her whole body.
She breathed in gasps. Her hands were sweating. She pressed her thighs together so hard they started to hurt.
No. Not here. Please. Not here.
But her body didn’t listen.
When the play ended and the lights came on, Tom really looked at her.
She was pale. Sweating. Her hands were shaking.
—Melisa, what’s wrong? You’re white.
—I don’t know—she said, and it was true—. I feel... weird.
Walking out of the theater, the burning was still there. Stronger. Like something inside her needed out.
Tom took her arm.
—I’m taking you home. You’re not well.
—No, no, we can stay, you wanted to...
—Melisa—he interrupted, voice soft but firm—. You’re shaking. Let’s go.
In the car they didn’t talk. She sat with her hands pressed against her lap, biting her lip, breathing hard.
The burning didn’t stop. It grew.
Tom. Tom. Tom.
The word pulsed in her head at the same rhythm as the tickle.
They got to her building. Tom walked her to the apartment door.
—Do you want me to come in for a bit?—he asked—. I wouldn’t feel right leaving you like this.
She hesitated a second.
Then she opened the door.
—Yes. Please.
They went in. She left her purse at the entrance. Took off her shoes. Walked toward the living room.
The burning was unbearable now. Her crotch burned. Everything burned.
Tom came closer.
—Melisa...
She turned around.
And he kissed her.
She melted.
Her arms went around him. Her body pressed against his. The dress, the low cut, her tits pressed against Tom’s chest.
He moved a hand down. Grabbed one breast. And squeezed.
Right where the bruise was.
She moaned. A moan she couldn’t hold back. It hurt. But she didn’t pull away.
Tom squeezed harder.
She moaned again. Louder.
—Does it hurt?—he whispered against her mouth.
—Yes—she answered, breathless—. Yes.
—Should I stop?
—No.
He kept squeezing. She rubbed against him. She kissed him like she’d die if she stopped.
His hand went down to her underwear. It was already soaked.
—Melisa—he murmured.
—Yes—she said—. Yes. Please.
He didn’t need more.
He took her to the couch. Sat her down. Unbuttoned his pants. Lifted her dress and pulled down her underwear.
—Tom—she started moaning.
She let herself fall back, one hand on her own breast, squeezing, always squeezing, the other tangled in Tom’s hair.
The burning, the tickle, the urgency of the whole day, the whole night, all the days before, concentrated in one place.
Tom moved fast.
She squeezed her breast with all her strength.
Almost.
Almost.
Almost.
When she came, she moaned his name again. Loud. Without shame. Unable to stop.
The orgasm shook her completely. Her legs trembled. Her back arched. The hand on her breast squeezed until it really hurt.
When it ended, she stayed there, lying on the couch, breathing hard, her clothes a mess.
—Melisa—he said softly.
—Thank you—she whispered.
He smiled. Stroked her cheek.
—You don’t have to thank me.
—Do you want to sleep here?—she asked, her voice small, almost like a child’s.
Tom looked at her for a moment.
—Are you sure?
She nodded.
—Yes.
They went to the bedroom. She got into bed still wearing the dress. He took off his shoes and shirt and lay down next to her, on his back, staring at the ceiling.
She pressed against him. Rest her head on his chest. He put an arm around her shoulders.
That’s how they stayed.
He stroked her hair.
She closed her eyes.
And for the first time in a long time, she fell asleep without dreaming about the baby.