My Right Breast
Coming Together: For the Cure
Blurb
Coming Together: For the Cure is an erotic anthology edited by Alessia Brio. ALL proceeds from the sale of this volume benefit the Komen for the Cure. I am particularly proud to have been a part of this anthology.
Excerpt
Material copyright Amelia June. Feel free to share widely but don’t steal or say they’re your words. As Wil Wheaton says, “don’t be a dick.”
Standing in front of her full-length mirror, Sheila looked down at her mangled chest and began to sob. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Oprah say: Uh oh, here comes the ugly cry, but she didn’t care. Heavy tears rolled down her cheeks and her heaving…nothing…shuddered as she gasped for breath. She dragged one shaking, manicured fingernail over her still-raw stitches.
Wincing in pain but determined to face herself, she touched each wrinkled spot where the black and ugly stitches pulled the ragged skin together. Blinking the tears out of her eyes, she gently prodded the angry red scar that arched across the spot where her right breast used to be.
Oprah’s voice disappeared, replaced by her no-nonsense doctor, whose voice was a cross between Mr. Rogers and Dr. Phil. The incision is healing neatly, that’s good. We should be able to reconstruct…Another sob rocked Sheila on her feet. Fuck you Dr. Phil-Rogers, and your oh-so-neat diagnoses and cures. Fucking reconstruct. Screw that. The tears kept coming, spilling over her face and onto her decimated chest. Her scar began to throb, a low, dull ache.
Her eyes traced a path in the mirror from her unruly, curly hair, to her puffy red face, past the train wreck of her bosom, and downward. Her belly was large and soft, covered in light stretch marks. Her hips and thighs were no different, rounded and thick, a small patch of red curly hair situated between, matching the hair on her head. Her legs slimmed as they tapered to graceful ankles and dainty little feet, toenails painted a vivid pink—a survivor’s color. Turning, she examined her rear end, which was dimpled with cellulite and soft to the touch. As she examined her new body, a tightening began in her chest and radiated outward, splitting her face in an ugly snarl.
I’ve dealt with being too short. I’ve dealt with my crazy hair. I’ve dealt with being fat, for fuck’s sake, and now THIS? Her hands clenched into fists, and she beat them helplessly on the mirror in front of her, a low, keening sound escaping her full lips. She wasn’t sure if she was angry or sad or what, and she didn’t really give a shit.
“Hey, sweetheart, I got the mail…” Liam’s voice trailed off when he saw her, standing naked in front of their full-length mirror, crying hysterically.
“Oh,” she said, sniffing and hastily wiping her eyes, “I didn’t realize you were home! What time is it?” Her voice sounded waterlogged and not at all like her, she thought.
“Sweetheart!” Her husband exclaimed, with an alarmed expression on his face. “Are you okay? Come here.” He dropped the mail, forgotten and rushed to her, gathering her nude body in his arms. She sagged against him, burying her face in the flannel shirt he wore.
He murmured softly in her ear, nothing coherent, just a stream of comfort and support that needed no specifics. He stroked her kinked hair, gently working a knot out each time he ran his fingers through. His other hand stayed wide and firm in the small of her back. Step by step, she brought herself back under control, putting the images of her large body, her hair, her chest in a box inside her mind and trying to shut them away. She had been handling things so well until now; no need to succumb just yet.
After a time, Liam pulled back, putting a hand on each arm and looking in her eyes. “It’s about time,” he said simply. His hands griped the flesh on her upper arms hard enough to leave red marks, almost as though he wanted to reassure himself she was still there. She winced—her arms were still tender, even a month later.
“What? What do you mean?”
“Sheila, you have cancer. You were diagnosed two months ago, and a month ago, they took your breast. Your beautiful right breast, as perfect as the other one, gone.” He ran one of his hands over her scar, gently prodding the same way she had. Only when he did it, she shuddered slightly. It felt…good. She had always enjoyed pain in their bedroom, but to enjoy this?
Author’s Note: Liam and Sheila are a beautiful couple, quite naughty even in the midst of anxious worry. I am tempted to write something else in their world just so I can play with them again.
