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).
******* EXCERPT ********
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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