From the Forest magazine, Volume 20, Issue 4
Twin Breasts and Dual Legs
By Rory Cullers
I doubt that my tale has the substance of an enduring classic, but I’ve a consequence of sorts. After all, do not the tiniest of insects, the palest of flowers, matter? The delightful ambling ladybug? The quiet explosion of a June rose’s petals?
I’m hardly a June rose. Some would go so far as to call me a rose’s thorn: sharp, piercing, and ever so deceiving in my own prickly way. I only look like I won’t harm the “careful handler” – bent upon ripping away the rioting bloom I’ve so far successfully protected. So dub me as such and pose me the question: are you as salient as they claim?
Salient? Hell, try craggy, or aculeate. Words with umph! Humph! Salient. Always reminded me of sail, as in boats. I don’t sail over rough waters, friend. I swim them. I’m one of the sharks.
“I am woman, hear me roar,” is eons old. Too rustic a phrase to describe my reawakening to existence! I am woman! Two breasts and dual legs. Twin arms. Rounded corners and wrapped in flesh paler than dusk’s final rays. My center lies above my waist, no longer bound beneath deep brown curls and pink folds of femininity. Would you believe? I spread my legs and my agonies escaped. Because it was on my terms. How eloquently need I describe it?
I am a woman. Listen to my journey. Then perchance you will understand. My learning has yet to begin. Two breasts and dual legs with twin arms made in the USA to wrap themselves lustily around the man of my choosing. Lasciviously enjoying the forbidden, never regretting it once.
My dual legs weren’t always accommodating. Not at all. To one they refused to open. Two breasts, well, they were there. Waiting. As for the twin arms, they found themselves empty ‘cause of the other parts. Now what?
After my legs were pried apart and my arms pushed away and my body laid askew right alongside my soul, disjointed beyond recognition I rose. Thinking myself destroyed.
Four years to the day, I destroyed him.
The twin breasts frolicked within their lace, unable to still as dual legs cavorted about under the quiet guise of running. Then fading from human eye. Then romping so enchantingly that gods stole from their hiding places to watch. I snacked on dirt from Mother Earth and rode on La Loba’s back.
Revenge was mine. Driven in despair by the total annihilation of life as he knew it. Rumors, gossip. A lazy smile took my face at the memory of his fall. Pointed fingers, open derision. Solitude-driven misery lifted the pistol and aimed. I smiled.
No longer would they blame me. A guilty death by his own hand. Two breasts heaved beneath my sweat-soaked shirt. No longer buds of promise, but lush, fleshy round breasts. A mother’s nursing bosom. Each tipped with rosebud nipples. Twins, also. Never again would they be pushed and slapped and twisted cruelly until rocketing cries shot from my mouth. Dual legs free from grinding hips. Twin arms now able to reach up and catch the tail feathers of the white hawk... to let the dual legs wave wildly as we take off even higher.