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“Is that wrong?”

She had always thought of her own body as a series of apologies. A soft apology for the width of a hip that brushed doorframes. A whispered sorry for the generous sway of her chest that drew eyes she never asked for. For years, she’d worn armor of loose linen and dark cottons, trying to mute the obvious fact of her own flesh. large breasted lesbian

June was all sharp angles and quiet observation. She wore silver rings on every finger and looked at the world like it was a puzzle she was happy to solve. When they first sat across from each other in the dim amber light of a jazz bar, the woman didn’t look at her cleavage. She looked at her hands. At the way she tapped a nervous rhythm against her glass. At the small scar above her lip. “Is that wrong

For the first time, the weight wasn’t a burden. It was an anchor. And June was the sea. For years, she’d worn armor of loose linen

“May I?” June whispered.