"His hands were up and mere inches away from my chest."So how big are they?" he asked again and he put both hands on my chest and squeezed me hard."St...p it, stop it," I cried."So tell us and I'll stop," he laughed and he squeezed me again."Please don't," I whimpered, I was completely broken."So?" he said."I'm a 'C' cup," I whispered."What's that?" he shouted, "a 'C' cup." Please," I whimpered my head down in shame."Fucking ace," said one of his cronies, "Blakie's got 'C' cup tits."They left me. And it was bent a little, her shoulders bowed a little to that which she had to face in her twenty-five years of life. A foster kid. Some of the pain she experienced in her unpleasant encounters with strangers who she was thrust into watching them playing fathers and mothers and doing a bad, sometimes a perverse nasty, sometimes a mean nasty, job of it would flash in her eyes.Maybe my peaceful nature, as lackluster as it may have been, was her bond to me. We were very different. Her difference. More

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