there are always eyes. the world is an oyster, and everyone eats the buffet with two hands. johanna isn’t uncomfortable ; in fact, a part of her flares. so much of her life was not in her own hands and dictated by others. when she can dictate others like this -–– just one, a whole room, any at all ––- there is a power in that. there is a little piece of her that is her own again. so laying on just her blanket in the park, aster nearby snoozing, shirt off and eyes closed, she can feel the taste of someone not even trying to be subtle. opening her eyes with a smirk, she looks over to the woman nearby.
❛ they made it legal couple years ago. free the nipple
and all that shit. like what you see, perv ? ❜
( on being caught, she has nothing to hide. is it catching when she wasn’t evading?
she’s been... noticed. acknowledged. her eyes move, only from johanna’s chest to her face.
clavicle, jawline, mouth, teeth, gums, ears, cheeks, nose, brows, hair, eyes.
then she wanders down again. to unfamiliar things. blind spots. foreign concepts.
eyes, nose, chin, clavicle, shoulders, sternum, breasts, nipples, navel. )
( rather than a defence: a declaration. a statement of facts. johanna is wrong. that’s all.
ava pushes her palms into the chair to right herself, letting the book teeter in her lap, confident that it won’t fall shut. repositioned, she leans her forearms on her knees and lets a contemplative tone trickle into her voice. )
I don’t know any women like you.