Alicia's Long Weekend

Mild Pelvic Discomfort

 
    Alicia Black looked at the clock impatiently. It was 4:45 in the evening; the Friday of a long weekend, and she had plans.

    She was the newly-minted executive in charge of a boutique property management service and long weekends were always something of a Chinese fire drill. She didn't mind working weekends – that's where the challenge was.

    But she had needs! She'd been putting them off as best as she could for more than a month, and her libido was screaming.

    The problem for Alicia was that, while she was "built for sex," as her former, UN-lamented boss had said on several occasions, she wasn't interested in sex. Not with men, women or garden produce.

    Orgasms were an occasional necessity that varied with stress and time and the phases of the moon, but it was a purely physical urge.

    Sex with people could be pleasant and she had no particular objection if the other person smelled nice. She enjoyed skin contact as much as anyone, but it never led to relief. Sex wasn't something you did with someone. She felt the same about relationships; she needed solitude more than intimacy and if she had to choose, it would be solitude.

    She'd grown up in a very Catholic family. There had been no hint of abuse at home – at least not until she'd finally disclosed how the Priest had been taking advantage of her for years.  What followed had shocked her and the rift between her and her parents... Well, that was up to them.

    But she didn't have any urge to seek out sex or romance and was quite sure that had little or nothing to do with the priest. She remembered it as being 'not entirely unpleasant.' She thought of it as sexual abuse only because he'd coerced her into it, not because it hurt or because he tried to humiliate her.

    Quite the opposite. But there hadn't been even illicit sparks and he must have noticed. The fact that he didn't care – well, that definitely made it rape.

    But it hadn't ruined her for marriage – which was the second shrill reaction from her mother. The first, of course, had been to accuse her of trying to ruin a priest because she was a closet atheist.

    Well, since you bring it up, Ma...

    Oh, that had been a special day!

    She didn't want marriage and she was perfectly content with the idea of dying alone, surrounded by her paints, her books and her cats.

    Frankly, it sounded wonderful.

    She hoped that her libido would start to fade once she hit her thirties, but right now it was a distinct cramp in her hindquarters.

    She'd dated a few times. It's not as if she'd given up easily. And it wasn't as if she was unable to attract the attention of the opposite sex. She had been dealt all those cards.

     Alicia was 5'5" and a healthy 140 lbs – with at least 15 pounds of that being breasts.

    They were huge torpedos with nipples that when unaroused barely rose above the surface. Her areolas were nearly the same colour as her skin and were a good two inches across.

    They were just short of causing disability. Complete strangers would come up to her and ask if she needed a breast reduction. Among other things.

    But oddly, as uninterested and revolted as she was by the attention, she loved her breasts.

    When she let them roam free, as they were now,  they pointed downward and tended to fall forward or apart depending on how she held her shoulders. If she held them forward, they would bounce softly against one another and her nipples would fall well below her solar plexus,  down to a point four fingers above her navel. But they weren't flaps, they retained that unusual distinct torpedo shape, only slightly fuller toward the tip than at the base.