I've wanted to write a short story for some time, but an idea for one was sadly absent. I sought my wife's inspiration and she gave me a very unusual idea. My first reaction was refusal, but after some thought, I realized it was very different from anything I'd normally write about. So I figured it'd be a good exercise. Hopefully it's not too outrageous. Enjoy!
~~~
Taken Away
“I’ll have the Calamari Fra Diavolo,” she smiled up at the waiter.
He nodded, scrawled it down, and forced himself to focus on her husband. “And you, sir?”
“The Ribeye Gorgonzola.”
“How would you like it?”
“Medium rare, please.”
“And for the little lady?” he smiled at their daughter, “How old is she?”
“Turned a year old a few weeks ago,” the wife beamed, “She’s our little princess.”
The husband looked at their child fondly, “Nothing for her, thanks. She’s a little young for the menu.”
“Of course. Your dinner will be ready shortly.”
Over the next twenty minutes, as he waited on his other guests, his eyes kept drifting back to the woman. Low cut red dress, luxurious black hair, exotic eyes, and brilliant smile. He kept himself professional, stopped by their table a few times to top off their drinks and dote on their daughter. The child chattered often and easily, sometimes loudly. Never too much for the neighboring tables, for which he was grateful. Noisy kids usually hurt his tips.
He brought out their dinner just as the girl got hungry. She fussed, with increasing volume, as he reached their table. The husband bounced her on his knee, “Think she’s ready to eat, too.”
The wife smiled and reached a hand down her plunging neckline. A sharp twist and her left breast popped off into her hand. She handed it to her daughter and adjusted the drape of her dress. The child grabbed the familiar shape and plunged it into her mouth. Too eagerly.
She lost grip and dropped it, pushing her hands towards the falling breast and tumbling it further away. It dropped to the floor and bounced to the waiter’s feet, who stared at it in embarrassed horror.
“Samantha! No throwing my boob. I’m sorry, could you hand me my breast?”
He looked up sharply, turning a pale shade of green. Then gingerly picked up the lump of soft flesh, a few drops of mother’s milk still shining on the nipple, and hastily handed it to the woman.
“Thank you, it’s still a bit big for her.”
He nodded, put their plates on the table, and walked away.
*
“Breast removal has become an indispensable medical innovation. It is the new defining symbol of women’s health. Single-handedly, this one breakthrough has nearly eliminated breast cancer, eased the burden on nursing mothers, and allowed women the flexibility of appearance they’ve so long desired.”
Applause.
“We can now own all the breasts we want!”
Applause and cheering.
“Small breasts for working out. Lactating breasts for mothers. Full breasts to impress that hot date. These and more are at our fingertips.”
Standing ovation.
She held up a hand and waited, several moments, for the audience to calm. “Our body, our choice, our lives. Empowered like never before. We shape our breast!”
They shot to their feet again, and this time she didn’t try to quiet them.
*
“You lied to me!”
Dr. Lind blinked, “Why don’t you sit down, Emily?”
She pulled down her top, “You see these? What in the hell?”
“Well,” he pulled out his glasses and looked them over critically, “I see D cup breasts, designed for young skin and pliability. They are organic, and judging by their fit, I’d say fashioned specifically for you.”
“D cups. What am I supposed to do with D cups? Spring break is in three weeks, and I need double D, at least.”
“Emily,” he took off his glasses, and ignored her still bared chest, “Medical breasts are not the same as cosmetic breasts. We work from your DNA, and we create actual tissue. Tissue that is shaped by your unique genetic coding. We can’t make what isn’t there.”
“So what – you’re saying I can’t have normal-sized boobs? What do I pay you for?!”
“You – ˮ
“I made it clear from the beginning. I want, and I said, a huge chest. I want it to jump out and bite you. I want Latina boobs! And you gave me these.”
“Emily, try and – ˮ
“You know what, I don’t have to listen to this. We’ll see how well you like my DNA in court.” She left the office in a fury, her top still pulled down. He raised a hand to stop her, but she was already down the hall.
*
“Honey.”
He leaned toward her and whispered back, “Yes, dear?”
“Could you put a breast in its cover? I think Timmy’s hungry.”
“Sure.” He pulled the diaper bag from under the pew, “The right or the left?”
“Either,” she cradled the four month old, “They’re both full.”
An elderly man glanced over as the father slipped the left into a fitted baggy, leaving only the nipple showing. The man sniffed, and turned back to the front with a stiff jerk. The woman’s face fell, and she hurried to feed Timmy.
A few moments later an usher stopped by their pew, “If you could come with me, we have a room set aside for nursing mothers.”
“But it’s not on,” she protested.
“I’m sorry, a breast is still a breast.”
The father leaned over, “We’re being discreet, and it’s covered. What exactly is the problem?”
“There’s no problem, sir. We just believe that avoiding the temptation of others is everyone’s responsibility.”
The couple exchanged a glance, “Right. We’ll be leaving then.” The father didn’t bother to whisper.
The usher nodded agreeably, and walked to the back.
They left, Timmy still suckling at the covered breast.
*
“That’s just weird.”
Joe glanced over and shrugged, “Not really.”
“You kidding?” Andy shook his head, “I just don’t get it. Who doesn’t like boobs?”
“The Flats are alright. It’s nice, actually. Almost like hanging out with a guy.”
A derisive laugh, “If I want to hang out with a guy, I’ll hang out with a guy. What’s the point of women if they’re just like men?”
“They’re not. And that's not what I meant.”
“Without the boobs they are!”
“Are you kidding me?”
“All I’m saying, man – the only thing I’m saying – is that women gotta have some curves. They don’t have those curves, they’re only half a woman.”
“You’re an idiot.”
They watched the demonstration, over a hundred women marching shirtless across campus. Their breasts had been left at home, or put away in their backpacks or purses. Only the organic housing served to show where they had been. Signs proclaimed an assortment of messages:
Don’t Objectify my Installation
My Size is My Business
Flat is Beautiful
“I work at a breast plant,” Joe said quietly.
Andy gaped, “What? Really? No way, that’s awesome. What’s the biggest breast you’ve made?”
Joe rolled his eyes, “A lot of women work there. They can’t wear breasts for security reasons.”
“Gross.”
“You’d be surprised how quick you get used to it. You see so many breasts, they just sort of blur in your head. Honestly, I’m a little sick of them. And every now and then you get people trying to break in and steal some of our product. Even though it’s genetically coded and wouldn’t work on them anyway. People are stupid,” Joe looked significantly at his friend.
“You’re messed up, man. You need serious help.”
Joe laughed, “Whatever.”
*
