When breasts head south (Rousse)

I hadn’t expected to bump into London-based SW in the Outer Hebrides. Yet here she was, as large as life, all aglow in a bright orange, and very clingy, T shirt dress, lounging lazily on the seat of a bus that was heading back to the mainland.

I recognised SW immediately, but what had become of her breasts? She looked so flat-chested that I soon concluded that she had arranged for the surgical removal of her formerly magnificent bosoms. Then I saw them almost hidden, laid flat across her knees.

I knew that I should take this opportunity to ask SW about the research project that we had planned together but never realised. However, I was too distracted by the sorry state of her corsage to do so.

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