With a heavy lurch forward, the number 9 bus took off from another stop, filled to the brim and straightened folding doors with passengers. Passengers who occupied every seat, and whose hands wrapped and covered every safety railing and pole.
In the center of that sea of bodies, handbags, and glowing cell phone screens, moved a redheaded beauty. One who had worked her way through and past all the other lost souls taking public transit that morning, until she had found the last place on the bus with room for her to stand. But working her way to such a space was harder for her than it would be for most. For Mary was, to put it delicately, thick. Not overweight or plus-sized as it has come to be called, but instead, well-endowed and curvaceous. Her breasts being larger than not only most women she encountered but virtually all of them.
In fact, Mary's body seemed to have been formed by the gods and her gym, with pure, unadulterated, sex appeal in mind. Due to that build and bust, the young redhead found it difficult to slip unnoticed and comfortably into tight places or through crowds such as the one gathered on the 9. Her breasts, ass, and hips seeming to catch on every stranger she passed, dragging across their backs, sides, and fronts awkwardly, as she made her way to what seemed like her infinitely distant point of refuge.
Still, however, having grown used to her body and the burden that came with it, the redhead scooted, shoved, and suffered the dragging of her thick figure and enormous breasts through the tightest of windows and thinnest of gaps. That is until she had made it to her oasis of space. One in which she could stand comfortably, without accidentally molesting anyone.
In that space, she found, much to her own delight, that she was surrounded not by the gawking eyes, and fiendishly smiling strangers, but instead, backs. The connected shoulder-spans of the buses other occupants, each together forming a little nook of much-welcome privacy, by some odd chance of luck-blessed fate. A fate which brought a soft smile to Mary's face, one that took hold only to disappear in a flash, as without warning, one of the backs before her began to turn, not at some lesser angle, but fully.
Though the turn itself was unwelcome, it was what she saw thereafter that left Mary in shock. A shock that did not pass, but instead grew as the ginger girl's eyes continued to examine the sight before her. A girl. One with the same exact pair of flip-flops Mary wore. One with the same shorter-than-short, cutoff jean shorts Mary wore -- bottoms with the same skin-exposing tears she took so much pride in. One with even the same plain white V-neck t-shirt she wore. A top which covered an upper-body which looked identical to Mary's, down to the very last curve.
Such a matching outfit was not discovered and discerned in a quick glance, but instead in a long, methodical examination. One that was undertaken as if no threat of being caught looking existed or ever could. But finally, when that painstaking evaluation of the irritatingly similar girl's attire and figure had come to an end, Mary's amber-hued eyes began to lift. They seeking to find the face that belonged to the mirrored body.
It was only she who had noticed the shocking similarities. Only her eyes that had locked on and languished in a slow, lingering study of body and bust, Mary thought. But to her surprise, as her eyes continued to scan upward, the redhead found that she was not alone in her rapt interest. Not obsessed with the uncanny resemblance of her own body and this girl's on her own. For Mary found that as she had been agonizing over the body of the blonde stranger, that the stranger had been doing the same over hers. Each of the girls frozen in place, their every thought set to memorizing the other's body in silence, each believing they did so in the absence of the other's attention.
As a consequence of that belief, the mirrored women found themselves caught. Neither of the two having even a second to adjust their expressions or to hide their own jealousy and irritation at finding another girl with a body just like their own. An experience unknown to them until that moment. As each had made it to the middle of their twenties without finding anyone whose figure could stand up to theirs in terms of bust, hips, and ass. And yet there, on that bus, in a pressing mass of people, they found such a competitor. Such a match for their own exceptional assets.
But as quickly as their eyes met in jealous glares, each wearing a snarl-bent sneer, did their gazes ricochet in opposite directions. Each pretending like they hadn't just been staring or undressing the other with their eyes. Neither willing to give the other the satisfaction or even the idea that somehow, they had peaked an interest.
There and thereafter, in that small space amongst the crowd, each of the two resentment-filled girls feigned disinterest and distraction, though they stood only a foot or two apart. Each pretending to ignore the other, though they could not help but steal every glance they could. Comparing their own bodies against the others in every way possible. Both of the two more than angry at their failure to discern not just a substantial difference, but any difference at all. It appearing from every angle, and every test they could conceive, that their bodies had been crafted by the same smith, and poured from the same mold.
Despite those efforts, each girl knew of those glances and imagined tests -- both of the two comparison-obsessed girls being on the highest of guards. Each being hyper-focused on the other, catching every look, glance, and turn the other would make with their body one way and then the other, to try and discreetly compare hips, thighs, breasts, and butt. And with each caught attempt, they found themselves driven further into a froth of jealousy and anger. How dare this bitch compare herself to me?! How dare she think she's on my level?! Who the fuck does she think she is?!
It was then, as each of the mirrored girls began to spiral into a frenzy of jealousy and rage -- when each had lost themselves in their moment of unspoken competition, that a wire was tugged, a bell rang out, and the bus driver slammed on the brakes. That slamming brought the bus to a sudden and unexpected stop. One that threw all those standing this way and then that, but most notably for our recounting, Mary and the blonde across their nook and into each other.
The resulting impact was harsh for all, save for they two, who found themselves cushioned on both sides. One on the backs of the pressing masses behind them, and on the other, their suddenly pressed breasts. Breasts of seemingly equal size, which without warning had been smashed together and used as a brace, as the girls tried to right themselves.
For a moment, without fire or fierceness, they remained that way. Jarred -- confused -- startled at the sudden occurrence. But as those feelings passed, their focus moved from what had happened, back to each other. And when it did, the kindling was lit.
"Get the FUCK off of me." Hissed the blonde, as it seemed the entire universe shrunk down to just they two and their intoxicating closeness.
"What's wrong, bitch? Can't handle the feeling of a real woman?" Came the redhead's response, not wasting a single breath demands for distance, her mind already set on challenging this cocky bitch. Even here. Even whilst trapped together with her in the midst of all these commuters.
"What did you just say to me?" Asked the blonde as she shoved her chest forward into Mary's, knowing full well what she had heard.
Before responding, Mary leaned in so that her lips pressed to the very edge of the blonde's ear, and then from that intimate distance, she whispered: "Fuck your body, bitch... Small-titted, fat-assed, weak-thighe..." Like a torrent, they came, insults from Mary to the blonde, as she continued to lean her body in and against. Pushing. Shoving. Daring the mirrored stranger to fight back. But before Mary could even finish her string of patently untrue accusations, the blonde shoved her own breasts forward, slamming her tits into Mary's, in the process, knocking the redhead back and away from her.
Mary, not to be outdone, quickly recovered, fully intent on lunging back at the blonde. But just as she locked eyes with her rival, who was already begun to prepare herself for the counter-attack, a body came between them. One and then another. With each such interloper, the girls were pushed back and away from one another. The interjection of personage not undertaken by helpful bystanders trying to stop the girls from fighting, but by persons just trying to get up from the floor and find a place to put themselves for when the bus began to move again.
At first, they tried to find each other and to sneak past the growing sea of people that had separated them. But look though they did -- search though they did, they found not but others. Not their once-in-a-lifetime rival. Not their perfect challenge. Just people. Useless, excitement-bereft people.
Finally, as their separation went from frustrating and fleeting to painful and permanent, a calmness took to them. Each having moment to reflect on what had just happened. The pair of jealousy-fueled women, each on opposite sides of the hopelessly crowded bus. The parted pair realizing how brazen their mid-bus fight was, and how it would have looked had anyone been paying attention to them. How they had never done anything remotely like that, and could never even have imagined it before that moment.
In that haze of guilt, shame, and almost fear -- separated from each other and the sinful pull of the moment, they slipped out of the bus, one at each of the next two stops.
From those distant and distinct stops, they each decided to go somewhere to cool down. Somewhere to process what had just happened. Somewhere special to them. Somewhere they had gone since they were little girls. The beach.
Not the center of it, where everyone else congregated, but the cove at the far edge. It was almost always empty. Almost always reserved for only the most adventurous of locals who found it during long walks of contemplation. The sandy strip's solitude in part due to its location, one which left it nestled between a steep green hill and the crashing ocean waves.
To be clear, it was not barren and humanity-free, as there was, located there, a single cement bench. One that overlooked the sea, from a spot just before picture-perfect sand met the grass-strewn wet dirt of the hill.
On that bench, and about two hours after her unexpected and ego-threatening encounter on the "9", Erin sat on that overly small bench. The same one she had visited for more than a decade. From that seat, surrounded by not but the sound of endlessly lapping water, the blonde could just look out over the ocean, and just be. Just think. As she did whenever her life seemed to be moving too fast, or not fast enough.
