THE LITTLE ROOM WHERE WE'D FIT
I thought about pretending to have trouble connecting or adjusting bra straps so Justina would come inside the little room, close the door, and have to touch me again. I would ask her to look me up and down; she'd whisper “fantastic” and “amazing” in my ear and caress the silver lines of my stretch marks with her pink fingernails. Then, she'd touch the hollows of my breasts where fat used to be, and they’d rise up to her passion. If I just asked her, her eye lashes would flutter against all my unpretty and I’d hold on to the hook behind me with both hands while she proved I could be somebody else.