I’d never truly appreciated the power of touch until I lost both breasts to genetics. The hubby hung in for as long as he could, but I set him free. It was only fair. He’d lived through the anguish and my scars killed the passion.
It was Lauren, a nurse, who opened my eyes; the sensual way she ran fingers over the hardened tissue. Perhaps it was inappropriate and plausible she had some weird fetish. Regardless, there was a lustful nature to her caress.
I rushed home and masturbated, repeatedly. For the first time since the diagnosis, I felt pretty.
