Being a Girl Read Free

can’t.’
    But my voice had weakened with my resolve.
    â€˜Milly, I think you can. And I think you want to.’
    What did he mean by that?
    â€˜I don’t. Honestly.’
    And it was true. Almost true. I didn’t want to, yet while I felt nervous and self-conscious, my body was tingling with new sensations. After the months of study and stress I wanted to cast off everything, benaked, run naked through the streets, exhibit myself to the world. I liked being on stage. On show.
    Mr Cartier had moved back to the chair. He picked up my blouse and held it towards me.
    We were silent. The computers were blinking. The lights were bright and I thought about Binky in her pink suit. My breath was beating so fast it was as if I was running a relay race. Mr Cartier held the blouse pegged in his fingers, waiting for me to move towards him and put it back on.
    I tried to move but I was rooted to the spot. My knees trembled and the slope of my tummy was knotted against the roll of material at my waist. I opened my throat to suck air into my constricted lungs and his eyes remained on mine as I angled my arms awkwardly up my back to unfasten the metal clasp. I heard the snap. It was loud in the silence.
    He nodded and I felt ashamed as I lowered the thin white straps from my shoulders, first one, then the other, being provocative without meaning to, sliding the straps over my elbows, and cupping my breasts with my palms. I continued clutching the bra, but Mr Cartier put the blouse back where it had been hanging and came towards me, his eyes never leaving mine. I dropped the white tangle of cotton in his outstretched hand and he tossed it over the chair.
    As he approached me again, I moved back instinctively, my legs knocking against the glass coffee table.
    â€˜There, that wasn’t so terrible, was it?’
    I shook my head.
    â€˜Well, come along then, let’s have a proper look, shall we,’ he said and he sounded like the biology teacher before we peered in turn down the microscope.
    It wasn’t really a question or a suggestion. Now that I was exposed so fully it was as if my will hadleft me. I dropped my hands, arched my back, and the most incredible thing happened. As I looked down, the soft plains around my nipples darkened from pink to cherry red, the little buds had sprung out rigid and were prickling. The beat of my breath hastened. I lifted my hands to cover my shame but mechanically took those erect nipples between my thumb and fingers and rolled them hard. I had thrown back my head and although I tried to control it, I realised I was panting.
    â€˜
Très bien
. There, you didn’t need that little bra at all. They stand up so nicely on their own.’
    He placed his hand flat on my ribs, below the undercurve of my breasts, and it was true, they were round and full, the little teats on fire beneath my fingers. His touch was firm, and the awful thought flickered through my mind that I wanted him to cup my breasts in his hands, take them into his mouth and bite me hard. The vision sent shivers up my spine.
    The bend of my legs was level with the edge of the table. As Mr Cartier put his free hand against my shoulder, I folded as if the bones of my body were soft rubber and lay back, propping myself up on the glass surface. He drew back the hem of my skirt and we both gazed spellbound at the rising mount pushing up from my white knickers. He looked into my eyes. I think I smiled. Everything was happening so fast it was hard to catch my breath.
    When he placed his hand on my knee, I locked my legs together and it was like seeing a car drive uncontrollably towards a cliff edge, his hand moving up my thigh, across the plump muscle at the top. I had stopped squeezing my nipples. My breasts were bobbing about. The heel of his hand brushed againstmy sex and he slipped his fingers over the band of my knickers.
    He pulled at the elastic as if to peek into a closed box, lowering the front and