My Late Mom’s Prosthetics

…Then, one day, the thrill of discovering your prosthetics. I was a pre-teen, already intrigued by my older friends’ budding breasts. I pulled one out of the bag and sat on the bed.

I turned it over in my hand, rubbing my finger along the soft satin. I squeezed my fist and felt it bulge through my clenched fingers. I squinted at the little bump protruding from the middle. My eyes widened. “It’s….a boob!”

I ran to shut the door. Standing before your full length mirror, I pulled up my shirt, then held the prosthetics over my flat chest. I tugged my shirt down and let go. The prosthetics fell to the floor. I was surprised they didn’t bounce.

I tried again, determined. After placing them on my chest, I arched my shoulders back and pushed my stomach forward, like I was preparing to fall back into the bridge I’d been practicing in the backyard. This time I removed my hands slowly. The satin boobs remained where they were. Inch by inch, I pulled my shirt down until it touched the top of my jeans. I looked at myself in the mirror. “Whoa…” I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my womanly frame.

I straightened in excitement causing the prosthetics to again fall through the bottom of my shirt to the wooden floor with a gentle thump. Eyes still glued on the mirror, I peered at my familiar, flat form and my stomach clenched; my face burned.

I kicked the prosthetic closest to me under the dresser.

LEILA BARON, Lilith Online, September 2023.