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June unbuttoned her shirt with the patience of a scholar unwrapping a relic. And when the fabric fell away, June didn’t make a joke about back pain or remark on their size. She simply pressed her cheek to the curve of one breast, closed her eyes, and exhaled. Like she was listening to a seashell. Like she was coming home.

Then she met June.

She had always thought of her own body as a series of apologies. A soft apology for the width of a hip that brushed doorframes. A whispered sorry for the generous sway of her chest that drew eyes she never asked for. For years, she’d worn armor of loose linen and dark cottons, trying to mute the obvious fact of her own flesh. large breasted lesbian

“May I?” June whispered.

“You hide,” June said, not as an accusation, but as a fact. June unbuttoned her shirt with the patience of