It’s hard to say what’s worse here. 

                Before, when Julia had me tucked snugly against her foot inside her flats, the environment was hot and muggy, with the ever-increasing staleness of the air being tainted by moisture slowly forming around her gargantuan instep.  Her toes were constantly squirming, forcing me to remain still to avoid having the wind knocked out of me when she’d bring them down on my body, and with barely any oxygen or fresh air making its way in, I felt positively miserable and cramped so badly I longed to trade places with a canned sardine. 

                Now, having transferred me to the space between the cups of her bra, I’ve gotten the fresh air I craved as it comes in through the neckline of her shirt, but rather than just existing, I’ve got to actually work a little.  Julia’s got my legs tucked into the strap between the cups and I can already feel my arms getting tired from keeping my balance, as I’ve been here for about an hour now; I’ve heard the dull chatter of the teacher from what feels like far away, like hearing TV static quietly through a wall.  Despite having my girlfriend’s rotund breasts giving me some standing support under my tiny feet, I can feel gravity trying to tug me down her shirt and to a crippling drop tumbling down Julia’s pant leg.

                Honestly now, I’m pretty sure this is the worse option.  And to think I silently complained so much while buried relatively safely under Julia’s oppressive, sweaty toes.

                Still, my mission feels clear in the back of my mind, no matter how inconsequential it feels.  How did she know about Beth?  And, less importantly for now, what does it have to do with anything?

                It’s not like I’ve got anything else to work toward in the pathetic remainder of my animal life right now, let alone hope.  It’s the only explanation I can find for why I feel so compelled to do something, however pointless it may feel, and however drained of desire to persevere I am on all other fronts.

                One thing is clear: with paranoia oozing out of every pore of her being, Julia’s not going to be giving me anything to work with unless she’s in the right mood, even if we are supposed to be romantically linked. 

                I know it’s useless to ponder with someone as insane as Julia, but I can’t conceive of how her life has allowed her to reach the conclusion that what we have is a totally normal relationship.

                It’s time to take action, and for one of the rare occasions in my life, my body seems to know exactly what it’s doing, even if the rest of me doesn’t.  Wrestling with the strap of the bra, I manage to hook my feet into the left cup.  It takes some effort, but by prying upward with my legs, I manage to create a small opening.  It’s not much, but considering my altogether thin stature, it’s enough wiggle room to snake my way inside.

                Jack, what the hell are you doing?  

                For a second, my heart stops, thinking Julia’s voice just boomed down to me asking that aloud, but then I realize we’re still in silence, and my subconscious is demanding it of me instead.  I don’t blame it.

                For a moment, plunged into darkness, I’m awkwardly plastered.  The tension of Julia’s soft black bra snaps back down like a rubber band as soon as I’m inside, pinning me hard against the warm, lightly jiggling flesh of Julia’s youthful breast.  Getting my bearings, though, I manage to inch my way steadily so that I’m facing Julia, with my head compressed gently into the skin, my feet pressed slightly into the underside of the breast.  I feel Julia’s breathing change, and as I’m directly over where her heart is, I can feel its pumping rate increasing slightly.  She’s probably confused as to what I’m doing spread-eagled across her boob.  However, given that she’s in class, making it hard to adjust casually, and I’m not exactly trying to escape, and on the contrary am trapping myself even more effectively, Julia seems content to let me be.

                Perfect.  Taking a deep breath, my focus intensifies as I slide my hand over the perfectly smooth flesh, searching for the right position, until I meet my mark and my palm brushes against Julia’s nipple.  Although firmer than the surrounding area, its soft and a little deflated.  However, pressing my fingers into the flesh, I began to knead, squeezing the slightly rougher skin of Julia’s aerola and running my thumb around the rim.

                The effect is pretty immediate.  I can feel the skin tightening under my palm as I caress it, the nipple rising like a fleshy anthill under my hand.  The skin of her breast is reacting, too; I can feel huge goosebumps prickling softly along under my body.  For a moment, I feel Julia adjusting above, her body going rigid with what I assume to be surprise.  She probably casually lifted her shirt, but still can’t see me to make eye contact and silently ask what the holy hell I think I’m doing.  Being in class, there’s no way for her to communicate with me short of getting up to use the restroom and check things out.  I’m betting she’ll eventually resort to that, so I’ve got to work while I’ve got some relative solitude.

                It’s simpler to do than I imagined.  It doesn’t take much more than two minutes of running my palms along Julia’s nipple, massaging it, for it to stand fully erect in the bra, thick and firm.  I squeeze it several times for good measure, and feel Julia’s body react in kind, jerking just enough that I feel it.  The heat has intensified as she breaks into a slight sweat, resulting from what I can only humbly assume to be full-on arousal; I can feel the slightly sticky perspiration tickling along her skin and forming in a gummy film along my body, intermingling with my own, but I can’t let it distract me.  Her heart rate has increased greatly, almost to the point that I’d guess her breathing is becoming vocally shallower.  Her nipple seems to come to life like putty in my hands, molded into something telltale, her areola now riddled with goosebumps.  It’s all falling into place, as was dictated by a plan I cobbled together in my head in a split second of possible stupidity.

                Come on, bitch, feel it.

                Time for the clincher.

                Shifting my weight slightly, pressing my legs down against the loose foothold provided by the underside of Julia’s breast, I lean my face in close to Julia’s erect nipple and open my mouth, sliding my tongue along the firm form.  I can feel the shivers rattle their way through my girlfriend’s body as she feels what I’m doing.  I don’t quit after this, going into a flurry of quickly licking around all sides of the aroused tit, while still continuing to rapidly caress the area around it with my fingers.  Eventually, swallowing my pride, I press my mouth down against the duct.  I can’t quite fit my whole mouth over it at this size, but it’s enough. 

                I begin to nibble, allowing Julia to feel each prick of my teeth on her skin but not enough to feel pain.  All the while, I continue my relentless onslaught of touches and strokes on her warm, dampened flesh, her heart now practically pounding beneath her muscle and slick skin.

                Being that I’m huddled awkwardly against the fabric of Julia’s bra cup, the sounds of the outside world are pretty well muted, but there’s no mistaking what I hear.  Above me, there’s a clear and distinct gasp of surprise that descends into a moan of pleasure.  It’s not very long, probably only lasting about one second in length, but if I can hear it through the bra, I know most of, if not all of, Julia’s classmates heard it. 

                Although brief, it was quite clearly a sound that could’ve only been uttered by someone experiencing intense sexual arousal.  Not even some jokester kid in the classroom could’ve imitated a sound like that.  It was real, and I’ve got the erect nipple under my apparently very capable hands to prove it.

                I get my answer when I hear the hum of voices grow louder in chortling bursts.  Laughter.  Julia’s heart actually beats faster, probably from embarrassment.  I feel the skin of her breast jiggling slightly again, nervously twisting in her chair to watch the chorus of gigglers behind her, before becoming still again as she remains docile in her chair.

                This was more perfect than I could’ve imagined.  Undoubtedly, Julia was considering rushing off to the bathroom to playfully discourage me from distracting her from learning, but now that she’s demoed her most realistic orgasm sound effect for the class, there’s no way she could leave for a restroom break without being labeled in gossip circles as being the resident chronic masturbator of the entire high school.

                Ironically, considering all I’ve seen, Julia being publically outed as such would be the greatest mercy the universe could bestow upon her.