The Lace Black Bra

Hanging there, on the post of a boarding school bed,

where it should never have been,

it made her feel like a cat arching its back in the sun.

Were little girls allowed to wear black lace bras?

Did little girls have breasts enough to put in them?

She knew there was something ill-icit about that bra,

even though she didn’t know what illicit was.

A hidden voice snickered at her flat-chested innocence.

Hanging there so insolently on the bedpost,

it was as if she’d stumbled upon a secret love affair.

She stepped closer and quickly pulled the black lace bra off the post,

held it up, peered through it.

The cups were still warm,

still rounded with the impression of those perfect breasts.

She rubbed the lace between her fingertips,

felt its womanly, stiff otherness.

She lifted the bra to her nose, was about to inhale, when…

Footsteps in the corridor! Hers.

She looped the strap back ‘round the bed post,

fingers trembling, face burning, heart lurching,

she ran away,

silent as a cat on padded paws. ◊