Now for part two. I’ve got to go and talk to Callan.”That’s what she’d said as she’d hurriedly finished dressing. I’d not had a chance to react or say anything before Jill was down the stairs and out the house. I closed my eyes, hardly able to believe the whirlwind of emotions I was being put through today. The nervous tension of the conversation with Jill, when she’d told me how she still loved me, but that what I’d done had changed everything. But that she wanted to work together to fix things.And then this – Jill heading out the door to have a heart-to-heart with a guy who until recently I mainly thought of as one of our best friends. But who now was front and center in my mind as the man who Jill had loved before she’d known me. The man who I’d only won Jill away from by subterfuge and trickery. A trickery that had finally come back to haunt me twenty-five years later. The man whose baby Jill had been carrying, the baby she’d had terminated, leaving him a man who’d never known. Over the years, starting when I was about 13, I’ve been stared at, gazed at, ogled, and looked over in more subtle ways by perhaps 90% of the men I’ve encountered. For a long time, I was puzzled by this, and spent a lot of time looking at myself in the mirror, in various states of dress and undress, trying to discern just what it was that attracted all that attention. I’ve also noticed that many women who are, in my opinion, more attractive than I am seem to get less of that male attention that I for so long found to be so strange and so disconcerting. By the time I was in my mid-20’s, though, it had become easy for me to ignore it – to pretend I didn’t even notice.But Chris’s earnest gaze caused all sorts of physical sensations and led me to rethink just what it was that he was seeing. So I ran through it in my mind: a woman who is 5’10” tall, with blonde hair and green eyes, slender except for my bust, which is 38DD, proportionately long in the legs. I was proud of my legs, and.
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