Where Waves and Breasts Crash

With a heavy lurch forward, the number 9 bus took off from another stop, filled to the brim and straightened folding doors with passengers. Passengers who occupied every seat, and whose hands wrapped and covered every safety railing and pole.

In the center of that sea of bodies, handbags, and glowing cell phone screens, moved a redheaded beauty. One who had worked her way through and past all the other lost souls taking public transit that morning, until she had found the last place on the bus with room for her to stand. But working her way to such a space was harder for her than it would be for most. For Mary was, to put it delicately, thick. Not overweight or plus-sized as it has come to be called, but instead, well-endowed and curvaceous. Her breasts being larger than not only most women she encountered but virtually all of them.

In fact, Mary's body seemed to have been formed by the gods and her gym, with pure, unadulterated, sex appeal in mind. Due to that build and bust, the young redhead found it difficult to slip unnoticed and comfortably into tight places or through crowds such as the one gathered on the 9. Her breasts, ass, and hips seeming to catch on every stranger she passed, dragging across their backs, sides, and fronts awkwardly, as she made her way to what seemed like her infinitely distant point of refuge.

Still, however, having grown used to her body and the burden that came with it, the redhead scooted, shoved, and suffered the dragging of her thick figure and enormous breasts through the tightest of windows and thinnest of gaps. That is until she had made it to her oasis of space. One in which she could stand comfortably, without accidentally molesting anyone.

In that space, she found, much to her own delight, that she was surrounded not by the gawking eyes, and fiendishly smiling strangers, but instead, backs. The connected shoulder-spans of the buses other occupants, each together forming a little nook of much-welcome privacy, by some odd chance of luck-blessed fate. A fate which brought a soft smile to Mary's face, one that took hold only to disappear in a flash, as without warning, one of the backs before her began to turn, not at some lesser angle, but fully.

Though the turn itself was unwelcome, it was what she saw thereafter that left Mary in shock. A shock that did not pass, but instead grew as the ginger girl's eyes continued to examine the sight before her. A girl. One with the same exact pair of flip-flops Mary wore. One with the same shorter-than-short, cutoff jean shorts Mary wore -- bottoms with the same skin-exposing tears she took so much pride in. One with even the same plain white V-neck t-shirt she wore. A top which covered an upper-body which looked identical to Mary's, down to the very last curve.

Such a matching outfit was not discovered and discerned in a quick glance, but instead in a long, methodical examination. One that was undertaken as if no threat of being caught looking existed or ever could. But finally, when that painstaking evaluation of the irritatingly similar girl's attire and figure had come to an end, Mary's amber-hued eyes began to lift. They seeking to find the face that belonged to the mirrored body.

It was only she who had noticed the shocking similarities. Only her eyes that had locked on and languished in a slow, lingering study of body and bust, Mary thought. But to her surprise, as her eyes continued to scan upward, the redhead found that she was not alone in her rapt interest. Not obsessed with the uncanny resemblance of her own body and this girl's on her own. For Mary found that as she had been agonizing over the body of the blonde stranger, that the stranger had been doing the same over hers. Each of the girls frozen in place, their every thought set to memorizing the other's body in silence, each believing they did so in the absence of the other's attention.

As a consequence of that belief, the mirrored women found themselves caught. Neither of the two having even a second to adjust their expressions or to hide their own jealousy and irritation at finding another girl with a body just like their own. An experience unknown to them until that moment. As each had made it to the middle of their twenties without finding anyone whose figure could stand up to theirs in terms of bust, hips, and ass. And yet there, on that bus, in a pressing mass of people, they found such a competitor. Such a match for their own exceptional assets.

But as quickly as their eyes met in jealous glares, each wearing a snarl-bent sneer, did their gazes ricochet in opposite directions. Each pretending like they hadn't just been staring or undressing the other with their eyes. Neither willing to give the other the satisfaction or even the idea that somehow, they had peaked an interest.

There and thereafter, in that small space amongst the crowd, each of the two resentment-filled girls feigned disinterest and distraction, though they stood only a foot or two apart. Each pretending to ignore the other, though they could not help but steal every glance they could. Comparing their own bodies against the others in every way possible. Both of the two more than angry at their failure to discern not just a substantial difference, but any difference at all. It appearing from every angle, and every test they could conceive, that their bodies had been crafted by the same smith, and poured from the same mold.

Despite those efforts, each girl knew of those glances and imagined tests -- both of the two comparison-obsessed girls being on the highest of guards. Each being hyper-focused on the other, catching every look, glance, and turn the other would make with their body one way and then the other, to try and discreetly compare hips, thighs, breasts, and butt. And with each caught attempt, they found themselves driven further into a froth of jealousy and anger. How dare this bitch compare herself to me?! How dare she think she's on my level?! Who the fuck does she think she is?!

It was then, as each of the mirrored girls began to spiral into a frenzy of jealousy and rage -- when each had lost themselves in their moment of unspoken competition, that a wire was tugged, a bell rang out, and the bus driver slammed on the brakes. That slamming brought the bus to a sudden and unexpected stop. One that threw all those standing this way and then that, but most notably for our recounting, Mary and the blonde across their nook and into each other.

The resulting impact was harsh for all, save for they two, who found themselves cushioned on both sides. One on the backs of the pressing masses behind them, and on the other, their suddenly pressed breasts. Breasts of seemingly equal size, which without warning had been smashed together and used as a brace, as the girls tried to right themselves.

For a moment, without fire or fierceness, they remained that way. Jarred -- confused -- startled at the sudden occurrence. But as those feelings passed, their focus moved from what had happened, back to each other. And when it did, the kindling was lit.

"Get the FUCK off of me." Hissed the blonde, as it seemed the entire universe shrunk down to just they two and their intoxicating closeness.

"What's wrong, bitch? Can't handle the feeling of a real woman?" Came the redhead's response, not wasting a single breath demands for distance, her mind already set on challenging this cocky bitch. Even here. Even whilst trapped together with her in the midst of all these commuters.

"What did you just say to me?" Asked the blonde as she shoved her chest forward into Mary's, knowing full well what she had heard.

Before responding, Mary leaned in so that her lips pressed to the very edge of the blonde's ear, and then from that intimate distance, she whispered: "Fuck your body, bitch... Small-titted, fat-assed, weak-thighe..." Like a torrent, they came, insults from Mary to the blonde, as she continued to lean her body in and against. Pushing. Shoving. Daring the mirrored stranger to fight back. But before Mary could even finish her string of patently untrue accusations, the blonde shoved her own breasts forward, slamming her tits into Mary's, in the process, knocking the redhead back and away from her.

Mary, not to be outdone, quickly recovered, fully intent on lunging back at the blonde. But just as she locked eyes with her rival, who was already begun to prepare herself for the counter-attack, a body came between them. One and then another. With each such interloper, the girls were pushed back and away from one another. The interjection of personage not undertaken by helpful bystanders trying to stop the girls from fighting, but by persons just trying to get up from the floor and find a place to put themselves for when the bus began to move again.

At first, they tried to find each other and to sneak past the growing sea of people that had separated them. But look though they did -- search though they did, they found not but others. Not their once-in-a-lifetime rival. Not their perfect challenge. Just people. Useless, excitement-bereft people.

Finally, as their separation went from frustrating and fleeting to painful and permanent, a calmness took to them. Each having moment to reflect on what had just happened. The pair of jealousy-fueled women, each on opposite sides of the hopelessly crowded bus. The parted pair realizing how brazen their mid-bus fight was, and how it would have looked had anyone been paying attention to them. How they had never done anything remotely like that, and could never even have imagined it before that moment.

In that haze of guilt, shame, and almost fear -- separated from each other and the sinful pull of the moment, they slipped out of the bus, one at each of the next two stops.

From those distant and distinct stops, they each decided to go somewhere to cool down. Somewhere to process what had just happened. Somewhere special to them. Somewhere they had gone since they were little girls. The beach.

Not the center of it, where everyone else congregated, but the cove at the far edge. It was almost always empty. Almost always reserved for only the most adventurous of locals who found it during long walks of contemplation. The sandy strip's solitude in part due to its location, one which left it nestled between a steep green hill and the crashing ocean waves.

To be clear, it was not barren and humanity-free, as there was, located there, a single cement bench. One that overlooked the sea, from a spot just before picture-perfect sand met the grass-strewn wet dirt of the hill.

On that bench, and about two hours after her unexpected and ego-threatening encounter on the "9", Erin sat on that overly small bench. The same one she had visited for more than a decade. From that seat, surrounded by not but the sound of endlessly lapping water, the blonde could just look out over the ocean, and just be. Just think. As she did whenever her life seemed to be moving too fast, or not fast enough.

And though her life, before that most recent encounter seemed well on track, today's experience -- today's collision with that bus-bound redhead, shook her. Not necessarily because it was so shockingly abnormal, though it was. Not because it was contrary to the way she usually conducted herself, though such was true. But, instead, because even there, on that beach. Even then, after hours had passed, Erin found herself wishing that they hadn't been interrupted. Longing for the engagement the two had begun.

As the blonde began to wrestle with those confusing and even shameful desires, she let her crystal blue eyes scan the beach, lifting her hand to shield her sight from the midday sun. And though her gaze rested on the normally calming waves as they rolled in, all she could see -- all she could think about, was the image of that redhead. Her body. Her eyes.

Then, as if those thoughts weren't infuriating and enticing enough, Erin's mind without guidance moved on to the memory of their bodies meeting. Their ample breasts shoving and pressing together between them. And the intoxicating jealousy that had gripped her not only at the first sight of the redhead but every second thereafter. Mixed and confused though her true feelings about the encounter were, every second she spent examining them, she found herself growing angrier.

That anger within her churning, as if in a witch's cauldron into hatred. A hatred for the absent redhead, and more importantly, their separation.

Why did those people have to get between us?

Why didn't the redhead fight harder to find me?

How dare she poison my blood with such toxic jealousy and then just disappear like that...

With every such question she asked herself in a fury, she began to wish and then dream that she and her rival were together once more. Wanting so desperately to settle things with her and between them. To finish what they started. To prove to each other which of their bodies was truly better. But as that wish burned like an inferno in the blonde's mind, heart, and soul, she caught, out of the corner of her eye, a single figure in the far away distance, moving slowly in her direction.

Typically, a person watching another approach might spend a moment to make out who or what they might be. A man or woman? Young or old? Cute or ugly? But at that moment, Erin was too distracted by what had happened. Too focused on imagining it happening again and again. Too obsessed with the only girl she'd ever met with a body to match hers.

After all, the blonde knew, that despite the intensity of her emotions and desires, she could share them -- speak of them, with no one else, other than the redhead from the bus. A rival seemingly lost to her. A perfect enemy stolen by fate and chance. That feeling of impotence -- of red-hot desperation, and insurmountable circumstance gnawed at Erin, driving her to curse the girl she had met in silence.

Fuck her! Fuck her body! Her tits! Her hips! FUCK HER EVERYTHING!

But even those thoughts, hateful and final as they were, drove Erin back to the redhead. For her whisper had said precisely that: "Fuck your body, bitch..." And so cruelly, even with the turmoil-lost blonde being alone there on that beach, she could not escape the redhead. Her memory. Her words. Nor the challenge she presented to Erin's physical prowess.

It is from that internal spiral of jealousy that Erin found herself awoken, as suddenly she felt someone sit down next to her rudely on that oppressively small bench. With bent hip crashing against bent hip, and Erin's right shoulder and arm coming to rest together in a state of mutual force with those of a sudden and unwelcome co-sitter's left.

Mentally exhausted in the extreme, Erin sighed in frustration, as she tried to adjust herself to an angle facing away from whoever it was who had stolen half of her already inadequate bench. But as soon as Erin made such an effort, turning her back to the invader, she felt the back of the same press against her own. Unable to deal with any further frustration, Erin, in a fit of unchecked rage and seething aggression, vocalized her anger rudely. "Could you fucking not...?"

"I am so NOT in the mood, bitch..." Without letting a moment pass, the newly arrived co-habitant responded without thought or realization, she being equally as distracted and tormented by all that had happened between the two on the bus.

"You fucking..." Erin blurted out while spinning back to face she who spoke. Her voice unmistakable.

"Is that..." Mary spun in the same, as just after the speaking, she knew. It was her! That fucking bitch! That blonde from the bus!

It was at that very moment that both girls leapt to their feet, and from only a foot apart glared at each other hatefully -- their tempers flaring along with their nostrils -- each girl almost too angry to speak. That is until, without a word, Mary reached her right arm out and shoved Erin's left shoulder hard. An attack that caused the blonde to stumble backward a foot or two, her flip-flops catching and digging awkwardly into the sand beneath her feet.

With equal silence and force, Erin charged back and returned a shove to Mary's opposite shoulder. The redhead too finding herself sent backward and put off balance by her less than stable footwear.

Off-balance though they both were, neither of the two hate-and-excitement-filled girls were able or even trying to resist their urges even a second longer. And instead, driven by impulses beyond their control, the two girls charged at each other, sending their arms out straight to push the other back. But as their arms raised, they caught and latched onto their counterparts, each of the two using that grasp to pull their identically dressed bodies together.

That unintentional, but acceptable outcome of their attempted shoves, left them once again tit-to-tit, with both girls shifting left and then right, each, at first, in an effort to try and free themselves from the other's grip. And though that was their initial intent, when those efforts failed, their shifting continued. Neither girl, after their painful separation, willing to relinquish their hold on the other, or resist the urgent call they felt to press breast-to-breast once again.

And so press they did, each dragging their pair of perfectly matched breasts across one another and then back, lying to themselves as they did so. Denying in their own mind that it was because they wanted that contact. That they needed in some primal way to feel their rival's body against their's once again.

Such denials became harder to maintain and believe, as their centered and thrusting nipples began to harden, and dig into their rival's breasts. Sensations neither could help but feel, even when dulled by their thin white tops. And though both of them were equally as excited, and mutually betrayed by their body's reaction, they together worried, nonetheless. Both fearing what the other might think or say -- what they might do, or more importantly, stop doing.

For so deep was their need at that moment. So incredibly intense was their hunger for one another. That both found themselves terrified that even the slightest misstep might cause the other to leave. To disappear again, and leave them wanting and in a state of abject disappointment and unsatiated desire. Driven by that fear Mary and Erin together let loose their grips, and then, with a quick push, shoved their new obsession, each other, away.

And though they had broken apart again, this time willingly, together they stayed. Each kicking off their flip-flops, having felt just how unstable they made them in only the briefest of engagement.

Without those impediments or even a word, the two rivals glared, as they began to circle one another. Their eyes locked together and etched in flame and hatred, as their predatory stalking moved them closer to the beach strip's center. But, as seemed to happen whenever the two women's glares found each other, their eyes found themselves drawn elsewhere. Both downward and toward the impossibly deep valley of bare-skinned cleavage that sat between the other's giant orbs. There, their gazes lingered, as each of the two made the same examination of the other's mind-boggling V-neck display of breast and body.

Knowing that she had the redhead's attention, and wanting to send her own message of dominance and challenge, Erin quickly cupped her breasts with her hands. And once those cups were filled, pressed them together, exaggerating her fleshy chasm as she watched her rival's face for a reaction. "Get a good look, bitch." The blonde taunted her every word dripping with venom.

The redhead's lips curled into a snarl as Erin studied her. A snarl that bent into a smirk as Mary replied with a defiant and mocking query. "I bet you think you fill out that T-shirt pretty good, don't you...?"