Cursed Together (Patreon)

"And so, girls, you won’t believe it, but Juan Carlos actually isn’t such a creepy old man at all," Francesca said, already too tall as she was, she seemed to stretch even taller in that moment, and gracefully gesturing with her thin fingers with long nails coated in expensive burgundy polish, she continued after a short pause, "He’s very sweet and… attentive. Can you imagine? He remembers exactly which lemon I like in my drinks."

Julia, shifting as usual on that huge cushion that had been constantly with her for the past six months, let out a heavy sigh and slightly moved her hips, as if trying to find a position where those damned curves wouldn’t remind her of themselves so clearly.

"Are you... are you serious right now?" she finally said with a smirk, narrowing her eyes as if trying to see through the layers of makeup and those long lashes, that same Franco Rizzo, the quiet, modest nerd who just six months ago was afraid to raise his hand in class and blushed if someone addressed him directly.

Francesca just rolled her eyes and, without losing her deliberately smooth manner, reached for her glass of Pink Spritz, slightly bending her wrist as if it were part of a carefully rehearsed movement rather than just a gesture.

"Julia, tesoro," she said smoothly with a faint smirk, "clarify your question, please."

She took a sip, slowly, deliberately, leaving a barely noticeable trace of lipstick on the straw, and tilted her head slightly so that her long earrings swayed, drawing attention.

"My question," Julia began, but she was sharply and rudely cut off by Lucrezia, with her overly sweet and high-pitched voice, which together with her provocative appearance didn’t match at all with what she usually said.

"What fucking question?! Franco, have you lost it?" she took a quick gulp of beer, immediately feeling how her full lips unpleasantly brushed against her nose when she opened her mouth too wide, and she flinched at that, grimacing angrily and wiping her upper lip with the back of her hand, as if it wasn’t her own face that was pissing her off right now, "Are you seriously sitting here telling us you like some old guy picking lemons for you?!"

Francesca slowly set her glass down without even looking at her and, unhurriedly, ran her finger along the edge of the straw, as if weighing whether it was even worth responding.

"First of all," she began softly, tilting her head slightly, "not 'Franco.' Lucrezia."

"My name is Luca, damn it, you fucking nerd!" she snapped, slamming her beer glass back onto the table so hard that foam spilled over the edge and ran down her fingers, and people, especially men who heard that, pretending to look at the glass, used the moment to calmly take another look at her figure.

"Damn it, Luca, people are watching," Julia said in a loud whisper, leaning forward slightly and touching Lucrezia’s shoulder.

"I don’t give a shit who’s watching!" she snapped, jerking her shoulder and immediately feeling how with that movement her heavy tits, barely held in place by the tight men’s T-shirt, swung downward with a noticeable delay, making her freeze for a split second and grimace, "they always watch. Fucking curse..."

She let out a heavy sigh, remembering her attempts to put on something loose and how she literally felt physical pain all over her body in those moments, to the point her head spun and her legs gave out, and how quickly it all passed the moment she put on something tight again.

"We all live with it, sweetheart," Francesca noted with a smile, tilting her head slightly to the side and lazily tapping her nail against the glass of her drink, "If I had your figure, I’d have achieved so much already..."

She calmly lifted her gaze upward, and at that moment Lucrezia jerked as if she had literally been shocked, immediately leaning forward and planting her elbows on the table, which made her breasts press against the edge of the table at once, knocking the breath out of her and forcing her to fall silent for a second.

"You, in my place…" she hissed, trying to keep her voice at least somewhat close to its former harshness, but it still came out higher and sharper than she intended, "you would… you’d be dead in my place, Franco."

"Francesca," she corrected calmly, not even looking at her, and lazily twirled the straw in her glass again.

"I don’t give a fuck what you call yourself now!" Lucrezia threw herself back, but immediately winced because the tight men’s leggings, completely unsuited to her figure, painfully dug in between her legs, pressing deep into the soft, sensitive skin and making her thighs involuntarily clench.

She froze for a second, breathing heavily, and immediately caught the gaze of a man at the next table, and he didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t staring, his eyes slowly sliding from her face down to her heavy tits, which showed far too clearly through the stretched fabric of the T-shirt.

"Sit properly," Julia said quietly but with noticeable tension, leaning slightly toward her, "you’re hurting yourself."

"I am sitting properly," Lucrezia muttered through her teeth, but at that very moment she tried to spread her legs slightly and immediately sucked in a sharp breath because the fabric of the leggings dug in even deeper, but she tried not to show it, turning to Julia instead, "and anyway, you, Giulio, decided to become a squeaky little cock-sucker too, sucking for money?"

Francesca let out a theatrical sigh, and Julia, slightly flustered, muttered awkwardly, adjusting her flared pants:

"No, of course not, God forbid," she turned away, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks and remembering how two weeks ago she had let that guy from the bar drag her into his car after the third glass of wine, and how she laughed when he complimented her wide hips that fit so comfortably in his hands. And how three weeks ago she herself had picked up some American tourist with those broad shoulders and that wide Hollywood smile, and how afterward the bed rocked loudly, creaking so much it felt like the whole damn motel could hear it. And then, as if to spite her, that first time surfaced, with some guy from a run-down bar on the outskirts, she didn’t even remember his name now, only how he laughed when she tried to act “the old way,” rough, confident, like before, and how it looked… ridiculous.

Back then she blamed it on alcohol and just curiosity about "what it feels like," but the fact that even now, while they were talking about that old man, she was thinking about "what he’s like in bed" genuinely scared her and made her feel that same sensation again, the one that makes your ears and cheeks burn and everything tighten in your chest.

"That’s exactly what I’m saying, we need to find a way to turn everything back, not..." Lucrezia continued, not even noticing Julia’s embarrassment, pausing and looking at Francesca with disgust, "not start living like some dumb doll."

"The dumb doll is you, Lucrezia," Francesca replied immediately, still softly, but now somehow sounding more convincing than any aggression, "because you’re the only one of the three of us still acting like you’re some great up-and-coming boxer, and not the hottest blonde in this café with tits that already have half the men at the neighboring tables ready to burst their pants."

Lucrezia opened her mouth to snap back, but this time Julia cut in.

"What do you mean the only one?! I’m not..." she started, and then stopped herself, realizing she’d let her emotions slip and, for some reason, deciding that both of her friends already knew about her thoughts and what she had been doing this past month.

Julia blushed even harder, her hair falling over her face as she quickly turned toward her glass of wine and took a sip. She thought her friends continued the conversation, but they were just looking at her, questioningly.

"Fine, I... tried," she finally squeezed out quietly, not looking at them. "Once. Then again. But that doesn’t mean I gave up! It’s just... the body wants what it wants. These hips, when you walk down the street, they sway on their own, and men... they notice. Girls never reacted to me like that before and I... ah, fuck you both!"

Lucrezia stared at her with her mouth open, her full lips parting.

"You’re seriously fucking guys?!" she almost shrieked in her high voice, which still sounded too sweet for that kind of rage. "Giulio, you used to be a normal guy!"

Francesca let out a quiet laugh, lightly covering her lips with the tips of her fingers, as if enjoying not so much Julia’s words as the situation itself, adding:

"Well, it seems someone is forgetting to look at the obvious."

"Obvious?!" she almost spat the word, but her voice betrayed her again, cracking higher than it should, and that only twisted the anger inside her tighter. "What’s obvious is that both of you are fucking faggots, that’s what’s obvious!"

"Luca, I’m not..." Julia started, but immediately fell silent, scared of the word itself.

"Oh? Then who the fuck are we?! What the hell?! Three months ago we agreed to just keep living LIKE THIS but still look for a way to lift this curse, and you... you..."

Lucrezia shot up so abruptly that her chair scraped loudly back across the stone floor of the café, and her heavy fifth or sixth size tits dropped with a noticeable delay, stretching the men’s T-shirt to its limit and outlining her nipples, which hardened instantly from the friction of the fabric.

"You’ve completely lost your minds!" she shouted in her high, sweet voice that even in anger sounded more like an invitation than a threat. Her full lips trembled, her unkempt long blonde hair scattered over her narrow shoulders, and the face of the most beautiful of the three burned with anger. "Just because officially we’re all chicks now doesn’t mean we have to live like chicks! Damn you all! And damn that fucking Antonio who thinks I’m his goddamn fiancée and who keeps showing up in my dreams because of how fucking clingy he is! And I’m not his fiancée, I... I..."

Tears welled up in her huge eyes, making them even more expressive and glossy, and her full lips trembled as Lucrezia tried to hold back that sudden rush of weakness. She didn’t even immediately realize she was crying, but with each second the moisture that had been building up over these months poured out stronger, and quiet, uncontrollable sobs slipped from her throat.

Julia immediately jumped up, stepping closer, and, not giving herself time to hesitate, carefully wrapped her arms around Lucrezia’s shoulders, but the movement came out too clumsy, her own wide hips bumped into the edge of the table, the glass clinked, and she nearly lost her balance herself, clinging to her friend now not so much out of a desire to comfort as just not to fall.

"Hey… hey, easy," she mumbled, trying to hold her, but feeling Lucrezia pushing against her, "Luca… damn it…"

Lucrezia jerked in her arms, at first sharply, as if about to push her away, but instead only pressed her forehead harder into her shoulder.

"Don’t touch me…" Lucrezia muttered dully, but didn’t even try to pull away, on the contrary, her fingers tightened on the fabric on Julia’s back, crumpling her tight top, "I… I… I’m not his fiancée, damn it! I’m a guy… I…"

She didn’t finish, because another sob broke out on its own, uncontrollably, and because of that her chest jerked again, her heavy tits swaying between them, pressing against Julia’s body so that she tensed involuntarily.

"Shit…" Julia exhaled quietly, feeling that pressure, that warmth, and how her own body reacted, not with a thought, but purely physically, "just calm down…"

"Seriously, calm down, ‘guy’," Francesca finally said as she stood up too, slowly walking around the table and, without asking, wrapping her arms around Lucrezia from behind, pressing her thin bony frame against her body, not paying any attention to how she flinched.

"Get… off… me…" Lucrezia chirped, trying to fight through her sobs, while at the same time hugging Julia tighter and pressing into her so much that her tits were literally squashed between them, her back arching into an awkward curve.

"Luca…" Julia said quietly, already almost confused, "you… you’re going to suffocate me…"

Lucrezia was still trembling, but no longer struggling, her fingers that had been gripping Julia’s clothing slowly loosening.

"I… hate this," she said, still sniffling, "I hate you, this café, these tits… everything."

"God, what drama," Francesca said from behind, stepping back with a mocking nasal tone, "I got a body every woman dreams of, help me, save me."

And she laughed loudly, lifting her cocktail and taking a sip, while the two girls stood in each other’s arms, one thinking about how she wished it were the guy from the next table holding her instead, and the other cursing the fact that because she had been too much of a manly man, the curse had given her this overly feminine body.