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Thursday 11 January 2001
TIT TORTURE, BUT NOT IN A GOOD WAY


"Some man somewhere's probably jacking off over this right now" I said, watching tv from behind splayed fingers. I was cringing on the beanbag, rolling back, falling onto my side, hiding away from the screen. My eyes were full of tears. I squished my fingers up close till there was a millimetre gap between middle and ring fingers, and peered through that. The cheery, bespectacled, Asian plastic surgeon was demonstrating how much room there was in the droopy-haired, droopy-breasted, droopy-souled 19-year-old's tit for the silicon. He said she needed something to perk up her life. But even with the bandages and the new bra her face drooped down, sad as a bloodhound, floppy as Bagpuss. I ran to the bathroom and knelt down on the rug and waited, fingers crossed, to feel better.

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