While bathing in the spring one day, I had spied a few trees near the peak that looked to bear fruit. I was curious to see what they were.
And so I hiked. My bare feet scaling up the rocky path as it became steeper. I soon reached as high as I could go without climbing. I was no rock climber. Even if I were, it would be too impractical to try and carry fruit while climbing down. But there was an outcropping to my left. Perhaps if I could get around to another side it would be easier to get up.
I placed a tentative foot on the rock, testing my footing before continuing. It seemed fine. I hugged the rock face as I shimmied along. Bit by bit.
As I placed my next footfall, though, it broke away. With a gasp I slid down with it, trying to grab onto something. I slid down the rough slope before crashing into brambly bushes. Rips and snaps of twigs surrounded me as I tumbled out the other side before finally coming to a rest.
I sat up with a groan, looking back up the slope. It thankfully hadn’t been that far, and the bushes had slowed my descent. I looked down at my stinging arm. There were grazes all up it. My eyes followed up my arm to my shirt. It was the worst off. It was ripped open and tattered. The bush above me still held pieces of it like small trophies.
I pulled it off and held it up before me. It was ruined. Worse was my bra. It hung over only one of my shoulders, my right breast hanging free. The right shoulder strap and the side strap had both been ripped. A cut was on my side where the branch must have hooked it.
I pulled that off too and looked at the torn fabric in my hands. There didn’t seem to be any way to salvage any of this. And it was the only thing I had. What I would give to suddenly find a suitcase with fresh clothes washed ashore. But that fantasy didn’t help my situation now.
I looked down at my bare chest. My 34F breasts anything but unnoticeable. What could I do? The thought of heading back to the cave like this was horrible, but what choice did I have? There wasn’t anything else out here that I could use to cover myself permanently.
I sat and thought, ignoring the dull throb of my injuries. Perhaps it could work. Kyle didn’t wear a shirt, was it really so strange for me not to either? I was just his mother after all. But I couldn’t help but think about how frustrated he had been. Seeing me topless all day would surely drive him mad. Seeing any woman’s bare breasts after a month without any would drive any man mad. Maybe I would just have to let him know that it was fine for me to be topless. He’d get used to the sight of my breasts eventually.
I stood up, watching my freed breasts bounce with my movement. They would surely torment him, but it would have to work itself out.
~
The next few days were tough on both of us. When Kyle returned, I explained everything to him. How I fell and how my shirt had ripped. I explained how I would have to go topless from now on. He was supportive and understood everything I said about how they were just a part of my body and not to be embarrassed. Though, throughout the conversation he seemed to struggle to keep his eyes on mine.