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A small chip appeared in the stone façade of Winnifred’s vague expression. “I would…however, it would not be for the best. I am no less confident in my choices than I was when I made them.”
No convincing a girl so set, especially not a brainy one. “You’ll stick around with me for the day at least, won’t you?”
Winnifred gave you a reprise of that pitying gaze you’d received a few times before. “I feel that I’m hurting you by doing so…but fine.”
She didn’t say what it was, but the implication that she’d rather be with you today than not was plenty enough.
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Exiting the markets, you’d found a good warm sweater for Linda. Much as she might try to deny it, you knew she still got cold, especially when you were around.
“It’s not that interesting,” you told Winnifred, “But she’ll like whatever I give her. Not like her tits are so easy to hide even under a sweater. Just have to convince her to put ‘em away before she catches cold.”
“Hm.” Winnifred took the sweater from your bag and examined it. “I see you took my advice on the wool knit.”
“How could I not?” You’d ask her to try it on, but Winnifred was a scrawny woman, and it’d just hang loose. Maybe not in a bad way.
“And you said she’s found herself Mother’s Joy,” she mused further, “It’s more of an investment than you might assume. Old wives don’t make much mention of the side effects.”
“Nah. But she’s insistent. Oh, reminds me,” you checked your bags again, “Shoot, forgot milk formula. Don’t mind me using your ration card for that, do you? He’s inherited his pop and grandpap’s appetites, that’s for damn sure.”
“I don’t mind. However…I have been donating,” Winnifred said hesitantly.
“Huh?” You realized what she meant after a second. “Oh, you’re still producing?”
“Mm. I had no excuse to stop early, with the present need.” She glanced at her chest, then at you. “I can give what I have over to you. It would save some of your rationing allowance.”
Her breasts didn’t <span class="mu-i">seem</span> bigger, but if they were doing their work, you wouldn’t question it. Besides, smaller ones had their own appeal. You thought the subject of tit size to be of apples and oranges and the whole farmer’s market, rather than something so basic as comparing the size of melons.
Winnifred knew you were both going to your apartment before you even brought it up.
“Funny that you know,” you teased her.
“I know many things. And when you’re in the positions I’m in, there’s a joy in knowing what you shouldn’t.”
Naughty girl.
