Letters From Heather - 2025 - Champagne and Satin

Another vignette about an alternate reality Heather whose boobs never stopped growing. Artwork done by a good friend, the amazing @victormarquez_pinup_art on Instagram, as a sweet, spur-of-the-moment thing. When the inspiration hits! (Look forward to seeing more of the dreamy, etherial work of @AldoinHeaven [Twitter & IG] coming to this series soon, btw - just saw a preview and it’s so cool...)

I like the way this one turned out, the liberties that were taken with adapting from the text. The expression is peak Heather snark, lol, and I kinda want those shoes (and that camisole, for that matter!)... Otherwise, glad to see I still know how to get my drink on at age 41. Plenty of room to keep the extra blood alcohol?

(Oh dear... I’m gonna be 40 in 2024? Hoo boy... Who’d-a thought I’d make it?)

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I removed the top from the gift box that was beside me on the bed, and gently unfolded the tissue that protected the delicate silk and lace beneath. You knew I’ve never been the biggest lingerie person, but even I have to admit that it’s fun to dress up sometimes. I had given up on the idea of traditional lingerie years ago.

I found the top of the garment and slowly lifted it out of the box. A simple camisole, it was not a particularly elaborate piece. But it felt expensive, and was gorgeous, simply: capped silk shoulders that evolved into delicate, gossamer-thin, semi-transparent water.

A card drifted from the fabric: a thank you note from Melanie, the seamstress who had created this unique piece - an already close friend, who you went around my back and commissioned a little fun with.

Makeup, hair, perfume. All that’s left is to remove the cumbersome, ingenuously built bra at the last possible second. Naked, with you eagerly waiting in the next room — hardly too far to walk straight and unsupported before plopping myself on the bed and going phew — I drape it over my shoulders, and feel cool, light smoothness against my skin. Final glance at the full length mirror... I thought so. It hangs down to my upper thigh, draping loosely down the long twin teardrops slope that is the front of my body these days, but still not low enough to completely cover the two cream-colored curves of Natalia and Olga.

Olga in particular. Almost as if it was cut to the millimeter to emphasize their already substantial size difference. Which you totally intended. This was your night, and I know you don’t mind when the girls come to the party.

I took the champagne off the dresser, and snatched up the two flutes we were sipping from a few moments before I kicked you out to wait patiently.

Walking up to the door, bottle and glasses hanging loosely to my sides, I lean a little on the frame, crossing my legs loosely. Bathed in the orange candle glow, I allow the girls latitude to naturally sway heavily, a nipple barely threatening to peek at you. A small smile crosses my lips.

“I can’t believe you put Melanie up to this.”