Jezebel

Women like me.

I was seated at this park, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, when the sharp prick of a stare broke my focus. I glanced up. A man, seated a few feet away, was leveling me with the kind of look usually reserved for a pile of roadside trash.

I searched my memory to remember if I had met this man before and what I must have done to warrant such a stinky look from him, but I couldn’t place him.

I held his gaze for a second longer than polite, just to see if he’d look away. He didn’t.

Bold.

His gaze raked down my body, and I followed it to see the black long-sleeve bodycon crop top I had chosen to wear this morning, and oh! It finally made sense why he was looking at me in disgust: My cleavage was on display.

Big fucking deal.

With a teasing smile, I arched my back to emphasise the curve of my chest. I’m no small-size queen, and I know my girls look good as fuck. He wants a show; I’ll give him a motherfucking show.

I flipped my hair to the side, clearing his view.

His eyes widened, probably not used to getting such brazen defiance from the women he tries to police. I just know this isn’t his first rodeo.

Oh, you have met Mother. I shall school you today.

When he saw me still staring, he broke eye contact and looked down, muttering about a “lack of self-respect” and women who “advertise themselves”. But I’m not done playing. He started this; he has to finish it.

I watched him squirm in his seat. His expression shifted from mock disgust to discomfort, and I almost took pity on him.

Almost.

What is it about a woman’s clothes that annoys you so much?” I asked. My voice rang out, purposefully honey-thick.

“You people don’t respect yourselves,” he snapped, though he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Everything’s on display. It’s… It’s disgusting.”

“You people?” I echoed softly.

His jaw tightened. “Women like you.”

There it is. If I could blanch at the blatant misogyny, I would, but I’m a woman on a mission.

“Do I turn you on?”

“No,” he scoffed. “You disgust me.”

I nodded once, pretending to mull over his words.

Standing up, I sashayed towards him, invading his personal space a little and forcing him to look up at me, at my breasts, which are now towering over him. I watched the hollow of his throat jump as he swallowed.

My breasts weren’t even entirely on display, not as much as I’d have liked for the purpose of this situation. Still, the low neck of the top revealed enough of the creamy, soft swell of skin. I bent a little, leaning in so he was at eye level with my girls. This close, I could smell his cheap cologne and see the tic in his jaw as he tries – and fails – to maintain composure.

I tilted my head, eyes wide and mock-innocent. “How about now? Do I turn you on?”

"In – in your dreams.” Maybe I’d have believed him if he hadn’t stuttered that.

Looking intently into his eyes, I ask, “What’s your name?”

“Alex”, he whispered.

“Alex… do you want to touch it?”

“Huh?”

“Do you want to touch my breasts?” I dropped my voice to a sultry, low vibration.

“No?” It came out as a question.

His eyes were glued to my breasts now, heavy and glazed. I don’t think he realized he had lost the fight.

“You can touch me. It’s fine," I said, sliding even closer to him. My breasts were practically in his face, and I could almost feel his breath on them.

His right hand started to twitch. I saw the moment he made a decision, and his hand rose halfway, ready to damn all consequences, when he caught the glint of the mocking smile on my face.

You’d think I doused him with cold water with the way the heat in his eyes immediately turned to ice when he realised I had been toying with him.

He recoiled as if I were made of hot lead, stumbling backward so fast his chair almost toppled over.

“You — you — ”

“Slut? Bitch? Jezebel?” I supplied helpfully, rising to my full length. I could not help the smirk on my face. “You see, men like you don’t hate women; you are just pathetic and attention-starved. You don’t hate women like me, Alex; you just hate that no woman wants to touch you with a ten-foot pole. My eyes drop further to his crotch as I add. “Evidently.”

​A blotchy, humiliated red flooded his face. He turned and skulked away, his shoulders hunched as my laughter rang out behind him.