It was an accident the first time it happened.

She'd searched Yahoo! Images—not Google, never Google; she disliked it—for "chicken breasts", hoping to get ideas for the dinner she had promised her mother she would make, and among the images of chicken parmigiana and chicken tempura and grilled chicken was a picture of a half-naked woman, showing her breasts as she did stuff with chickens.

No, not that kind of stuff. She was...dancing with them. Which...didn't really seem to work that well, but....

Naturally, she—Audrey, not chicken breast lady—had looked at the picture, and clicked on it to enlarge it. How often do you see topless women playing with poultry? Well, maybe you see them quite often, but Audrey certainly didn't.

And maybe she was more focused on the woman than on the chickens. Well, she was clearly the focal point of the photograph. Audrey doubted that many people looking at the picture were more interested in the birds of the feathered variety than in the woman, whose name, according to the caption, was "Candi Titts".

Audrey also doubted that that was her real name.

She was fascinated by Candi's breasts, for purely clinical reasons of course. She didn't think that she'd ever seen another woman's breasts before, not counting when she was a baby and her mother breastfed her. Girls only stripped to their bras in the changing room at school. Bare breasts were...different.

Candi's nipples, in comparison to Audrey's, were huge. The little circle thingies in the middle of them—which probably had official names—were the size of the pad of Candi's middle finger. She wondered if Candi was some kind of monster nipple woman, or if her own were just runty and undersized. Slipping a finger down the front of her shirt, she rubbed at one of them, squirming in the computer char as she did so. Yep, definitely smaller than Candi's. Especially when it was hard.

Despite the possible freakishness of Candi's nipples, her breasts were nicely formed. They were big enough to be noticeable—though as Audrey had, of course, only seen them bare, it was hard to judge—but not so big that they sagged or looked strange. Their shape was just about perfect, round, even, and symmetrical. The skin on them was smooth and pale. It looked very soft.

Audrey realized that she was rubbing her breasts again, through her shirt this time. Frowning softly, she pulled her hand away, fiddling with her hair instead. She wasn't sure when she'd started, or why.

It was probably because of Candi. She was comparing her own body to the body of someone who was fully—and well—developed and...that was it. Right? Right.

She tore her eyes away from Candi and looked at the domain name, trying to find something distracting. She was at Girls Getting Nasty With Farm . Blushing, she quickly closed the browser window and hurried from her bedroom. She'd just make a simple chicken stir fry. That'd be good. Her mother wouldn't be too pleased with it, but...whatever.


A/N: I know that was extremely short, but the others are longer. And I also know that it wasn't very plotty, but...well, the next one won't be too plotty, but the third and fourth will be...somewhat plotty. Plottier, at least. And I know that plotty isn't a word, but...you know what I mean.

Ten points to the first person who figures out where I got the title. It's a bit of a lame source, but it works for me.

So, we over at the Slash Fiction Forum have been working on an awards site solely for slash, and femme slash, of course, since...I don't know. About January? Something like that. Anyway, it's actually in existence now, so...yeah. Go to latsawards(dot)webs(dot)com. You can nominate stuff or hang out on the forums or something. You can nominate all my stuff for every category. That'd be cool.

I think this author's note might be longer than the chapter now. That's sad.