Justine by Kerri A.; Iben; Pierce Mondrup Page A

Grandpa’s paintbrushes and pallet, and the paintings I painted, and Ane glancing up from the easel with absent eyes, completely lost in her painted world. Present there is also Ane’s friend, Lord preserve us, Randi, with her breasts, huge, yes, enormous, yes, vulgar, but in no way sensual. Could it be that I also want to be Randi? It’s something of a thought experiment, everything would be so easy, or so I think, but what do I know about Randi and what it’s like to be her? Would it make things easier? Simpler? Randi might potentially be a good object, she might replace me for a time, but I’d never be like her, so no, it’s doomed to failure. Not because of her breasts—it just wouldn’t work.

R andi works for a private hospital north of Copenhagen. Ane has known her since they were kids in Jutland, where the sun always shone and the world was a breeze.
    â€œWhat’s great is that it’s actually wonderful having a friend who’s not an artist,” Ane said and invited both of us to her place one Friday evening.
    She was a tall, attractive girl, Randi, with a huge chest and narrow waist. She found my name amusing.
    â€œDepends on how you look at it,” I said.
    At the table we all sat across from each other. Randi said that she was an anesthetic nurse at Højen.
    â€œThey do all sorts of operations,” Ane said. “Breasts, liposuction, face lifts, lips and . . .”
    â€œSo do tons of women come to you for cunt jobs to make them look nice?” I asked.
    â€œTons and tons. Some do come, yes,” said Randi, “and we call it a vagina.”
    â€œI’m sure I’d be willing to have something done if my body changes too much after I’ve given birth,” Ane said.
    Her eyes told me to behave.
    â€œPlenty of women do that,” said Randi. “We just helped a girl whose baby would only nurse at one breast. Not like that’s big deal. But it meant that when she stopped nursing, you know, one breast was a lot longer than the other. As you can imagine, she wasn’t too happy with that. In any case, I wouldn’t be. But she came to us and got her breasts done. And now you can’t tell the difference between them.”
    â€œWow, that was lucky,” I said.
    â€œIf I ever needed it, I’m sure they’ve gotten so good at breast jobs that you can’t even tell,” Ane said.
    â€œAbsolutely,” Randi said. “We’re really good at it now. But we’re always getting better and better.”
    â€œThe best is yet to come,” I said.
    But then Randi said that she herself had had a boob job. There was nothing wrong with what she’d had before, she just wanted something bigger. Randi pulled up her tight blouse to reveal a white-lace bra with huge cups that she opened with a twist at the back, and out popped two perfectly round breasts. I stared into the red eyes of her nipples.
    â€œWhere did they insert them?” Ane asked, leaning forward.
    â€œRight here under the areola,” Randi said and pointed at the underside.
    â€œAnd there’s no mark?” Ane asked.
    â€œNo, huh? You can touch it if you like,” Randi said.
    Ane pressed a finger to one arch. The breast gave elastically.
    â€œIt feels totally real?” Ane said.
    We were done eating, and I stared at Randi’s breasts beneath her blouse, two springy domes. Randi crossed her arms over her chest and pressed them together. Ane changed the candles in the sticks. Randi and her breasts leaned back in the chair. Ane pulled up her jacket to reveal breasts that were pale and distended and full of mammary glands. Randi lay down on the couch. Ane talked. Randi’s breasts poked up like two domes in the air. If she stood on her head with those breasts, then what?
    But then it was time for Randi to go, because the next day she had the morning shift. In the entryway everyone’s breasts got squeezed together, and