Covering these up would be a crime

She stands unguarded, small frame carrying what demands attention — full, heavy, gloriously out of proportion with her narrow waist and slight shoulders.

You trace the curve with your eyes before your hands even twitch, that specific weight and softness already memorized somehow, like you've wanted exactly this without knowing the word for it.

Petite everywhere else, abundant here — the contrast isn't accidental, it's the whole argument. Covering them would be a genuine offense against geometry, against appetite, against everything your hands were designed to do.