How ‘Precocious’


She sat contrasted between momentarily admiring the Valencian mountains and reading comments on what appeared a seemingly innocent social media post. The heat of the morning reflected in the droplets of sweat beginning to form between her breasts. Her flatmate walked across the terrace to hand her a morning cup of wake up juice, she took the cup from him and began to read some of the comments generated by the post. She looked up to meet his gaze, she couldn’t have met his gaze by any means, he was too busy looking downwards at the venutian attributes that lay beneath her dressing gown. While she admired the mountains of Valencia he was busy admiring her hills.
What a predictable and pathetic male.She took a sip of her coffee. He was almost as pathetic as the commenter who had written
“women shouldn’t get pregnant”
as his response to happy independence day and various despondent feminine comments that indicated they didn’t feel very celebratory.
She paused from her reading and sipping, sat up straight and pushed back her shoulders. The composure naturally raised her chest a few inches and in the North of her composure she challenged her living companion with a stare. Of course he didn’t notice her expression because his eyes were still fixed downwards at her chest.

“What an amazing view we have” she said while sweeping an arm outwards to the west where the sun was basking in its newness. The action causing a ripple of movement beneath the loose fabric. His pupils expanded with prominence and she felt like a meal about to be devoured.  She ruined his moment by banging her coffee cup loudly on the table.
A break in the beast stare, hallelujah she thought and added the coffee mug clang to her non combative repertoire of how to cope with men and their stupidity.
“A question” she said. “Do you know what age the youngest woman was to birth? 

The question from the perspective of her flatmate would of course appear totally random.

She was of course thinking of the man who had left the sweeping comment about women and pregnancy.
” I say the word ‘women’ with candid sarcasm because it was a five year old girl called Lina Marcela Medina. Imagine the sicko who got her into that predicament.”
I took a moment to think about the ‘women’ in the commentators life, even those aged five. Perhaps they were wrapped up in the western version of the Afghanistani dress code for women, safe from male predilections.
“How the hell did a five year old get pregnant?”
The look of socially acceptable disgust upon his face.

“Well, like how all females get pregnant” I said in a matter of fact way.
“Some guy stuck his cock in her and hey ho she’s a historical history maker.” The father pales into insignificance not to get a mention…and I’m not talking about the father of the 5 year old but the child born.” Not. One. Single. Mention….not even on Wikipedia I thought. I wondered what men thought about his lack of a mention given they seem to need a ‘mention’ in everything.
” No, not the mechanics of it” he said “But the biology of it, how is it possible for a 5 year old to become pregnant?”
Apparently it was due to ‘Precocious Puberty’ some kind of medical anomaly.

I bent forward to pick up my cup and I was well aware that the lean forward not only jiggled my assets, which were loosely under wraps by the Japanese print but that they would be swept within full view of my flatmate. I threw a look upwards and coughed in a signal that caused him to actually look at my face in all its natural and morning nakedness and thought how ‘precocious’ of me to demand respect.


I keep telling everyone I’m not a fiction writer and sadly I’m not.

Published by Somewhere Over the Olive Tree

Prolific second hand shopper, rubbish rumager and upcycler, that sees beauty where non exists. From Dolly the Vintage Caravan to Dream Catchers I find inspiration and creativity where it is practically non existent to most people's eyes. My creativity comes from an intention of reducing waste and helping the planet by reusing things people throw away. I have refurbished my whole home from 'rubbish' to demonstrate what can actually be achieved with a little imagination, patience and maybe a glass or two of whiskey. I also adore the simple things in life like looking at the mountains, playing with my dogs, cooking, sewing and dancing. You can find out more on SOMEWHERE OVER THE OLIVE TREE on Facebook

2 thoughts on “How ‘Precocious’

    1. And there it is, the transfer of poor masculine behavior back onto the female. Perhaps the 5 year old should have kept her legs closed…

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