Killer Breasts

A woman made a comment recently that reminded me of a near death experience I had with a pair of monster breasts. I feel lucky to have survived. At this point in my life I am proud of the man I have become. I was born with gifts that are individual to me and one of these gifts is my “gayness” which should have always led my life decisions but, in the era I was raised, I was strongly encouraged to meet a woman, fall in love and marry (very unfair to women by the way). I took pains to try to live this life and couldn’t understand why I didn’t fall in love. Although I did have the rare physical experience with women, it was never with the enthusiasm I saw my other friends enjoy.

My last attempt to fall in love with a woman was overseas. The woman was very attractive but her single most distinguishing characteristic was her monster breasts which, frankly, had nothing to do with why I was attracted to her. In fact, they were an annoyance because whenever I introduced her to my male friends, and sometimes my female friends, I knew the inevitable comments about her breasts would come up the first time we were alone. They might make comments about how nice she was, how pretty she was, how smart she was but these other comment only came after the hubba, hubba comments about her breasts. We bumped along for awhile in a truly platonic way until she decided that if we were going to move to the next level, we needed to celebrate our relationship with some nudity and hootchey kootchey. We scheduled the day and went to dinner where I drank heavily and then went to my house. It started out well enough with the two of us shyly lying side by side. I was content as it was but apparently she felt we needed to pick the pace up She rolled over ending up on top of me which was when my night of terror began. I was suddenly confronted by a solid wall of quivering bosoms. They were everywhere. No matter which way I turned there was flesh blocking my air supply. I had a hard time breathing and finally used my two hands to separate the pair to give me an air passage. I was taking deep gulps of much needed air when she apparently misread my discomfort for passion and, with a shake of her shoulders, the breasts were roaming freely again. I felt I was lucky to survive the evening. The plan was for her to spend the night but, fearing those puppies would smother me while I was sleeping, I feigned not feeling well and drove her home. That was the one and only time I had any kind of a relationship that was destroyed by panic. Today, I have a very healthy respect for extremely large breasts and the women who are required to carry them around.