Sunday, June 25, 2006

Tim's (formerly) big breasts

Tits. Jugs. TaTas. Melons. Hooters. Golden bozos.

Admit it: They are the first thing you look at on a woman, even if she's 65. You can't help it. It's instinctive, programmed in our DNA like blinking. Our brains have not been upgraded since we were Neanderthals--loincloth-clad, cave-dwelling sex machines seeking out females capable of filling our childrens' bellies with milk.

I love Tim's boobs. I love their heaviness, the heft of them in my hands, the deep crevice in between them when she wears a low-cut blouse, which reminds me just how big they are. I love watching in the bedroom mirror when I fuck her, as they swing like coconuts.

When I met her I couldn't take my eyes off them. I was vaguely aware of a thick blonde mane, but beyond that, it was a good five minutes before I knew what she looked like.

The first time I saw her naked I noticed the... indentations: Painful-looking grooves in her shoulders from her bra straps. And they were deep, too, as if carved by a hammer and chisel. Every once in a while she'd look in the mirror and lift her breasts with an exasperated sigh, and I knew how much of a nuisance they must have been. But certainly it wasn't the man's job to discuss such things!

She came home very late one night after a catering job when her posture suddenly hit me. Her head drooped and her shoulders were rounded, as if carrying a 100-pound backpack. It had gotten much worse in the few months I had known her.

"Are you okay, Tim?"

"Could you rub my back, please?" she sighed, and was asleep before I was halfway done.

A few days later she made me a candlelight dinner and played Steely Dan on the stereo, even though she hates them. I was being buttered up for something; I wondered if she wanted to buy a car.

"Honey?" she coos after dinner, slithering into my lap.

"Yeah?"

"I want to get a breast reduction."

Just one? That might look funny. But at least I'll still have a big one to play with!

"Okay, no problem. I'll just get a dick reduction."

"It's not funny! My shoulders kill, my back kills, I'm in agony all day long. It's horrible!"

"If that's what you want, then I'm fine with it."

"Are you mad?"

"Of course not!"

"But I won't be sexy anymore."

"Tim, don't be crazy."

**********

Wednesday, June 7, 2006
T-minus seven days

There were a million details. I busted my ass to find a seasoned doctor with no malpractice settlements; we attended endless meetings, researched tirelessly, asked a million questions. And still, Tim was so petrified that she was close to backing out. She hates hospitals and doctors, for obvious reasons.

Doctor Nowell was very accomodating. He agreed to a dry run, in which we took Tim through every step of the process, though he did say that too much information was sometimes not comforting at all. "Everyone wants to see their child being born, but trust me: They don't want to see a Cesarian section," he said.

"I want to see everything," Tim said. "I want to know every doctor's name, I want to see every tool you are going to use." She dutifully scribbled notes on a legal pad, and double-checked them when she was done, then read them over so many times that, by the day of her surgery, she almost had them memorized.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006
T-minus one day

Tim walks out of the bathroom, hair dripping, a skimpy scrap of tericloth against her breasts.

"Is that a dish towel?"

"Mm-hmm," she giggles.

"Why don't you use a regular--"

She drops it.

I forget what I was thinking about, forget about the errands I have to do today, about the leaky kitchen faucet and the lawn mower that needs a spark plug. Several million years' worth of evolution kick in, and the biological urge to reproduce overrides everything.

"You better have fun, because I'm not going to have these tomorrow," she laughs.

I don't remember taking my clothes off, only pulling her naked body to me, feeling her wet skin against mine, and her damp hair brushing my collarbones as she falls on top of me.

She props herself up for a moment, staring intently down at me. "Are you sure you want me to go through with this?" she whispers, and as I gaze dreamily at her delicious knockers, I actually consider saying no. Do we mortals have the right to tamper with God's heavenly handiwork? But I know this has to happen.

"Yes, I do, Tim."

"Because if you say no, I won't do it. Okay?"

"I say yes."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to be in pain, Tim."

She kisses me deeply, and I close my eyes, drinking in the moment, absorbing every detail. I wish I could record this somehow, so I can remember it--

"Where are you going, Steve?"

I grab my camera off the dresser. I hope the batteries are charged!

"What are you doing?"

"I have four minutes of video on here."

"You're crazy," she smiles.

We always talk about videotaping ourselves, but we never have. That's going to change today. I lay down and aim the camera with shaky hands as she smiles coyly up at me.

The viewfinder tells me that there is 4:03 of video remaining. I've got to record us in short segments; it would be a bummer to fill the memory card before the payoff!

Sometimes I joke about the lack of blood flow to my brain when I get hard, but now it feels like it's actually happening. I'm slightly dizzy as I watch her slip my cock into her mouth, her eyes never letting go of the camera lens. I try not to breathe too hard, lest I drown out the wet sound of her blowing me.

To me, the purpose of a blowjob is not to bust off in her mouth, but to get me stratospherically horny, so hard that I have to fuck immediately, even if the room is on fire.

I can feel the pre-cum dribbling out of me, and she can too. We've been together long enough that she knows exactly when I am ready.

She wipes her lips absently with the back of her hand and lays back, gazing at me with warm eyes. Her legs fall open, and I hit the record button again. I bury my cock into her neatly-shaved pussy, sighing heavily.

She clutches me with her legs, pulling me deeper into her. "Do you like my pussy? Can you feel how nice and wet I am for you?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Fuck me. Harder!" And I am only too glad to oblige.

"I want you to blow your load all over my tits."

"Okay baby."

The subtle slapping of our bodies grows louder, faster, the pleasure engulfing my body until I am lost in the moment, overflowing with ecstasy. By instinct alone I pull my throbbing cock out of her and squeeze it between her breasts, sliding it smoothly back and forth.

Tim brushes it with her tongue, and I am totally gone. I pull back, blasting her with waves of cum until I am completely spent, and the room falls silent save for my labored breathing.

:18 left. How's that for timing?

Monday, June 12, 2006

Time for my annual post...

Sorry guys, busy as hell, as usual.

Thursday, January 12, 2006
Steve's house

"Yer never gonna guess who dis is!"

"Let's see. Deep voice, guinea accent. Luca Brasi?"

"Steve, it's your father!"

"I know who it is, Dad!"

It was a tough week and a half, but it looks like the worst is over. It's going to be a long road ahead, but at least he will live.

"I love you... all..." he says, before hanging up.

"I love you too, Dad."

"And tell dat girlfriend of yours she better come to my room next time!"

We laugh.

**********

Friday, January 27, 2006
Pine Ridge Rehabilitation Center, room 105

"Didja see that nurse? The Puerto Rican one?"

"Which nurse, Dad?"

"Dat one, dat one," he says, leaping in his wheelchair and pointing to the door.

A creamy-complexioned, ponytailed nurse wiggles by the room in deep blue scrubs.

"Holy shit!"

"She likes me, too!" Dad says.

"Is that right?"

"Watch dis!" he says, picking up the telephone. "Hello, is dis da front desk? Dis is Mr. Trump in room 105, I mean, suite 105. Can you send my girlfriend Jasmine over here, please?"

He hangs up, and 30 seconds later, the Puerto Rican nurse walks through the door. "Hi, Frankie, what do you need, love?"

"I told my lousy son dat you have a crush on me, and he doesn't believe me!"

"Awww," she says, puckering exaggeratedly with Jolie-like lips. She plops herself down on Dad's lap.

Holy shit!

Supposedly, Dad did really well with the ladies in school, before he met Mom. But this nurse is 25, tops. Surely she's just kidding. Isn't she?

"What do you think?" Dad says.

"I think I want her to sit on my lap next!"

Dad can walk short distances with a cane now, and is looking much better. He's lost 40 pounds!

"Frank, I want to apologize for not visiting you at the hospital," Tim says, after Jasmine leaves.

"You did visit me."

"But I didn't come to your room."

"I understand," Dad says.

"But--"

"Shh," he says. "Come here, Tim."

"I hope you don't expect me to sit on your lap," she chuckles.

"You can do dat after your boyfriend leaves," he winks.

She sits on the edge of the bed.

"Tim, I love you just like you were my own daughter," Dad says, and the room goes deathly silent. Dad never says "I love you" to anyone. When he said it to me a few weeks back, I thought he had too much morphine.

"Ohh," Tim says, hugging him. "I love you too, Frank!"

"I just wanted her to hug me," Dad smiles as she sits back on the bed, and we all laugh.