Booblicious Convo on The Day That I Gave Thanks for the Boobs I Thought I Wanted

Him: What? Okay. Something is up. What?

He faces her with an earnest look on his face. He looks so good when he wants to know her better. She wants to look away — but she holds his gaze and decides to play on the moment.

Her: It’s nothing I just…it felt weird when you grabbed by boobs. That’s all.

Him: What do you mean. You don’t want me to touch your boobs? I always touch them when you’re on top. I thought you said you like it.

Her: I do. It was just weird this time. I guess I wasn’t high enough. You kept cupping them as if they weren’t big enough or something.

He leans in. If he kisses me I know what’s next. He doesn’t.

Him: Look, I don’t know if you had way too much to eat earlier but I love your boobs. I didn’t mean to make you feel weird. I mean, you’re riding me like a champ and they’re in my face. What the fuck am I supposed to do? Stare in ecstasy?

He looks serious but the glint in his eye gives away his laid back countenance.

Her: (Laughing) You should have held on to my damn stomach then! I’m sorry…I’m just being sensitive I guess. It’s hard being here. Every girl that walks ahead of me to order a latte has big perky boobs. And I’m like WTF? Is that a requirement to live in LA?

God he looks so hot when he laughs out loud. Especially when he throws his head back like that. Is this a scene out of a Woody Allen movie? It feels like it. Except, no director would ever hire an actor that is hotter than the leading lady. Okay, maybe this is an Indie film directed by whoever directed The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Who was he? Damn it! I hate when I can’t remember stuff that I should know instinctively. I’ll Google later. Wait, what is he saying?

Him: Hello boobs! Are you listening? Because your hostess isn’t here anymore!

He’s looking at my boobs and talking to them as if they are committed to each word falling out of his perfectly formed lips.

Her: Stop it! You’re crazy!

The kiss. The satisfying merging of flesh that can’t be described adequately even when you’ve done it a thousand times. Separation is agony, but no, we need to talk.

Her: Listen, be honest. Like, tell me the truth. Have you ever fucked a girl with boobs this small?

He looks at me studiously. He’s thinking. How do I break it to her in a way that won’t make things even more awkward than they already are? How do I…whoa! He’s speaking.

Him: What does it matter? I mean, I could ask you the same thing? Have you ever fucked a guy smaller than me? Does my dick measure up to all the studs you’ve straddled? Be honest!

Shit! He should be an actor. He uttered those lines as if he mastered them beforehand. This is fun! Kinda…I should end this now and give him a blowjob but that would be too easy. Is he up for it? Only one way to find out.

Her: Nice try! You know you are more than fully endowed. Besides, I’m so tight that it wouldn’t even matter. It’s not the same thing.

Him: Shit! You got me! Okay, listen; I don’t give a damn about the size of your boobs. It’s what’s between your legs that I care about. So, we’re good.

He dips into the covers and starts shuffling his hair. Why are White guys so obsessed with their damn hair? Or maybe I’m being attentive because I think his hair is beautiful. It’s gorgeous actually. Dark-blond and carelessly wavy. What he just did makes his tresses curve in ways that highlight his cheekbones. I want to be a White blonde girl with long hair that covers the boobs that make me feel like when I bounce up and down — the rhythm is destroyed.

Her: Okay. You’re too cute for me! Fine! If you don’t care then I don’t either. I just want to make sure I’m everything you want from me. This can’t be one-sided.

Him: Actually, there is something you can do to match my devotion.

Yes! Finally! A breakthrough! I hope I can afford it.

Her: What?

Him: Tell me you love me. You never have. I’ve said it so many times and you smile like you mean it. But, I don’t need the big boobs. Yeah, this is LA and big boobs are the norm. But, you’re not the norm. You’re the girl I want.

Don’t cry bitch! Don’t do it! Shit! How did this happen? He says he loves me like he says he loves the terrain of Santa Barbara — and I assumed it was his way of getting me to spread my legs wider. Fuck! Why do my boobs look bigger all of a sudden? This is something good and I love it.

Her: I love you. I love you and my boobs love you even more.

The kiss. It’s deep and longing and I am on top before I can grasp the moment. He reaches out and I playfully snap at him. I will hold them this time — and scream this ride into our future.

Small boobs be damned!

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!