North vs South: My bra is not a battleground!

All my friends told me not to do it.

"Your boobs are perfect," they insisted, some of them attempting to prove their point by hefting one or both in their hands.

"See? They're just right!"

Well, as they say, there's nothing perfect in this world... even though for a long time, my 34D's have been damn close. But here's the question. Exactly when did I exhort them to "Go South, Tabu boobs?"

Lately I've been noticing a slight downward migration, as if my nipples missed my pussy and just wanted a closer relationship.

OK- that was it. Time for a tuneup.

September 9th took on the historic porportions of D-Day... or should I say Double D Day? Into the ritzy surgical suite of the Playmates and Maxim model's favorite breast man in upscale Aventura... and out 3 hours later under the tender loving care of my gal-pal Allie.

Skipping the painful details, almost a week later we arrive at Sunday brunch in the Aventura mall-- and a visit to the ooh-la-la confines of a select European lingerie shop. This little nook specializes in big boobs... and the salesgirl eyed my torso appraisingly.

"Hmm," she mused, "You have a small back compared to your volume in front.... I think, yes, let's try this."

Without a peep I let her jostle my now-engorged breasts into what appeared to be a cup size large enough for Queen Latifah. She pushed, I pulled, and when we both straightened up, my boobs were encased in absolute perfection.

"Umm," I hesitated to ask,"Just what size is this?"

"Oh," she relied cheerfully, "You're a 34-F."

Wow. Well, after I forked over what would buy two people a very nice dinner out, I left with my 34-F everyday bra in an extremely elegant shopping bag.

And I can now see that the price of this little enhancement is going to go far beyond the surgeon, the meds or even the new photos I will certainly need to take.

Half of my wardrobe will have to be donated to my normal-sized friends--that is, anyone a D-cup or less. And your visibly-bigger vixen will become a very good customer of the big-boob emporium.

So my new job, apparently, is to have new ta-ta's... and try to get used to the "massive expanse" as my SO calls it, living on the front of my chest.

I guess there are worse fates. And whistlin' Dixie is one of them.

Slam, Bam (Where's the "Thank you, M'am"?)

You all know that I love a good, hard slamming every once in a while. (I mean, sometimes a girl needs to feel a little fire in the belly!)

So when I was awakened Thursday night around 2 by a loud thud that resonated through my condo, I thought maybe the couple next door was getting their groove on. I peered around groggily, and when nothing seemed out of place in my immediate sphere, I drifted back to Sleepyville.

And so my morning unrolled merrily-- coffee, workout, breakfast, and out to the car to head to Ft. Lauderdale.

Uh-oh. What were all the glass shards, plastic and shattered fiberglass behind my car? And why was it jettisoned three feet from where I'd parked it the night before?

Yes, dear ones, you have all guessed it.... my poor baby was a victim of a hit and run, back-end smashing worthy of the Pats' defensive line.

Damn, damn, damn.

Later that night it was still sitting askew when I ran into my irreverent gay neighbor on the street.

"Oh, boy, I saw your car this morning, sweetie," he exclaimed, patting me on the shoulder. "I knew you were going to be so PISSED. I went right back upstairs and told Zach that your car took it up the ass!"

"It sure f--king did," I replied, "But man-- no drinks, no dinner and no lube!"

So now, if you'll excuse me, I'm on my way to Allstate to see just how much they're going to f--k me. I can guarantee you it won't be a screaming O.

O well.

MILFs on the rise in DC... doubles, anyone?

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.