First Date:
Of course, she knows her breasts are enormous. And now she knows that YOU know her breasts are enormous. About 20 minutes into your first date together, she gives you a half-smile which grows into a full-smile, which seems to say "Yes."
It happens unexpectedly. The woman -- who is old enough to need reading glasses when she scans the menu - is readjusting in her seat.
She's a little past her prime now, perhaps as you are, and those glasses are just one of many features which mark her gradual decline. You contemplate the subtle wrinkles by her eyes and lips; hair that is styled in a perfunctory and indifferent manner. This is particularly unfortunate because it makes her seem like she has simply given up in other areas of life.
But then you watch as she turns, offering you her profile, and she waves to capture the attention of the waitstaff.
And when she twists at the waist and raises her arm, her otherwise lose but suspiciously burdened Ross Dress for Less sweater tightens across her chest and reveals something which is far beyond your experience. Right in front of you - the silhouette of her udders. Because THAT is definitely the word. They are suddenly -- heavily - pushing against an otherwise ordinary garment. You understand this sweater also doubles as a disguise.
However, it is - for a wonderful few seconds - unable to complete that task because of what lies underneath: Udders.
Good God.
Beneath that sweater is surely an industrial strength bra struggling with the weight / volume...it's jutting massively forward. And you remind yourself -- THIS IS THE WOMAN YOU ARE ON A FIRST DATE WITH. Don't screw this up. Don't act like an idiot.
Even so, she sees a certain look on your face. There is that half-smile from her that says she is weary of disclosing her complete self, but perhaps trusts you enough to make a half-leap. And then her expression changes into a full-smile. Yes. She knows exactly what objects have you agog. And then later the way you keep glancing and waiting for another moment that will again tighten an otherwise mundane piece of clothing - she notices all of this (even while she continues to talk).
Is she interested in you? Is she secretly glad that you suddenly KNOW and are clearly happy and astonished with her? You find it impossible to read her past a certain point - or to adequately hide your focus on her body. You think back to her Match.com profile. You're the stable guy she wants, right?
Without another revealing motion, however, all you can do is sneak hopeful glances at her sweater camouflage, which is a piece of clothing she obviously selected from her closet for Strategic First Date reasons.
Extrapolating Her Size:
She doesn't want you (or the rest of the world) to know what 50K breasts truly look like. That stunning size is right there on her bra tag, although you don't know this yet: Eventually, you will glimpse this tag when you awake in a hotel room in the middle of the night. This will happen when you wander into the bathroom, catching sight of her open suitcase on the way, and bend down and rummage through it -- so very quietly -- to satisfy another part of your insane lust. Her tits and her coyness make you act like a person you are not normally.
Right now, however, you're doing your best to decipher the situation and extrapolate based on curves and wobbles. You could already teach a class on this thanks to this brief time in her company. Sometimes, she briefly straightens her back to correct her posture, and then it's more obvious what is just a reach away from where you sit. Is that the hint of her nipples? Jesus.
Meanwhile she talks about her nephew. This is a person who wants to join the Coast Guard but doesn't have the necessary grades. It's a mindless topic that means nothing to you, although you pretend otherwise, and offer helpful words and furrowed eyebrows to show concern. This is a sort of conversation that will reappear during the next week and more, as she talks and talks...
Later on, she allows that she -- herself - dropped out of school just a semester before getting her degree, and now it's too late to do anything about it. Soon after, she confides that she once had a car repossessed because she didn't make the payments. You have a feeling there are many more of these types of unflattering conversational / confessional topics yet to come.
Still, every so often she moves (and the half-light inside the restaurant finds a new way to undo all of her efforts at cloaking herself) and the reality becomes apparent: She has some extraordinary breasts. The push-shape. The weight. God, the weight. You haven't REALLY thought about that before. You contemplate those two mounds, which defy anything you've encountered in person. Standing behind her, you'd have to heft them up with serious effort. You try to keep from saying the obvious: "Holy hell."
It seems she is familiar with the dawning of her breasts on a man's mind, even if you're not.
Online Shopping:
Sure, she posted pictures that gave a suggestion, but she's probably frustrated by the type of attention she receives when she really gives a sense of their enormity. These days she's more reserved around men. A couple of decades ago, they were -- Yes -- already very big, but she's gained weight since then, and now? Good God. Does simply getting older make breasts bigger? In her case, it apparently does. Various midlife changes have worked a sort of mystery on her body.
It's just too much mass right there, she knows, and they just keep on growing; now, when she orders bras online she's going to the dropdown menu and selecting from the 'K cup' options. She feels dowdy. Unsexy. But at least the straps are wide, so they don't cut into her shoulders. The cups are structured to support serious poundage. Her bras are thusly "engineered."
It's embarrassing to her. Well, maybe that's not the right word: She is worried this is a particular physical characteristic that defines her as a person. These two encumbrances are bad for her back, particularly if she slumps, so she continually checks her posture, which only makes them more obvious in public. Clothes for that difficult and copious region are thereby conservatively selected and with an unflattering looseness. Breast-deniability is a top priority, as it has been for years now.
At home in her kitchen, it's the same.
The cabinets are full of soy milk and there's a blender for those good-intention-vegetables sitting in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator. She's signed up for Hello Fresh. But then there's also the four containers of ice cream in the freezer. On Sunday mornings, it's donuts. When she sits in front of the TV and watches Dateline, she's digging into the potato chips. Of course, she feels guilty, except nothing has changed aside from the size of her body -- and the size of her tits, which have seemingly overdeveloped by four times what might be expected.
Match.com:
Unsurprisingly, she's trying to reinvent herself in other ways.
At this point in her life - and without a Significant Other to enjoy the holidays with - or to take along with her to her sister's wedding in San Diego (this is going to be her second wedding in only three years **eyeroll**) there is a sudden emphasis on the emotional and intellectual qualities of life.
She wants men to know she's romantic; she's into board games; she'll read anything about the fascinating Anne Bolyne. She wants a RELATIONSHIP. Did you read that? She mentions it twice in her profile. Also, very important: She has standards when it comes to men.
So, yes: She creates a generic dating profile and fills the space with the usual sentiments, but also exacts a type of revenge against her last boyfriend when she underlines her expectations for a 'mature man.' As you will eventually learn, her previous man played in an 80's metal cover band **exasperated sigh** and probably cheated on her numerous times. (In fact, this remains a worry. She and him barely had sex their last few years together, and she often concerns herself with this lingering resentment. It surely doesn't help her body image.)
She checks the box for 'BBW' on several dating websites and other times 'full-figured' and 'ample,' and once 'a couple of extra pounds,' which is a complete lie. Soon enough, she's conservatively displayed in many places on the web. She warns men she's 'really, really curvy' - but otherwise avoids the topic.
She's urging the life-pendulum to swing the opposite direction: She's a mature woman, now! The physical world is being traded in for the mental and emotional one. She expects the same in a partner. Are you 'stable'? That's what she wants!
In her profile, she even writes the shriveling 'no time for games' phrase. And, like a lot of other things, she's unaware how cranky and unfun that makes her sound - almost like she's given up.
Online Sex:
Contradictions are everywhere.
She hides and avoids drawing attention to her sexual self, even though her vibrator is on Yellow Alert in the top-drawer bedside her bed. She's made a commitment to the sextoy by buying rechargeable batteries.
This thrice daily activity is "stress relief," she decides. It helps her sleep. She often watches what is euphemistically described as non-consensual material on her laptop. Videos of such material figure prominently in her stress relief; she has many of these scenes bookmarked, including a 20-minute video that is correctly titled Forced Oral Slut.
Her sextoy works its magic on both her insides and outsides. This activity enthusiastically happens while she views the men in her most-watched video: Their cocks are insistent. Importantly, the woman kneels on the floor like a sex slave. She is traded around. The men's hands hold the woman's head. The woman is used. It is a type of scene that ends with each man ejaculating on the blindfolded woman's face, though she rarely makes it that far. It's like they're doing something to her that is completely unguarded and honest, although there is also a troubling anonymity to it. Like it's REAL and WRONG.
Positioned on her bed in the semi-darkness, with the shades pulled down, and her legs spread wide and the laptop to her side, the scene makes its point and speaks to her fantasies - however complicated they are. Oftentimes she massages her tits and tweaks a nipple. Her vibrator does the rest.
She completes her solo stress relief for longer periods of time and even more often on lonely weekends, which is kind of depressing, but then she also doesn't want to be a fetish or a conquest for some weirdo-aficionado of huge breasted women. Those guys are very much out there! On her Match.com profile, she decides to add a picture of herself scooting down a zipline in Costa Rica...from five years ago. Because it's "fun."
She is stress relieving at 3:15 pm on a Saturday afternoon for 90 minutes, but you'd never know it when you trade messages with her. She wants to believe (and for you to believe) that she likes men with ordinary jobs and sensible haircuts above all else.
