Chapter One - Don't Look in the Basement
She was saying something but her tits were too fantastic for my eyes and ears to work at the same time. Everything about this woman obliterated my higher level brain functions and turned me into those monkeys I see at the zoo. Being nineteen didn't help, and being at eye level to her massive chest caused me great anxiety as she stood on her front door step, handing me the key to her house.
"I'll be back in three days," I think she said. Her white dress was a very thin cotton and the material of the dress struggled to stretch over her expansive tits. Her twin bullet nipples were trying to pierce the cotton like they were pulled toward my mouth. The tits, unable to come straight through her dress, were trying to pour out the top, mashing together to form a long line of deep cleavage.
I nodded as her voice continued. The material was so thin... Could I see the darker skin of her nipples? I could see the outline dimpling the cotton and I was suddenly sure that the material was see-through enough that I was actually gazing at her bare, bra-less nipples only inches from my face. My shorts began to shift as my body responded.
"Do you remember where the cat food is?" She asked.
"Yes, Mrs. Eggleston," I replied. I wrenched my eyes away from her chest so I could prevent my growing problem from destroying my shorts and my relationship with our neighbour.
"Donovan," she said, holding my eyes with hers. "Once again: do not under any circumstances go in the basement. Understand?"
I nodded. "Of course, Mrs. Eggleston."
She walked past me toward her car, her high heels clicking on the walkway. I watched the sway of her round buttocks as they taughtened alternately beneath her narrow waist. She was definitely the hottest forty-something mom on the block.
"Bye, Donovan," she called from her car as she puled out of the driveway. "Thanks again for doing this!"
My friends and I were prepared. The house was packed with noisy, grinding, alchohol-fueled young bodies living the delerium of school summer vacation before her car even hit the highway. I settled myself in her backyard hot tub, feeling the sun warm my shoulders and face as I watched my bikini clad classmates frolick on the lawn. I
complimented physics for its effect on girls' chests as they jumped for volleyballs.
I had a reason for settling in the hot tub, other than the water being deliciously comfortable. It's my penis. The thing is 10.78 inches long when hard - and that's measured along the top without pressing into my pubic bone, not along the bottom, just so we're clear. It's 7.21 inches in circumference at the base. It's narrower at the tip but I'm not going to try and impress you by giving you the smaller dimensions of my penis, am I?
This freaking meat market between my legs is the bane of my existence. First of all, a full erection for me requires just over a pint of blood! At a minimum that causes me to get so dizzy I can barely stand. Secondly, there's nothing you can do with a foot of flesh jutting out from your pelvis. Clothing is not made with some kind of pocket or cool-looking flap to incorporate that kind of protuberence. I've tried taping it to my leg - don't ever do that, not unless you will never need to urinate
again. I ended up hopping on one leg in front of a toilet, urine streaming down my calf and soaking my shoe. I don't even want to talk about taking the tape off. I've tried tying it down but that just means that when I do get an erection I need to find a reason to stand with my foot on a step so that my thigh is also perpendicular to my body.
The only thing that's really worked is avoiding girls. Being nineteen, that sucks. On the inevitable occasions like the party at Mrs. Eggleston's house, I used a combination of mantra and subterfuge, like diving into the hot tub and staying there.