Fall 1974

"Yougivegreathead!" I whispered to Terry. We were in my loft bed, having sex for the first time, with my roommate down the hall.

"Hmmmm?"

"You give great head." Hopefully a little clearer.

She stopped. Shit. "What's that?"

"Head. Oral sex." I felt like an idiot. Never before had the ridiculous term "head" come across my lips and I have no idea why I decided to try it out on this new, smart, tall, blond, pretty, stacked woman whose lips were giving it to me at this particular moment.

She leaned up smiling, bouncing her marvelous tits. "Oh. 'Head.' That's cute!" And went back to our business.

I say "tits," even though I wouldn't use that term for another eighteen years, when my second, current, and final wife convinced me that I wouldn't be struck down by the treat-women-right police, and that she liked them to be called "tits" as long as it wasn't their only description, it wasn't used in a derogatory manner, and that I liked sucking hers. Later, when a former girlfriend told me she liked thinking of hers as "titties," my wife said she liked "titties" too, but, for some reason "titties" took me a litte longer to get used to. Though I must say, now when she's on top fucking my brains out, and I say "Hold your titties for me," and she does, or I shout "Shake your titties for me, make them slap," and she does, I come incredibly fast. "Hooters," "bazooms," "knockers," or any term a man knew could be used in the same way, if way, way less often. I'd been raised to think of them as "bosoms," but for years the only word that came out of my mouth was "breasts."

Anyhow, today I think of Terry's mammary glands only as tits. Because she had the first pair I'd fondled that really fit that description. Terry had the first breasts I'd seen or touched or suckled that were really the tits of a woman.

Michelle, my first feel, had been flat. Patricia, my first sex, had been flat. Angie had a little sweater meat, but the fucking we did for less than a month was less than satisfying, so her cans didn't really count. Sherry's had been more than pancakes and less than grapefruits, if you know what I mean, and they were attached to a lumpy body and a persnickety mind, so who really cared, you know? And now, Terry's. Real bosoms, a real woman.

Let me jump in here, real quick, and put on the record that I don't in any way judge any thing about a woman by the size of her jugs. No m'am. And I never have. Patricia and Sherry, the others too, were certainly women, even mature women, and the loving relationships we had could have only happened with women. The sex we had was absolutely was way hot, real sex between one man and one woman. And any time I unhooked their bras, felt them up, licked their nipples erect, my penis reacted stiffly as if I was with a woman.

But, you know, I think when I looked at them, all I saw were girls.

It was like looking at Lisa, my next door neighbor, when she was eleven and I was fourteen, and I convinced her to take off her shirt so I could see her slowly developing body. Puffy nipples and a little what looked like swelling around them. Wow, bosoms!

Of course, these women were women, they weren't twelve. They had pubic hair. They spread their legs. They let me kiss, suck, spray, finger, or fuck. Of course, they were women.

Take Patricia. We were truly in love. She was a fantastic woman to lose my virginity with, and for four years, when it came to sex, she would try anything, anywhere, almost any time. She'd strip naked in winter in the back of a van and screw. She'd strip naked at night on a beach and screw. She'd strip naked and open her ass for my erection to screw, just to try it. And she loved...you name it.

But, put her on her knees, and nothing hung down. Have her ride me to ecstasy, her back straight up, and nothing jiggled. You know, they moved a little, but they didn't shake or shimmy. Just staring at her nudity, sure, I'd get hard, want to copulate or masturbate, but, no tits.

If I was really aching to see some ta-tas, there were always the girlie magazines I wanked off to, where, even in the days before they all had those unattractive implants, all the boobs were big.

Not that I in fact missed it too much. Starting with Michelle's bare nipples when I was sixteen, right up until Terry was giving me head at twenty three, my sexual curiosities had been more than satisfied. I could fuck pretty much any time I wanted, and I wasn't looking for more womanly women in my life. Reaching around unsnapping each and every one of their brassieres was as stimulating as many of the acts that would follow.

It's pretty funny now to reminisce about those little breasts. Actually, what's funny is to ponder the little bras that held them, or maybe, the fact that these women felt the need to truly use brassieres on such little breasts. Because it was the sixties, or the aftermath of the sixties, and pretty much all girls wore bras from the second they blossomed. Maybe even before, with those dumb training bras. And once the summer of '69 passed, and I started noticing that even the seniors I left behind at high school were going braless, somehow, none of my girlfriends would do it for a few years yet.

Which was just as well. Because as my erections are coming and going while I'm writing about those flat chests, it's that moment of the one handed unsnapping that gets me the hardest. As much as I wanted to see those eraser tips under the shirt of a woman I knew, the removal of the bra was one of my sexual pinnacles. Still is, as a matter of fact.

Which brings me back, finally, to Terry's jugs. Because, as I remember, even though hers were large enough for me to remember them as my first big ones, she didn't wear no stinkin' bra. At least, some of the time she didin't. Finally. I was boinking a modern, liberated chick of the seventies, who let her highbeams proudly shine. No more staring at Carly Simon's "You So Vain" cover, or harder yet, the young, bouncing girls/women all around me, wondering why couldn't I get some of them nipples behind the blouse. Finally, my own, sort of, udders that were big enough to make me wanna come, and young enough to seem to defy gravity.

.....

The whole Terry story itself isn't all that interesting. I might not even be telling it if I hadn't started thinking about those lungs.

Terry from Kansas went to college in Ohio with my best friend Michael and had an enormous crush on him. He had a girlfriend and was oblivious, but when he brought her home for a visit, I got a crush on her. Somehow, I talked her into taking another trip East and visiting my New York apartment. That's when the "yougivegreathead" stuff started. I thought I was in love. I traveled to Ohio with Michael so I could see her and sleep with her. She was great. The sex was great. A month later I drove to Ohio without telling her, hammer hard hard-on all the way. When I got to the dorm her bed was doubled up with another. Ooops.

And that was it with Terry. And her tits.

I wonder how big they really were. I going to e-mail her now and ask.