I'm rather insecure. It's my looks. I don't have an hourglass figure, for example. My hips look like they belong on a man. It's called "slim hips" and women runners have them. I just call them ugly hips. My face is not especially pretty and my hair is in a permanent Jewfro, the type of tight curly hair Jews get that resembles genuine afros. On Blacks it can look attractive. On me, not so much. I'm not even Jewish, either. My name is Mary for Pete's sake. No Jew is ever named Mary.
I'm too skinny and my legs are not shapely. They resemble toothpicks, one could say. I've tried to bulk up a bit but I have the metabolism of a thoroughbred racehorse and I simply cannot put on any weight except in one place. All my body fat is in my boobs, I'm sure.
I have two good features. The first is I am lucky and have good skin. I am the iconic woman who is soft and smooth. I have the kind of female skin that men just love to stroke. My second feature is more impressive and apparently if you're a man it's a doozy. As you have guessed by now I have great boobs. That's it. My sex appeal lives and dies with my boobs. Mostly, it seems to me, it dies.
The good news is that at long last I have boyfriend. The bad news is he's a dweeb. He shares an apartment with another dweeb. I thought about calling him dweeb one and his flatmate dweeb two in a nod to The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss. Instead I think of them as Dweeb (my boyfriend) and Dwoob (my boyfriend's flatmate).
I don't love Dweeb. I'm not sure I even like him. Our relationship is symbiotic. I get the status of having a boyfriend which was something I really wanted. He gets all the sex he can handle. I try to keep him happy on that score. I do all the tricks I can think of, such as moaning when we do it, calling him 'Big Boy,' giving him wonderful blowjobs, masturbating for him while he watches, letting him fuck me in the shower, and trying every position we can think of. I even gave him a copy of the Kama Sutra for his birthday. It works. He is either in love with me or too enraptured with our sex ever to give me any trouble. I'm his first and so far the only girl he's ever laid.
I've even left my comfort zone for Dweeb. He's never said it but he wants me to tease Dwoob. He wants me to drive Dwoob crazy. At his request in the mornings I wear a T shirt and panties, with no bra. My nipples poke prominently at the T shirt and my boobs have what Dweeb calls 'independent suspension' as they jiggle around when I parade around the apartment.
My panties too are sheer panties, so when I bend over Dwoob gets some pretty nice looks, I'd imagine. At one point Dweeb upped the ante by having me wear one of his T shirts which was much too big on my skinny frame. It was a V neck and it showed off an enormous amount of my braless boobs. The exposed boobs went right up to the nipple, but luckily did not include the nipples. I have long nipples and they always poke prominently when I go without a bra.
I was careful not to bend over. I knew (later verified when I bent over in front of a mirror) that my entire boobs, nipples included, would be exposed to Dwoob if I bent over. I got through the T shirt tease okay, but poor Dwoob was a mess. He had constant morning wood just from looking at all of my exposed luscious boobs.
My biggest fight with Dweeb happened when I asked him to go with me to a sample sale out in Brooklyn. It was for clothes by the designer Maria Cornejo. Her stuff is expensive. I developed the habit of going to her retail store in Manhattan from time to time just to drool and fantasize about her clothes. I never bought anything because I'm not yet rich enough.
With a sample sale though, I could compete. Sample sales offer clothes at deep discounts. Even severely marked down her clothes were pricey for me. I asked Dweeb to come with me to tell me if I looked good in various outfits, or not. I have trouble making decisions when the clothing is expensive. I figured if Dweeb said I looked good, or (better) even sexy, then I would have the courage to spend the money and to get something.
Dweeb refused to go. Worse, he said, "Oh grow up. You don't need me to choose clothes. I'm not that kind of a wimp." After a huge fight and the throwing of some pottery coffee cups, I stormed out planning to return to my rarely used postage stamp sized studio apartment in deep Brooklyn.
At one point, I noticed Dwoob was following me. He was keeping a distance, trying to be discrete, but he was definitely following me. I went to the F train, which is the one that goes to the sample sale which was in Carroll Gardens, a pleasant neighborhood of Brooklyn. Sometimes one has to wait on the platform a long time for the F train to come, and after the second M train had come and gone, I walked over to Dwoob (whose actual name was Mark). "Are you following me, Mark?" I asked him, point blank. "Or did you just have a sudden urge to take the F train?"
Perhaps I stood too close to Dwoob. My braless boobs were almost touching his chest. For whatever reason, Dwoob was flustered and had trouble speaking. I had an epiphany. "Mark," I said, "Do you want to help me out at the sample sale, seeing as how we're both heading that way?"
Dwoob nodded and forced a smile. I said, "Mark, you're a doll." I gave him a kiss on the cheek. He blushed. I had epiphany number two. Mark had never been with a woman before. The man was a virgin. I don't know how I knew that. I just knew it.
Was that really surprising? After all, I am Dweeb's (or using his given name, Joshua's) first and only sex partner. Dwoob was just one girl friend slower than Dweeb. I had an evil thought. Could I even be that evil I asked myself as a plan formed in my cute little deviant mind.
Dwoob of course had no idea what it's like at a sample sale in New York. Why would he have known? The place was packed with women, and almost no men were there. There were a few mirrors scattered about but there were no changing rooms. If a woman wanted to try something on she would simply strip down to her bra and panties and slip on an outfit.
Dwoob's eyes bugged out as women, some with dynamite bodies, were all around him. They were riffling through the racks of clothes and a significant portion of them were dressed only in bras and panties, looking for another outfit to try on. All women know how these things work and they wear non-revealing bras and panties, although some wore see through lace bras. Then there were women like me.
Dwoob did not know where to look. I'm not sure if he had ever before seen a woman dressed only in a bra and panties and his eyes were frantically going everywhere at once. I browsed the clothes waiting for him to get acclimated to the women in underwear all around him. I began to despair that he might never get acclimated. I discretely noticed he was trying to hide an erection. His erection seemed to me to be a nice reward for his having agreed to come there with me.
Finally, he appeared to be a little calm, or at least a little less nervous. He had developed a technique of studying his shoes to avoid staring at all the barely hidden boobs encased within see-through lace bras. When he looked up he quickly became mesmerized again and his erection returned. The poor guy. Then he would study his shoes some more.
I came up to him during one of his periods of the close study of his shoes. By the way, his shoes were scuffed and dirty and in my opinion required a serious shoe shine much more than a close study. Standing in front of him, I asked him to hold the five items I had chosen to try on. He did. I removed my dress. I was, I think, the only woman there who had not worn a bra to the sample sale.
Dwoob's face became bright red. I smiled at him as he stared at my boobs, finally seeing them for the first time. I asked him to hand me one of the dresses I wanted to try on. I glanced down and saw his erection had doubled in size. Suddenly I realized that Dwoob was really hung. I filed away that little factoid. Well, I guess it was a big factoid, wasn't it?
I tried on the first dress. I went through all the little modeling moves we women always do, and said, "Now remember how I look in this dress, please, Mark." Dwoob nodded. I took off the dress revealing again my naked boobs to the poor man. I wanted just to fall to my knees and take his schlong into my mouth to give him some relief. Sadly though one simply cannot do such things in public in the middle of a sample sale.
I did think about it, though. It would be an amazingly stupid thing to do with Joshua's flatmate, no matter how mad I was at Joshua just then. I tried on five outfits, each and every time showing off my boobs to Dwoob. To my surprise Dwoob gave me great advice and I ended up spending more money than I could afford but getting some great deals and some gorgeous new clothes. The sample sale accepted credit cards, thank goodness.
Afterwards we went to the nearby bakery Bien Cuit and had some rolls and a damn good espresso. I said to Dwoob, "Thanks a lot Mark for having come with me. I got some really nice clothes."
Dwoob blurted out, "Mary, you have the most beautiful boobs in the world. You looked super-hot in those clothes."
I smiled at Dwoob. After Bien Cuit I told Dwoob I was going back to my tiny studio apartment in deep Brooklyn. He looked crestfallen. I said, "Do you want to come with me? There's not much to see in my tiny apartment, but there's a nice park not too far away?"
Dwoob cheered up. "I'm glad you're coming," I said, giggling over my double entendre. I wondered if he had prematurely cum in his pants already. When we got to my apartment I decided to give him another thrill and I tried on all the outfits again, each time of necessity baring my boobs to him, and my entire body, clothed only in skimpy panties. Dwoob was going nuts.
Dwoob sat in my only arm chair while watching me try on the outfits. There was only room for the one chair. The rest of my apartment was consumed by my queen sized double bed. Most people with apartments as small as mine would have bought a sofa bed, but I hate sofa beds. I'm sure they were invented by the Marquis de Sade himself. If I sleep on a sofa bed I invariably wake the next day with a backache.
"Mark," I said, when I was about to slip on the last outfit, "You like seeing my boobs, don't you?" Not waiting for an answer I said, "Would you like to touch them, too?"
I thought Dwoob was going to faint. He could not even speak to reply. "Or perhaps you'd like to see more?" As I said that, I slipped off my panties revealing my bush to only the third man of my life. I was naked for Dwoob. I sat down on the bed and spread my legs. "Take a good look, Mark."
Dwoob came over to me and hesitantly reached out to touch my boob. Unlike my boyfriend Dweeb, Dwoob was a natural when it came to caressing my boobs. I did not even have to fake the moans. I often had to fake them with Dweeb. He was being so good with my boobs, I did not complain when his hands went south and very hesitantly circled my pussy.
Not only did I not complain, I moaned some more to encourage him. Dwoob seemed to know what to do, too, and he began to finger me sweetly and slowly. Dwoob was only the second man ever to finger me, Dweeb being the first, and it was like night and day. Dwoob got me aroused in under a minute. After five minutes I was as wet as the East River and happily moaning up a storm.
