Ruth, the family calls her Ruthie, was my wife's cousin and in the Fall of '03 she was having marital problems. My wife invited her to stay with us while she got things worked out.
I am white while my wife was African American with beautiful bronze skin. Ruthie, on the other hand, was black -- her skin was as dark as pitch.
Ruthie was a large woman, most would say fat -- everything about her was large: large frame, large head with a broad forehead, large hands, thick legs, and she had the biggest breasts I had ever seen. They were enormous. I had marveled at their size on many occasions and often wondered what it must be like to hold one of those monsters. I never expected to get the opportunity.
Her first few days with us were uneventful. We talked a little, but most of her time was spent on the phone or tearfully venting to my wife.
One evening I did catch a glimpse of her in her nightshirt as she padded from the bathroom back to our guestroom. Her unsupported tits hung down across her belly as she quickly crossed the hallway.
Ruth had been with us a little over a week; my wife had an early meeting and left for work much earlier than she usually did. I was, for whatever reason, running late. I'm guessing Ruth thought it was the other way around.
It was almost 9:00am when I came downstairs, still adjusting my tie. I heard the washing machine running, but thought nothing of it. My car was in the garage and to get there I'd have to go through the laundry room.
I came around the corner and stopped dead in my tracks.
Ruthie was doing her laundry and hadn't noticed me. She was naked except for a pair of faded grey boxers, stretched to their absolute limit by her wide hips and ass. She was bent over, her left hand holding her weight while her other was tossing wet laundry into the open dryer. Her bare tits hung pendulously and swung with each toss. Each breast was bigger than my head.
I must have gasped when she tossed her bra in, but who could blame me? It was gigantic.
Ruth bolted up and tried, hopelessly, to cover her chest with her arms.
"I ... I'm sorry," she said in her sing-songy voice, "I thought you had left for work. I was just doing my laundry -- got no extra clothes here." If she was blushing there was no way to know, her skin was so dark.
I couldn't stop staring at her chest. It took me a long second to find my voice.
"No, no," I stammered, still staring, "I apologize; I should have made some noise or something."
An awkward silence followed with Ruth still valiantly trying to cover her tremendous breasts and me standing there gawking, unwilling or unable to move.
"They just titties," she said, finally breaking the silence, "Everybody has 'em."
More silent staring.
"Uh, no, Ruthie," I managed to cough, "Nobody has 'em like you do."
Still staring. One minute? Two? Three?
"You like them?" she asked while, to my amazement, she cupped her hands under them and presented them to me. The flesh spilled over her fingers, hiding them completely.
Her gaze dropped, "Your pants sure look like you do."
Now I was blushing. My pants were tented making my erection painfully obvious.
Ruthie continued to fondle her breasts and I stood mesmerized. Her areolas looked to be the size of tea-plates, but it was hard to tell because her skin was so evenly black. Her nipples were almost the size of shotglasses and stood firm under her touch.
"Your husband is a lucky man," I said, then quickly corrected myself, "Or at least he was."
Ruth dropped her tits dejectedly and they slapped loudly onto her stomach before sliding to a stop more under her arms than not.
"He don't care -- he never paid me no attention," she confided, "He just put his thing in me, did his business, and went to sleep."
"That makes him a bigger idiot than I thought he was," I told her, still unable to pull my eyes off her chest.
She lifted them again, squeezing them together toward me.
"You wanna touch 'em?" she asked softly, "I don't mind."
