Mable's Breasts

My Mom and I were relative newcomers to Las Vegas. We moved here from northern Idaho a few years after my dad passed away and have made Las Vegas our home for the past year or so. I'm not all that sure why Mom selected Las Vegas as a new home destination, but I suspect that she had had quite enough of the northern wintery climates where she was forever complaining about being cold. Having said that, she seems to have taken to southern Nevada's blistering summer heat like a duck to water and has never complained about feeling cold since.

At the time of the big move, I was in my final year of high school and was only weeks from graduation. Consequently, I resisted the move vociferously. I wanted very much to graduate with all my friends up in Idaho, but finally relented, gritting my teeth and resolving to make do for my Mom's sake.

Shortly after the move, however, I discovered a particularly pleasant silver lining to desert living.

The somewhat oppressive summer heat inclined the majority of the female population to dress in all manner of scanty, revealing clothing, and a treat to the eyes of the beholder. A summertime trip to any of the local malls was of particular delight for any discerning young man, such as myself, who admired and appreciated the female anatomy.

Enrolling in a new high school here in Las Vegas, I was extremely dismayed to discover that my transcripts from Idaho were not deemed sufficient to keep me at my current grade level. For several years, I had been homeschooled by my Mother, which set me back once I enrolled in a public high school and was held back an entire year. Consequently, I was held back a second time in Las Vegas to repeat my senior year all over again, at nearly twenty years of age, with students one to two years younger than I. Yet again, with gnashing of teeth, I did my best to shake it all off and try to make the best of it.

Another upside to living in Las Vegas was that I was able to find several new friends in a relatively short amount of time. It seems almost everyone here is from somewhere else, so there's really not much of a stigma attached to being a new kid in town as there might be in other cities.

The new friendships I had made were primarily due to my love for playing World of Warcraft, and that's how I first met John. I had been playing for several years in Idaho and had become rather adept with one particular character, a rogue named Duchesne. While running a dungeon with several other anonymous players one night, I discovered that three of the other players were not only from Las Vegas but were also fellow students at the same high school.

Our relationship grew as we played together several more times over summer vacation and they all seemed to appreciate my skills as a player. When the school year finally began, I met John for real one day and we hit it off almost immediately. He introduced me to the others from the game, Joel and Jeff. We all became fast friends almost instantly, and, since my name is James, we quickly began to call ourselves the J4 group and hung out online nightly in the dungeons of Azeroth.

John was just one of those guys with whom I identified immediately. He too had been held back an entire grade level because of poor attendance and grades, so we were roughly the same age, and about two years older than Jeff and Joel. John was taller and more muscular than I, and a perfect foil for me against any of the other students who seemed to delight in hazing those smaller in stature, such as myself. I stand a whopping five feet, six inches in height and weigh about 115lbs when dripping wet.

We often met at John's house to play together, setting up in his basement with our laptops and headset microphones to run dungeons or raids. John's parents were wonderfully supportive of the gaming group and would even supply drinks and snacks to us while we played. Afterward, we would all usually just laze about the basement and talk, comfortable with one another. It was through my friendship with these guys that I first heard mention of a woman named Mable.

We were sitting around after playing for a couple of hours, sipping cokes and just bullshitting, when the topic of conversation turned, as it quite often did, to girls. On this particular day though, the topic was more about women than girls as we began comparing notes about some of our teachers at school.

It seemed we each had a favorite female teacher and were happily sharing our thoughts and impressions. "I like Mrs. Jensen," I offered with a smile. "She's got amazing boobs, don't you think? I like the way you can always see her nipples poking through the material of her blouse, or dress, even though you can tell she's always wearing a bra."

There were nods and snickers all around as everyone generally agreed with my assessment of Mrs. Jensen's nipples. "I know exactly what you mean, man," grinned Jeff. "She must wear those bras with the really sheer cups." Therein ensued a lively, yet bawdy, discussion of women's breasts in general.

At the time, I confess I was not the most knowledgeable or worldly of young men. When it came to experience with the fair sex and the metaphor of reaching certain bases with them, I was solidly in the camp of only ever getting to first base with a girl. A couple of years ago, I had kissed Jenny Lancaster on the lips one night in a darkened movie theater. A fond memory, and yet a resounding testament to the abysmal extent of my experience with girls.

Consequently, I lived a life of raging hormones and total frustration. But, once I became computer literate and discovered the plethora of free porn sites available on the Internet, my sexual frustration level took a rather dramatic turn for the better. I indulged in pornography the way flies take to dog shit and masturbated my face off at every opportunity I could find, going through boxes of tissues at a rate I was sure my Mom must have found to be thoroughly suspicious.

I was infatuated by all manner of porn but was especially attracted to those sites that featured breasts and more specifically, large breasts. Pornstars such as Chloe Vevrier, Milena Velda, and Samanta Lily never failed to provoke my wildest fantasies, as well as countless orgasmic streams of semen. That is not to say, however, that I failed to notice and appreciate breasts of all sizes, only that I seemed to have a special fondness for the larger variety.

"Man," said Joel, shaking his head. "If any of you guys are into big boobs, though, you gotta check out Mable."

As you might well imagine, that particular comment struck a rather profound chord of interest within me. "What class does she teach?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"She's not a teacher, man," he continued. "She lives over in that apartment complex across from the school and man, her boobs are amazing. Ginormous, even."

"Ginormous?" I laughed aloud, wondering how big a woman's boobs had to be to qualify for being ginormous in Joel's eyes. It gave me pause to wonder if he had ever seen Milena Velba's breasts before attributing the adjective ginormous to some other woman.

"I hear what you're saying, man," added Jeff. "I saw her waiting at the checkout over in Wal-Mart the other day and her boobs really do look amazing. But John actually knows exactly how they look. He's actually seen them up close and in person. Right, man?"

John's cheeks colored noticeably, and he shrugged self-consciously with a wide grin on his face.

"What...what?" I jumped in excitedly, looking at John. "You've seen her boobs? For real?"

John shrugged again and nodded, "Sure," he said. "But I'm not the only one, lots of other guys have seen her boobs too. She kind of has this thing where she likes showing them off to guys. But, you gotta be at least 18. If she thinks you look too young, she'll send you packing. All anybody ever has to do though is just ask her nicely and she'll take off her top."

"Get outta town, you guys! You gotta be shitting me?" I laughed, looking around at each of them, thinking this had to be some kind elaborate practical joke they were pulling on the new guy. "I don't believe any of this bullshit."

"No, it's actually true," said Joel, looking at me seriously. "I mean, I personally haven't ever seen her boobs, but I know a couple of older guys who've gone over to her place and seem them."

I thought about it for a moment, gauging the group's veracity. "So..." I said, looking at John expectantly. "Let's hear all about it, man. Tell us all about her boobs."

John smiled, holding his hands way out in front of his chest to indicate the size of her boobs. "Geez, man, at least this big. I mean they were really huge."

"So...what happened when you went over there? Did you like...get to do anything more than just look?" I asked.

John shook his head. "No, man. It's not like that. There isn't anything sleazy about what she does, she just likes showing them off and letting guys look. That's as far as she ever goes that I know of. She does this little dance routine to music and then lifts her top and plays with her boobs while you just sit back and watch. When the song ends, the show is over, and she shows you to the door."

I sat there dumbfounded. The idea that all someone had to do was ASK a woman to see her boobs was seemingly inconceivable to me.

"Hey, I know a guy," said Jeff, "who said he got to feel her up, but I think he said he had to pay her five dollars to do it."

John shook his head, "Yeah, I've heard that same kind of crap from some other guys too. But, I really gotta call bullshit on it. It's all just a bunch of fake news from a few assholes trying act cool, puffing out their chests like they're God's gift to women. They're just a bunch of blowhards trying to get noticed. From what I know personally about Mable, she's not like that at all, she's strictly no-nonsense. If you're old enough, all you get to do is look.

"So, how does she look otherwise?" I couldn't help but ask.

John shrugged, "She's not all that bad I guess, a little too much on the plump side for my taste, but she's actually kinda pretty. I don't actually remember all that much about the rest of her body, man. I was pretty much just there to check out her boobs if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows knowingly. "She's older too, like maybe forty-something, but actually looks pretty damn good for a woman that age."

I nodded, thinking to myself how I was particularly fond of full-figured women in general, and most definitely not a fan of the rack thin models always depicted on the covers of the glamour magazines. But damn, forty-something? The thought that she might likely be near my Mom's age momentarily certainly gave me pause. Still, the mere thought that it might actually be possible to see a woman's boobs for real, had my heart racing and my fantasies running wild.

That night, as I lay in bed, I opened my laptop to watch one of my favorite videos of Milena Velba as she cavorted about on her patio, her big beautiful breasts bouncing and swaying. I tried to imagine watching something like that happening for real with a real woman, like Mable, and let my fantasies carry me away to a blissful orgasm into another ubiquitous handful of Kleenex.

The next afternoon, after school, as John and I were walking home, he pointed to an apartment building across the street from the school, one of four in an apartment complex. "That's Mable's apartment building right there," he said, indicating one particular building. "She lives around the back of that building on the second floor."

I had managed to ALMOST put my fantasies to rest, but when he mentioned her name it all came flooding back instantly.

"Really?" I said, trying not to sound too excited. "Come on and show me." I grasped him by the arm and pulled him into the street. He shrugged and we crossed the street, walking behind the apartment building to the parking lot. The building was a two-story walk-up style. John pointed to the top apartment door on the far left-hand end of the building. "That's her place right there on the end," he said. "The one with the red curtains. Why? Are you may be thinking about checking her out or something?"

I felt my cheeks beginning to warm and shook my head. "Nah, man...After all the talk about her yesterday, I was just a little curious, you know."

But I was more than just curious. My heart was pounding inside my chest as I looked up at her apartment door and imagined how I might someday, hopefully, screw up enough courage to actually knock on her door and ask to see her breasts.

That very weekend, the J4 gang got together to watch the newest Avengers movie at a local theater. After the show, we stopped to get a burger and just hang out with a few of the other kids from school at a coffee shop around the corner from the theater.

As John was having a good time and wanted to hang out longer than I, I bid everyone goodnight and walked home alone. I didn't really have to pass by the school, it was actually even a little out of my way, but because Mable's building was across the street, I took that route just to tease myself with the possibilities.

Impulsively, I crossed the street and wandered into the parking lot behind Mable's apartment building. With my heart pounding almost as if I was doing something illegal, I timidly climbed the stairs to her apartment door. I had absolutely no intention of knocking, I merely wanted to tease my courage a bit, just to see if I could do it, and how the reality of it might feel if I were to ever do it for real someday.

Standing directly in front of her apartment door, I heard music softly playing from inside. I recognized the song too, it was Michael Jackson's "Shake Your Body Down to the Ground". Holy shit, I thought, was she possibly putting on a show for somebody right at that very moment?

I quickly made my way back down the stairs and moved to a darkened area of the parking lot by the garbage cans where I could keep an eye on her apartment door. I recalled how John had said she did her thing for only a few minutes, and I figured that, if she was, indeed, entertaining someone, I would probably not have long to wait. A minute or two later, her door opened, and I gasped in surprise. A young guy who appeared to be even older than I was left the apartment, turning to wave at the woman who stood in the doorway.

From where I stood, I couldn't make out her features all that well, she was backlit from the lights inside her apartment with the front of her body in deep shadow. But I could clearly discern that she did, indeed, appear to be a woman with rather generous proportions, dressed in a skirt and some kind of form-fitting top. Even from a distance, as she turned to close her apartment door, I was able to see that her chest seemed very large, just as had been described.

I watched the guy descend the stairs and move away from the building. I stood there, my pulse pounding, as I began to build up my courage. It certainly seemed to be real, as opposed to some kind of practical joke, which had been always in the back of my mind. I mean, there was music playing and then some guy leaving. It seemed to fit the scenario just as John had described it.

Tentatively, I approached the stairway to her apartment once more and paused, thinking to myself that I seriously needed some sort of reasonable excuse for being there if I was discovered. Having seen the other guy just leaving, it gave me a bit of an idea that almost seemed reasonable, thinking how it might even be possible to actually meet her, face to face, without having her think I was there to see her boobs.

I climbed the stairs tentatively, one slow step at a time, my heart in my throat, thinking...I'm so stupid...I'm so stupid...I'm so stupid. I stood in front of her door with my knees shaking, my hands balled into fists, momentarily unable to move. Just as I was about to turn around and make my way back down the stairs, the apartment door opened wide suddenly and Mable stood there in front of me.

Her eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting anyone to be at her door, but then her lips curled into a smile. "Well, hello there," she said, smiling at me kindly as I stood there mute, like a deer in the headlights.

She held an envelope in her hand, reaching out to place it into her mailbox for pickup.

In her heels, she appeared a lot taller than I, and at least a fifty or sixty pounds heavier. Her hair was dark brown, and nicely styled, falling in curls to her shoulders. I kept my eyes on hers, not wanting her to see me looking down at her body, and only being peripherally aware of her large curvy frame.

"Um...hi," I stammered, the scenario I had so painstakingly rehearsed below completely forgotten in my anxiety. "I was...um...looking for...a friend of mine...who said he was coming up here," I continued to stammer, hearing the tremble of fear in my voice as I spoke and cringed, knowing I was sounding completely lame.

"Really?" She asked, folding her arms over her chest and leaning casually against the doorframe, her smile widening. "That's the story you're going to go with, is it?"

I froze, and for a moment I thought I might quite literally throw up right there at her feet. I took a step back, thinking it wasn't too late to turn and high-tail it out of there.

"I have to say though," she said, appraising me thoughtfully. "You look a little too young to be knocking on my door, honey. Maybe you should come back in a year or two."

"I'm almost twenty," I responded a little defensively, taking a step back to possibly make a quick exit.

She looked at my face closely and smiled, "I believe you," she said, her voice low and soothing. "I can see you're also a little nervous, and that's okay. But you really don't have to be shy around me, honey, I know why young men usually knock on my door."

I stopped. The kindly smile and compassionate look on her face completely put me at ease and almost instantly calmed my anxiety. She was actually very pretty, her bright blue eyes contrasting beautifully with her dark hair, a combination I had always thought to be extremely attractive, not unlike Megan Fox or Rena Sofer.

"So...tell me," she said with a teasing smile. "Are you going to stick with that story about looking for some imaginary friend, or are you really here because you're hoping to see my boobs?

I couldn't help but look down at her boobs as she stood there. My God, she looked incredible. At first glance, very much like Samanta Lily or Milena Velba. I swallowed hard and looked up into her eyes and nodded, unable to speak.

"I kinda thought that might be the case," she said with a broad smile. "Would you like to come in then?" She stood straight and backed into her apartment, bidding me to enter. Her cool and casual demeanor totally disarmed me, and I timidly stepped into her apartment. It was neat and clean and very tastefully furnished. There was a sofa on one wall, a coffee table before it, and directly across the room, a large big-screen television hung on the wall. Two table lamps, one on each side of the sofa on top of end tables, cast a soft, warm glow about the room making it look cozy and intimate.

"Why don't you sit down there on the sofa, honey," she said, turning around to cross the room to the sound system below the television. "I'll just put some music on for us."

I did as she directed, unable to take my eyes from her as she turned around. Her legs were gorgeously thick and shapely, her calves beautifully formed by her high-heeled shoes. Her skirt was pale pink and clung ever so sensually to her hips and thighs. She was, in a word, stunning.

Michael Jackson's music suddenly filled the silence, the same song I had heard previously. Mable began to sway her hips to the music, tilting them provocatively to one side and then the other as she looked over her shoulder at me. She turned and smiled, moving her shoulders to allow her breasts to sway beneath her top. I stared in rapt fascination at her breasts, her nipples clearly delineated beneath the sheer material of her pullover top.