He met my breasts before meeting me. Not that it’s uncommon, especially if you’re a breast man. It wasn’t odd–I have nice ones and they like being appreciated. Plus, I was wearing a bra and a tuxedo and, uh, not much else, so I was kind of open to the attention…
It was prom season, and I was at an adults party with a teenagers theme. There was even a balloon and crepe paper arch to be photographed under.
The tide had just turned with the man I’d been seeing, and while it was probably for the better, I couldn’t help but feel a little dejected. So, there I was at prom with my breasts as double dates.
It was a dark bar, long and thin and lit by the twinkle of strands of tiny little clear lights. The ’80s music paraded by and when Kenny Loggins crooned, “Everybody cut loose!” the party attendees obliged by kicking off their (Saturday night) shoes.
When the man in the hat approached he attempted to converse with me and not the breasts. And shockingly, he succeeded.
“What am I going to do with you if you keep looking at me with those eyes?” asked the man in the hat as he stared into my big brown lash-fringed eyes.
I did not know what he would do.
But I did know what any other self respecting girl on the rebound would do:
I danced with him all night and allowed him to kiss me sweetly. I brought him home with me–but just to sleep. The preztled comforting tangle of arms and legs. The power of knowing he wanted more. The power of knowing I wouldn’t give it.
In the morning he left, saying he would call. We both knew that he wouldn’t. But still, I was left with the wonderful feeling of being wanted.
And he left behind one singular contact. But only one.
I must have been out of focus all night long. No wonder he stared at my face!