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Big Tits

Chapter 1

About ten years ago, a series of events unfolded that would lead to circumstances I could never have imagined. And I can imagine quite a lot.

I was 47 years old at the time. I had always kept myself in decent shape by mixing cycling (road and mountain), swimming, (pool, ocean, lake etc.) running (from the police, JK, not on foot anyway) and free weights in random pairs 5 — 6 days per week for the last 30+ years. I am 6’1”, with dark brown hair (streaked with gray currently; ok, gray streaked with brown) and hazel eyes. At the time of this story, I weighed 230-240 pounds with a 33-34 inch waist, depending on the seasons of the year. Higher in the fall and winter, lower in the spring and summer.

I have been told I have attractive facial features by women I have known and do know. Some who I have dated, others I haven’t. I have also been told when I am not smiling, my expression can come off as “stay away”. When I am smiling or laughing, my face has a completely different, more engaging look. Since I have heard this from more than one source, I am inclined to accept it as fact. The expression parts.

Truth be told, I have always viewed myself as having an average looking face. Not a face that will make you drool, not one that will make you hurl. Somewhere in the middle. That’s average right?

I am also rather shy initially when it comes to approaching women. I don’t have a great opening line. I don’t have the skill set to initiate interesting conversations. I can converse on a variety of topics, as long as I’m not the one who has to pick the topic or initiate the conversation.

When women approach me, I’m a completely different animal. I’m a counter puncher, with what has been described as a pretty good, but on occasion outlandish and shocking sense of humor.

In the way of an explanation, Punch vs Counterpunch:

Scenario 1: Punch

I’m at a night club, and I see a woman that I find attractive. When (if) I finally screw up the nerve to approach her, I use one of my stronger lines,

“I was wondering what the odds were of you and I having a dance sometime this evening?” Yup, that’s one of the good ones.

I know enough to make eye contact and smile, but for those few seconds waiting for her to decide, despite my (practiced) calm exterior, if you could look inside, you would see the Tasmanian Devil bouncing wall to wall to wall. I still don’t know why. If she turns me down, I don’t get embarrassed and hang my head. I just apologize for the intrusion, move on and the moment is forgotten. But those few moments of waiting for her to respond are my hell.

The ladies who show interest, now have to have the patience for my temporary affliction to slowly fade, and within in 5 — 10 minutes, a playful and sometimes snarky banter may be taking place. No more Mr. Shy Guy.

Scenario 2: Counterpunch

This is something that actually occurred when I was in my late 20s, and it will give you an indication of how my personality flips when a woman (especially a bold woman) chooses to give me the hard come-on.

I had just walked into a local bar/club and as I passed a group of 5 young ladies (not drunk, but appearing to be enjoying themselves) on my way to the bar to grab a drink, One of them turned to me, smiled and said, “My friends and I are taking a survey, could you tell us how big your dick is?”

Trying to buy time to come up with a suitable comeback, I replied, “I’m afraid I have never measured it myself or allowed anyone else do it for me.”

She came back with, “We’ll be happy to take an honest estimate!” stressing the word honest.

Feigning deep thought for a moment I replied, “Well, if I had to guess, I would say somewhere between three or four inches.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Her smile slowly started to fade.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Well, that’s not very long.”

“That wasn’t length.” I replied.

“Oh, that was girth then?” Now her smile begins to return.

“No, it isn’t girth either.”

“Well what is it?” She was looking a little puzzled now.

“It’s distance.”

Looking even more puzzled “Distance from what??”

“From whatever I’m standing on at the time,” I then proceed down the bar to order my drink. I wasn’t alone long. And no, it’s not that long.

This is an extreme example. Most of my encounters with “more forward” women, fall closer to the center of the bell curve. I try to pitch what I catch early on to gauge the woman’s comfort zone. I make it a habit to respect boundaries. There’s being an asshole and then there’s being a dick. You usually don’t get arrested for being an asshole. Well I never have.

If you haven’t figured it out yet, I have never been married. Whenever I am asked why, my pat reply since my late 20s has been, “Because I’m an asshole and I’m a child.”

You might think this brutal honesty would keep most women away. I sure did the first time I said it. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. I really casino siteleri wanted to be left alone the first time I used that response when a young lady asked me that question. I’m so glad she wasn’t offended!

I would hear replies like “Well at least your honest!”, or “Why do you say that?” to which I would reply, “You strike me as an intelligent woman, if you decide to get to know me better after tonight, I have no doubt you’ll figure it out eventually.”

If they were, they did, if they weren’t, I didn’t stay long. I like intelligent women. For me, no matter how good someone is in bed, I want to enjoy my time with them out of bed also. And intelligent women tend to keep me on my toes. You can’t get better at chess without playing someone better than you.

FYI, the first girl I used that response on came back with, “Well, I was only planning on using you for sex for a week or two anyway, so we’re good.” We dated for over a year before her job took her to another state.

It felt like just a week or two. I still think about her.

Telling women I’m an asshole right out of the gate when I first meet them also affords some other advantages. For instance, while out with a young lady and some of her friends several weeks or months after our first meeting, there would invariably be a moment where I say something the young lady would take offense to. That’s when she’ll looks at me and say, “You are such an asshole sometimes!” I’ll look her dead in the eye and say loud and bold while pointing right at her, “I told you that the night we met!” I then get to watch her head drop a little as she says to her friends, “Yeah, he did.” Other times they’ll look like a goldfish out of water sucking for air as they try to formulate a response that never comes.

So, I’ve got that going for me.

I have had three “girlfriends” in my life. One for two years in high school. One for three years in my early twenties; In hindsight, this was “the one” that I was too young and self-centered at the time to figure out or appreciate what I had. The only flaw she had was her love for an asshole like me.

The last of the three went on for more than eight years and started when I was in my early thirties.

I have dated my share of women since then, but I do not have a “girlfriend”. I have given up on that. I’m not jaded, I just always see the potential for failure. I have dated a lot of women in my life, and I feel I am experienced enough not to go into a new dating relationship with the “new partner” blinders on. Blinders that can cause you to overlook issues/differences that will become deal breakers once the newness wears off, while both parties are doing their best to hide their flaws. . . at first.

Speaking of that, when are guys going to wake up. Every guy I know always tries to “put his best foot forward” in the first few weeks when dating a woman. What’s up with that? You know you can’t sustain it; they know you can’t sustain it; because of their experience with every other guy that does the same stupid shit! So it comes down to them seeing how far down the ladder the guy falls. Then the girl determines if he is someone she can tolerate for more than a month or two.

Why not go the other way? If you can maintain a 7, let them see you as somewhere between a 5 — 6 for the first few weeks. They’re going to wait to see how far you fall, and when you go back to your normal 7, they think you must have stepped up because you care for them. It’s a win! Perception is everything! And if she happens to fall too far down the ladder, you have the perfect out. Win, win!

So the poor sap that struggles like hell to show her he’s an 8.5 when he’s really a 7, gets thrown over for an asshole who shows her he’s a 5 for the first week or so before he becomes his normal 6. I’m not complaining, if it weren’t for stupid fucks like Mr. 7 setting the table for me, I’d still be a virgin. So I got that going for me.

Chapter 2

After the breakup with my last girlfriend of almost nine years due to irreconcilable differences, (she decided she wanted someone different, and so did I) I lived alone in a three-bedroom single family home (except for Glimmer, a female Dogo Argentino; for the first seven years before the Grim Reaper made a call). The ex-gf got everything we had purchased together while I was living in her house; I got the dog. I still feel I got the best end of that deal. I had always lived in apartments my entire “single” life due to my gypsy lifestyle. I liked having the option to move on at the drop of a hat, but I needed someplace close to work with a yard so I could take Glimmer with me when I split with the Ex.

That’s right, I bought a house so I could keep a dog for her last seven years. For anyone out there who thinks I have my priorities screwed up, stop reading and go fuck yourself. I’m still getting over the loss 12 years later. Enough said.

I had purchased a mid-sized truck a little less than two years prior to the events of this story. The main slot oyna reason for the purchase was a feeble attempt to get me thru the passing of my best friend for the past 11 years, Glimmer. (Buy yourself something new right?) The 17-year-old truck I currently owned was still going strong, but my reasoning was sooner or later it would be time to replace it, so I might as well be prepared.

Once I bought the truck, I only drove it on the weekends, choosing to use my “old” truck to drive to and from work and for any weekday errands. I usually woke up between 1:30 and 2:30am. I work 6am — 2pm and I would get up no later than 2:30am to give the dog a 45 to 60 minute morning walk/run for the last three plus years before I left the Ex, and the seven plus years after I had left. Get her fed get me fed and go to work five days per week. Then do the same for the weekends, minus work. After she had passed, my sleep pattern has remained the same no matter when I go to bed.

I put miles on the new truck early on weekend mornings (2:30 — 5:30) when there are more deer than traffic to watch for. I like the tradeoff. As far as sleep goes, after adolescence, five hours per day is all I have ever needed.

I have six routes I normally take that range in distance from 22 to 80 miles. It was while driving one of these routes that I met Lisa.

While driving up a two-lane country road at 3:00am, on a January morning, I saw a woman standing next to her SUV on the shoulder of the road waving her cellphone around, (reception was spotty in the area) in a sweater, beanie hat and jeans against the 22 degree early morning cold.

I pulled over about 50 feet in front of her to keep some distance between us before I got out of my car and asked her if I could be of any help. “Can you fix phones or cars?” she yelled. (because we’re about 50 feet apart) “Outside of my skillset” I yelled back.

“Why are you standing way over there?” she calls out.

“I don’t want you to feel threatened.”

“I’m fine, you can come over.”

These times we live in. I’m looking at a woman who is at the most, 5’4″ with her shoes on, and now I’m thinking ‘Am I walking into a trap?’ FYI, I found out later she’s just a shade under 5’1″

Having moved past my “bitch” moment, I approached, we exchange introductions and I ask if she would like to use my phone (I had a signal). She said she would rather not wake someone up at this hour. When I asked her why she was waving her phone around looking for a signal she replied, “When I first got out of the car, I saw I had enough of a signal to make a call, and then I heard a car coming. So I thought I would see if someone would stop and offer me a lift.”

“Isn’t that a little dangerous?” I ask.

“I’m usually a good judge of character.” The look in her eyes told me she believed it.

“It only takes one mistake”

“I’m usually good at dealing with those too” I see that same look.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing out here at this time of the morning”?

“I take early morning drives sometimes to clear my head. And I don’t have to deal with as many assholes on the road.”

Speak of the devil.

“What brings you out this way at this time” she asks.

“Putting miles on my truck. It usually sits during the week while I use my beater for work. I’m usually up at this time of morning, and as you so eloquently put it, less assholes.” I was expecting her to ask me why I am usually up at this time, but she didn’t. “Would you like a lift someplace?” I ask.

“It might be out of your way”

“Yet here you are, standing outside your vehicle waving you phone around, hoping for a ride from a total stranger so you won’t have to wake someone up.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you can be a bit of a smartass sometimes?”

“Yeah, take a number.”

She smiles, and looking closer, I notice she is quite attractive, and way too young for me. (my guess is 30 at the most) She tells me where she lives, it’s about 40 minutes away, and I tell her it is less than a five-minute detour from the route I was driving this morning. She at first kiddingly accuses me of being chivalrous until I recite the route to her. When I ask her about leaving her vehicle, she says that the warranty on the vehicle gives her 24 hour roadside assistance and she had just called before I showed up. They told her they would be here within the half hour. I suggest keeping warm in my car while we wait. She accepts my offer.

As she reaches into her vehicle to grab her coat, I see a tell-tale bulge on her right hip. When we reach my truck, I open the passenger door for her, standing behind the door as I did so. As she is about to get in, I ask her if she would mind putting her gun on back seat before she gets in, while I place my hand on mine, hidden behind the door. She gives me a blank stare, reaches to her hip, removes her gun from its holster, releases the magazine, clears the round from the chamber and hands me the gun, magazine and bullet.

She canlı casino siteleri then says to me “You can keep yours if it makes you feel safer with me being this close,” gets in the truck and waits while I close the door.

When I get in the driver’s seat she says, “You want this one too?” and hands me a snub nose revolver butt first with her left hand while looking straight ahead out the windshield. I hand her automatic back to her.

“I already know you’re not a cop or you wouldn’t have relinquished your side arm, so…. “

“I was in the army for 20 years.”

“What did you do?” So much for being 30 at the most.

“The last 12 years I was assigned to a branch of the military police that was tasked with tracking down and apprehending AWOL special forces personnel.”

“Some pretty tough hombres to track down, even tougher to apprehend.”

“They put us through some pretty intense hand-to-hand combat and weapons training. I also had several years’ experience in self-defense before I enlisted”

“Did you ever use the hand-to-hand to apprehend anyone?”

“Occasionally.”

“Are you serious?” I reply, while looking at her in a new light.

She turns to me with a chilling smile and asks, “Would you like a demonstration?”

“No, I’ll take your word for it.”

The tow company arrives, and she says, “If your uncomfortable with giving me a ride, he has to wait while transportation is arranged if I request it.”

“Should I be uncomfortable?”

“No, you’re the wrong gender.” She says in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

I have to admit, I was a little disappointed to hear that. In addition to her face being quite attractive, I had noticed that her small frame was quite curvy under her sweater and jeans. Oh, well, that isn’t why I had offered her a ride, and she was still too young for me anyway. She has to be less than 40. She gives the flatbed driver her info and we get back into my truck and I start to drive.

The silence feels a little awkward, so I smile and say, “Tell your girlfriend I’m jealous when you see her.”

“I threw the bitch out six months ago. She couldn’t keep it in her pants.” Was her monotone reply.

“I suddenly find myself longing for that awkward silence from a few moments ago” I respond.

This made her laugh, and she says, “Thanks for your concern. I’m over it.”

“What about you? You have a girlfriend that I might want to steal?” she asks teasingly.

“No, I gave that up'”

“Gave what up?”

“Girlfriends.”

“Why is that? You’re a good-looking guy?” I’m actually pretty flattered. She’s a damn fine-looking woman, regardless of her preference.

“Because I always see the potential for failure.” I respond.

“You take a vow of celibacy or something?” she continues to tease.

“No, I still date, I just don’t do girlfriends. Keeps my life uncomplicated.”

“You have any cast-offs you might want to point my way?” she replies, still teasing, I think.

“A couple maybe, but you’re the wrong gender.” Gotta get my shots in.

“You might be surprised! Maybe you were!”

Touché

This playful banter continues for a while, then we start talking about our jobs and interests. I tell her my age and she told me I looked much younger. She tells me hers and I don’t believe her until she shows me her license. She’s 44. (Fuck!) We find out we have a lot in common and the conversation flows effortlessly. The forty minutes go by quickly and we are parked outside her house. It’s about 4:30am. That’s a big fucking house!

I turn to her and say “It’s been a pleasure meeting you Lisa. This is the most fun I’ve had out of bed with a woman for a long time. It even beats a couple of times I’ve had in bed!”

She laughs and replies, “Still doing it in a bed? I took you to be much more adventurous!”

She then looks at me for a moment and asks if I would like to come in and join her for breakfast. Normally I would jump at the offer, but knowing the situation, I understand that she is just returning my kindness for the ride. I tell her it’s not necessary, that she probably needs some sleep. She explained that she was going to make breakfast anyway and she invited me in because she was enjoying the conversation and would like to continue to do so. And she doesn’t sleep more than 4 or 5 hours a night. I accepted the invite.

I thought she was curvy before. When she took her sweater off it was all I could do not to stare. Well I did stare, she caught me, but didn’t say anything. I thought that was nice of her.

She wouldn’t let me help her with breakfast and soon we were eating omelets and drinking coffee and continuing our conversation. The next thing I knew it was 9:30. Where did the time go??

Not wanting to wear out my welcome, I told Lisa I had to go. She walked me to my truck and as I was getting in she stopped me and said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, I don’t want to do anything to lead you on, but this morning has been the most fun I’ve had out of bed for a while too! I’ve really enjoyed talking with you today and I appreciate you respecting me enough not to come onto me even though you obviously find me attractive.”

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