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The Couch - Part Seven |
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By Dirk Vincento 17 Brian tossed the magazine back in the pile and sighed. He’d been flipping through the pages for the last five minutes without reading a word. Too many thoughts were sweeping through his mind, images that seemed to rise up from the depths of his subconscious like a solar flare, filling his mind for a few short seconds before dissolving once again into the black. He looked over at Susan and watched her as she got up from her desk and went to the filing cabinets that lined the back wall of her workspace. Catching his glance, she smiled back and then carried on with her work. Susan was slim, blonde and disarmingly pretty. With her small perky breasts that would be considered perfect by many men, she was the quintessential girl next door, young, fresh and wholesome. For Brian, she brought back memories of Jennifer Long, a girl he had dated in his early twenties. Like Susan, Jennifer had been blonde and very pretty. She was the kind of girl that never failed to draw appreciative looks when they went out together in public. Being seen with Jennifer made Brian feel like he was the envy of every man they passed on the street. Dating Jennifer was also Brian’s one attempt at having a relationship with a small-breasted woman. He had genuinely liked Jennifer and she was undeniably beautiful, but deep down a large part of him knew that what he was really trying to do was find out if he could be attracted to a woman with small breasts. It was the first time he had tried to break the spell and resist the allure of large breasted women in favor of good looks and personality, a pretty clear indication that even at that age he already knew big breasts were getting him into trouble. Things went surprisingly well at first. For the first couple of months, Brian found sex with Jennifer exciting and fulfilling. She was an enthusiastic lover who would stop at nothing to please him. She was so eager to act out all of his fantasies that for a while neither of them were aware of the fact that she was incapable of the one thing he really wanted. It was a brief moment in time when Brian actually believed he had put his obsession behind him and that he had really found the true love of his life. But in the end, it turned out that what Brian had thought was true love was in fact nothing more than the titillation of being with a new woman. In the beginning the novelty of her small breasts may have even added something to her allure. But as the newness wore off, Brian found it progressively harder to get aroused, until one fateful night, for the first time in his life he failed completely. Jennifer had tried everything to make him hard, but she just couldn’t push the right button. And even if she had known the enemy she was fighting, it wouldn’t have made any difference, because like a mad killer in a horror flick who is believed slain, only to return in the final scene to attack the unsuspecting hero once again, Brian’s obsession had returned with a vengeance. And this time, having him once again firmly in its grasp, it apparently had no intention of letting go. Since that time, he had been scared to death of getting involved with another Jennifer, afraid of having to suffer through another humiliating, ego-crushing experience. But now he was beginning to wonder if being with Gretchen was any less humiliating. For the first time in his life, he was willing to accept the possibility that maybe it was more so. That was the belief that had ultimately brought him here to seek help and kept him coming back. And so the battle continued to rage on inside him; unable to live with his life as it was, but afraid of losing the pleasure that he had come to know. Unable to go forward and incapable of going back. “You can go in now, Mr. Peterson.” Brian looked at Susan as he walked past her window in the wall and saw Jennifer. He blinked hard and when he opened his eyes she was Susan again. Shuddering at the realism of the illusion, he reassured himself that Jennifer had never really been there. He also wondered where she was now and if she was happy.
18 It had been raining all day, the kind of wet drizzle that seemed to go on and on with no end in sight. The window hangers in Dr. Hasslett’s office were quiet and still, looking terribly sad without the light of the sun to bring them to life. The whole room seemed to draw its atmosphere from the day outside, making it feel quiet and gray. “This is our fifth time together,” Dr. Hasslett began, in a slightly hushed tone that quietly acknowledged the somber mood in the room. “Do you have any questions about any of the things we’ve covered so far?” One big concern was still rattling around in Brian’s mind and now seemed like as good a time as any to bring it up. “There is something that I’ve been wondering about.” He paused, taking the time to choose his words carefully. “If we sort out my problems and I’m cured . . . that is, if I manage to get over my obsession with big . . . large breasted women, does that mean I won’t feel . . . what I mean is, when I look at large breasted women, will I still feel . . .?” “I think I know what you’re trying to ask,” Dr. Hasslett interrupted, “and I can assure you that you have nothing to worry about. From what you’ve told me, I think the effect that large breasts have on you is strongly connected to experiences reaching far into your past. At this stage in your life, it’s highly unlikely that you’ll lose those connections or that you’ll stop having involuntary feelings of sexual arousal when you encounter a large breasted woman. Consequently, our goal here isn’t to suppress the feelings you have, but instead to teach you that it is possible to control your behavior and the choices you make as a result of those feelings. “Let me give you an example that might make this idea a little more clear. Most men will feel some level of arousal when confronted with an attractive woman, regardless of whether they themselves are single, married or in a steady relationship. Some men who are propositioned by an attractive woman will cheat on their partner if they have one, while others will not. The difference isn’t that men who are faithful don’t feel aroused. They feel the same involuntary reaction as men who cheat. However, the men who remain faithful have learned that they can control their behavior, even if they can’t control their physiological response to the prospect of having sex with an attractive woman. By taking charge of their choices, they are in effect taking charge of their lives. In your case, we are not trying to suppress the feelings of arousal you experience when confronted by large breasts. As I said before, suppressing those feelings would very likely be impossible anyway. What we want to do is make you aware of your ability to make choices in spite of those feelings, rather than always making your choices because of them. By doing this, you will be able to enjoy the pleasure that you’ve come to associate with large breasted women without giving up control of your life or the choices that ultimately determine your happiness. Does that make sense?” “Yes, it really does,” Brian said. “I feel a lot better. I know it’s been on my mind, but as I was listening to you, I started to realize that it was bothering me even more than I’d thought.” “It’s a very legitimate concern,” Dr. Hasslett assured him. “Most of our behavior is determined by our attraction to pleasure and the desire to avoid pain. The loss of pleasure is an issue that always reaches very deep into our psyche.” “It’s not that I’ve been holding back or anything like that,” Brian asserted, “but I think that this talk is going to make me feel more comfortable about what we’re trying to do.” “I understand what you’re saying completely and I just want to say one more time that your concerns are completely legitimate and normal.” Brian felt relief rise up through his stomach and into his chest like a hot air balloon. He had told Dr. Hasslett that he hadn’t been holding back, but deep inside he wasn’t nearly so sure. If he had been, it certainly wasn’t intentional. But it was hard to believe that he could put his heart and soul into something that would ultimately rob him of the pleasure that had driven him through most of his life. He still couldn’t imagine continuing to feel as strongly about breasts as he did and not be controlled by them. But he had grown to trust Dr. Hasslett and if the good doctor said it was true, then it probably was. Dr. Hasslett could see the relief on Brian’s face and, after giving him a few moments to process this new information, he carried on. “Actually, your question is a perfect segue into the session. I want to spend some time today talking about the difference between emotions and behavior, because in many ways that difference is at the heart of the solution to your problems.” Dr. Hasslett leaned forward in his chair in a way that made what he was about to say seem very important. “We are all bombarded by feelings throughout the day, both emotional and physical. We feel hunger and we feel pain. We feel joy and sometimes sorrow. Each of these feelings prompts us to act in some particular way. If we’re hungry, we want to eat. If we’re happy, we feel like laughing. If we’re angry with someone, we may want to fight. What makes us different from the animals is our ability to reason and make choices based on rational thought. Animals act on their impulses instinctively, without considering the possibilities or the consequences. We have a choice. Sexual urges are very powerful, one of the most powerful forces found in nature. All humans and all men experience strong sexual urges when they become stimulated. What is interesting is that the range of behavior that men display as a result of sexual arousal is much broader that the range of sexual sensations we all experience. In other words, as men we all experience strong sexual urges throughout our lifetime, but some men choose to deal with those urges differently than others. What we need to do is help you to understand that when you are aroused and stimulated by a woman’s breasts, you can enjoy the experience and still make rational choices about how you are going to behave as a result of those feelings” Brian shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Dr. Hasslett paused, knowing that there was a question at hand. “In theory that sounds all very well and good,” Brian started, “but I’m not sure if you understand just how powerful these feelings can be. I mean, if I could control my behavior in spite of how I was feeling, I wouldn’t need to be here, would I?” “It may be fair to say that when someone develops an obsession or a fetish, as you have, the urges you experience could be more persuasive than those experienced by most men. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still learn to develop the skills you need to make choices that will benefit your overall happiness rather than hinder it.” Dr. Hasslett paused thoughtfully for a moment while Brian looked on, still unconvinced. “Perhaps, what we need to do is look at an experience in your life during which you were aware of the feelings being stirred inside you, aware that these urges were compelling you to behave in a self-destructive manner, and still allowed your behavior to be controlled by those feelings. We could then use that experience as a model to explore some of the other ways you might have handled the situation. Can you think of an experience you’ve had that might fit the bill, so to speak?” Once again, Brian was surprised at how quickly the answer to Dr. Hasslett’s question appeared before him, as if his subconscious had tossed it out into the open before he even had the chance to start looking for it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had thought about Wanda Stevens, but his memory of her was certainly clear enough now. “I don’t know if this is exactly the kind of thing you mean, but there was a girl I went to high school with. Her name was Wanda Stevens and . . . ” Brian paused as his voice dried up in his throat. Even after all these years, he still found this hard to talk about. “Take your time, Brian,” Dr. Hasslett said. “There’s no hurry.” Brian took a deep breath and pushed on. “There were two things that Wanda was famous for. She was the ugliest girl in the whole school; at least that’s what everyone said. It’s funny because when it think back, she wasn’t really all that bad. I mean, she was ugly for sure, but not nearly as ugly as they made her out to be. But you know how cruel kids can be. The other thing Wanda was famous for was having the biggest tits in the school. Now that was a title she really deserved. I mean, when I say she had the biggest tits in the school, I don’t just mean among the students. That included the teachers as well. Her breasts were really big. The kids at school teased her relentlessly. If it wasn’t about her looks then it was about her chest. They all made jokes. The boys would run up behind her in the hall and make rude noises and the girls were always starting vicious rumors about her. If you believed everything you heard, then Wanda had every disease known to man, every infestation possible and bathed about as often as the seasons changed.” “That sounds really sad,” Dr. Hasslett commented with genuine concern. “It was horrible,” Brian said. “And I’d like to be able to tell you that Wanda was a really nice person, but I think all the years of teasing and being tormented made her very angry, bitter and hostile. If only she’d been able to turn a deaf ear, some of the kids would have become bored and let up. But they loved to tease her because they knew they could always get a rise out of her. And when she got mad, she had the foulest mouth you ever heard. I think at least half of the swear words I know today, I learned by hearing Wanda scream them at the kids who teased her. Anyway, getting to the point, if Wanda suffered as much teasing and ridicule as she did, you can just imagine what would be in store for any guy foolish enough to be seen with her.” Brian sat back in his chair and pointed at himself with an embarrassed, “you guessed it,” expression on his face. “If this story is going where I think it is,” Dr. Hasslett said, “then yes, it’s a perfect example of what we’re talking about.” “So I should go on?” “If you feel comfortable talking about it.” Brian knew that feeling comfortable talking about Wanda Stevens was asking far too much. But he did feel like he was capable of going on, so he did. “Wanda was in four or five of my classes in my last year of high school. She sat beside me in history class, and that’s when I think it all really started. No matter how hard I tried . . .
19 . . . I couldn’t keep myself from glancing over and trying to catch a peek of her chest. At first I tried to be discreet but as time went on, I found the more I looked, the more drawn to the sight of her breasts I became. It was the Donna situation all over again. I was peeking over more and more frequently, even though I knew I was risking getting caught. And not only that, looking at her was turning me on so much that I was scared to get up from my seat at the end of the class because my erection was showing too conspicuously through my pants. After a while, I started to play a game where I’d concentrate really hard on not having an erection and then look over at Wanda and see if I could keep from getting hard. To me, it was as if her tits knew exactly what was going on and were trying to make my cock grow. It was a great game because the harder I tried to resist getting an erection, the faster one would come on and the harder it would throb. But what I felt then was nothing compared to what I was in store for after Wanda caught me looking. I guess I’d lulled myself into a sense of false security, a feeling of invincibility that made me think I’d never get caught. On this particular day, Wanda was wearing a tight sweater that clung to the shape of her breasts, making them look incredibly big. As she leaned forward with her elbows on her desk, they hung from her body ponderously, looking unbelievably firm and massive. I’d already been peeking over, playing the game as usual, but after she took that pose with her elbows leaning on her desk, I simply couldn’t take my eyes away. The seconds ticked by and I could feel my cock growing bigger and harder. I could also feel the risk of getting caught growing just as fast. I should mention that it wasn’t as if I was unaware of the consequences of getting caught looking at Wanda Stevens’ tits. I couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating than if word got around the school that I’d been looking at Wanda Stevens like that. The kidding and teasing I’d be subjected to would probably be worse than anything she’d experienced herself. Not to mention that any t any chance of getting another date in high school would be as dead as Old Marley’s ghost. But even those fears weren’t enough to make me tear my eyes away. And then it happened. I saw her head turning toward me out of the corner of my eye. I told myself that I had to look away, that I would look away. Just one more second and I’d look away. But the harder I tried to stop staring at her chest, the deeper the tingling in my cock drove down into my groin. There was still time if I moved quickly enough, but the feeling as I realized that I couldn’t tear my eyes away was . . . incredible! At that moment, she owned me. I’m not sure how long I kept staring at her tits, but after a while my eyes eventually drifted up, only to come face to face with her leering gaze. The smirk on her face said it all: I was caught like a rat in a trap. She had me cold. She nodded her head ever so slightly and let her eyes drop, directing me back to her bosom. Obediently, I let my gaze return to the huge mounds of flesh that were stretching her sweater to its limit. Only now, knowing that she was watching me, the experience took on a whole new dimension. I realized then that what I had been playing before was a game, because what I was feeling now was far too serious to be considered any kind of a game. The butterflies in my stomach were rising up through my chest. There was a lump in my throat and I could feel my face hot and flushed. The warm tingling in my crotch that had given me an erection had now turned into something much more wild and uncontrollable. I felt like Wanda’s hand was on my balls, first teasing and tickling them and then squeezing firmly. While she continued to lean on her desk with one elbow, her other hand reached across and began caressing her breast suggestively. Her imaginary hand tightened even more firmly around my balls as her palm slid slowly across the surface of her breast. She began squeezing her tit, kneading it, letting her fingers sink deep into the soft flesh. I could hear myself breathing harder, taking in air in deep gasps as my eyes widened with disbelief. The girl sitting in front of me glanced over her shoulder, wondering what my problem was. But even that wasn’t enough to make me turn away. I was completely mesmerized. Wanda began to rub the tips of her fingers over her nipple, coaxing it to attention. I watched helplessly as a small bump appeared through her sweater and slowly grew larger as her nipple became erect. Her fingers moved slowly and sensuously, making me feel as if they were rubbing the most sensitive spot on the underside of my cock. My breathing was getting heavier and louder. I felt a thin trail of drool spill from the edge of my mouth and wiped it away with the back of my hand. Wanda’s nipple was fully extended now, refusing to be held back by the restraints of her sweater and her bra. It protruded far enough that it fit easily between her thumb and her forefinger. She began to squeeze it, rolling it back and forth between her fingertips, and once again I felt the pressure as if it was being applied directly to my cock. When a tiny moan escaped my lips, I knew I had to get things under control before they got completely out of hand. “Brian? I couldn’t stop thinking about Donna sitting on top of me and imagining how wonderful Wanda’s breasts would feel as they slowly descended over my head, burying my face in their warm soft flesh. “Brian . . . ? I wanted to feel myself inside her while her tits were pressed up against my chest, just as it had been with Aunt Elizabeth. “Brian?” The third time I heard my name, it finally filtered through. I could suddenly see myself sitting in a class, staring at Wanda Stevens’ tits . . . and the teacher calling my name. The image struck such a chord of terror that my head snapped up instantly. Mrs. McKelvey had walked part way down the aisle and was looking at me, waiting expectantly. The rest of the class had turned in their seats watching me. I heard a few snickers float through the room, making my face flushed hard. “Brian, do you know the answer?” she asked. I sat for what seemed like an eternity, staring at the teacher silently, unable to speak, unable to move. “Brian . . . ? “I’m sorry, Mrs. McKelvey, could you please repeat the question.” More snickers. “I’d be happy to repeat the question,” Mrs. McKelvey said sternly. “In fact, if you’d be so kind as to stay after class, I’d be more than happy to repeat the question, and I’d be quite interested to hear your answer. In the meantime, I strongly suggest that you try to pay a little more attention to what’s going on at the front of the class.” The snickers turned to laughter. “All right class, that’s enough. Sylvia, can you tell me . . . ” Humiliation could easily be defined by how I felt at that very moment. I folded my hands on my desk and stared at them. I could feel the hot redness in my cheeks. I could feel my classmates glancing over at me and grinning, laughing at my reddened face. If only I could stop blushing, but there was nothing I could do. The sound of my pulse was pounding in my ears. But worst of all, just to my left was Wanda and her incredible breasts. I wanted desperately to look at them again. I wanted to look so bad I could have cried. But I couldn’t. And knowing that I couldn’t only made me want to look that much more. By the time I left Mrs. McKelvey’s class, the halls of the school were empty. My ears were still burning with the sound of her lecture, which included not only the importance of education in general, and history in particular, but also more than a few words on the importance of acting like a gentleman, which certainly did not include ogling women’s chests. “How could I have been so stupid?” I swore at myself. That was an easy question to ask once temptation had been taken away. But deep inside I knew that there were forces at work here over which I had no control and that if I was put in the same situation again, I would do exactly the same thing. I fumbled with the combination to my locker, my hands still shaking from the whole experience – maybe even more from the sight of Wanda’s hand kneading her breasts than from Mrs. McKelvey’s lecture. When I finally got it opened, the first thing I noticed was a folded slip of paper with my name on it. I knew it wasn’t mine, which meant someone had slipped a note into my locker. I took the piece of paper in my hand, looked cautiously up and down the hallway to make sure that I was alone, and seeing that I was, unfolded the note and read it: Brian, meet me in the park near the bandstand at 7. Wanda. As I read the words, the hot color returned instantly to my cheeks and the piece of paper began to vibrate in my hands as if it had suddenly taken on a powerful, static electric charge. My balls started to tingle and my stomach tightened into a nervous knot. I had no idea what I was getting myself into – or maybe the problem was that I knew exactly what I was getting myself into. What I did know for sure was that at 7 o’clock, I would be in the park by the bandstand. It’s amazing how much time you can waste debating a decision in your mind when you already know the outcome is preordained. All the way home and all through supper, I played that useless game with myself, pretending that I was trying to make up my mind about what to do. But at ten minutes to seven I was entering the park and heading for the bandstand. As I approached the old wooden structure, I was looking around not only for Wanda, but also for anyone else who might see me as they were passing by. It was spring, so with the heat of summer still six weeks away, the evening was comfortably cool. It was at least a couple of hours until sunset and I was beginning to wish that we had agreed to meet later, when I would’ve been able to find protection in the shadows and the dark. But even though I felt exposed by the daylight, the park seemed quiet and empty, so I made my way around to the front of the bandstand. The bandstand was fairly deep and the walls protected it on three sides, so it wasn’t until I started up the center stairs that I saw Wanda sitting on a riser at the back of the stage. I reached the top of the steps and stopped. She smiled at me. I smiled back. I started across the stage, my eyes hungrily taking all of her in as I approached. She had on the same clinging sweater that she’d been wearing in class; the same sweater that had gotten me into so much trouble; the same sweater that had started all of this. As I moved toward her, I was filled with awe. Her chest was truly massive. Looking at her, it was hard to believe that she hadn’t stuffed something in her bra to exaggerate the effect. But as I drew near, she shifted her body, making her huge breasts sway gently. It almost seemed as if the gesture were intended as a powerful reminder that her tits were quite real. I managed to look up at her face and immediately thought that not only did she deserve her reputation for having the biggest breasts in school, she also deserved her reputation as the ugliest girl in school as well. It was hard to put your finger on exactly why she was so unattractive. She had no overt deformity and no one feature seemed to be the source of the problem. It just seemed as if the individual parts of her face didn’t belong together, as if each feature had been acquired from a completely different donor. Whatever the cause, the effect was quite clear. Wanda was one very ugly girl. “You’re here,” Wanda said quietly. “Are you surprised?” “No.” Her response was immediate and calm. “Oh really?” “I knew you’d come. I’ve seen the way you look at me . . . at my tits.” “You mean before today?” I’d been trying to maintain some sense of composure, but the idea that she had noticed me looking at her before this afternoon had taken me off guard. “Of course, silly!” Wanda giggled. “You’ve been looking at my tits all year.” “I didn’t think you . . . ” “You didn’t think I noticed?” Wanda was laughing now. “How would you know?! You were too busy gobbling up my boobies with your hungry eyes.” I could feel myself blushing again. “I’m sorry . . . ” “Don’t apologize. I like it.” Those last words triggered all the nervous reactions I had felt when I first read her note, perhaps because of the possibilities they suggested. “I like it a lot.” I was speechless as I watched Wanda place her hands on top of her breasts and slide them down over their seemingly endless curves. “Did you like it when I touched them in class today?” “Yes,” I gulped. “Did you like watching me rub them?” This time I just gulped. “ . . . playing with my nipple, making it stand up?” As I stood there watching Wanda’s hands gently caressing her breast, I felt that familiar stirring in my pants. Those powerful sensations were being unleashed from deep inside me, taking over my body and taking over my will. We’d never even really met and yet she seemed to understand me so well. It didn’t seem possible that she could know how to push all the right buttons, that she could simply take hold of me by making me feel the pleasure I couldn’t resist. But it was happening! And once again, like a fish on a line, I felt myself being reeled in. I sat down on the riser beside her, my eyes never leaving her chest. Her hands kept moving over her tits in slow sensuous circles, the gesture so suggestive and erotic that I thought I’d go mad. “Would you like to touch them?’ Sitting this close, her voice was now soft and soothing. Tempting. I looked longingly at her breasts. I wanted to touch them so badly, but there was so much at stake. “Wanda, I . . . ” “You don’t have to say it,” she said, her voice still soft and reassuring. “I know what you’re thinking and you don’t have to worry. I’ll never tell anyone.” I knew it was a mistake, but she’d taken away the only thing I had to hold on to, the only thing that was keeping me from simply falling into the warm pool of erotic bliss that she was offering me. “Go ahead,” she urged, her voice ever so slightly more persuasive. “It’ll be okay. I won’t tell. I promise.” I promise. I could feel those two words beating the last of my resistance into submission. I had nothing else left to fight back with. I was completely lost and Wanda knew it. She took me by the wrist and pulled my hand toward her. My palm began to tingle as she drew me nearer. For an instant my eyes moved up to her face . . . that face. This was the first time I’d ever been this close to her and from this distance she certainly didn’t look any better. Part of me wanted to pull away, but then my eyes dropped once more to the sight of my hand approaching her massive breasts and I couldn’t resist. I simply looked on helplessly as she placed my hand on her chest. The instant I felt her firm bosom under my fingers, the erotic tingling that had been tickling my palm shot up my arm with an intensity that made me gasp aloud. “Squeeze it,” Wanda coaxed. Obediently, I pressed my fingers into her immense bosom. It seemed to be made up of equal parts softness and firmness, yielding gently to my touch, but resisting just enough to make the sensation incredibly erotic. While holding my hand tight against her tit, she took my other hand and placed it on her other breast. My fingers tightened instinctively, sinking into her soft flesh and sending the same incredible tingling sensation shooting up my arm. As my hands continued to knead, Wanda began making soft cooing sounds. I looked up and saw that her eyes were shut and her head had rolled back on her shoulders. She seemed to be completely lost in a world of erotic ecstasy. I got the feeling that she’d never had anyone touch her breasts before and the intensity of the pleasure was taking her by surprise. Her moaning grew louder as my fingers dug deeper and deeper into her tits. I could feel the bumps of her nipples under my hands as they grew. Her moans turned into little cries, desperate pleas to keep touching her, to keep squeezing her breasts, to just let her go on basking in the wonderful sensations she had waited so long to feel. I was being swallowed up by a sense of rapturous euphoria myself. I hadn’t felt the soft firmness of a huge bosom since Aunt Elizabeth had sat on my lap and pressed herself against me . . . and I was loving it! The sensation of Wanda’s breasts in my hands was directly connected to my crotch, where the building pressure had already made my cock hard and throbbing. I watched my hands as they moved frantically over her chest. I could feel her desire flowing into me through her tits. The intensity of her passion was staggering. I could feel it wrapping itself around me, embracing me, making me helplessly hers. “Kiss me.” I looked up while my hands kept basking in the glory of Wanda’s breasts. Her eyes were open now and she was gazing at me lustfully. “Kiss me,” she repeated. I’m not sure what was stronger, my fear of the consequences if anyone ever found out that I’d kissed Wanda Stevens, or my revulsion to the idea of kissing someone so ugly. It felt like both emotions hit me at the same time, making my stomach turn over the way it would at the smell of milk gone bad. Wanda sensed my hesitation and a look of impatient irritation flashed across her face. She grabbed both my wrists and pulled my hands away from her breasts. “Kiss me.” Her tone was now much more demanding and her message was quite clear. I looked down at my hands, which were now poised six inches away from her bulging chest, my fingers curled and my palms cupped as if they were still holding her warm, soft flesh. I wanted to feel them again. I wanted it so bad I could taste it. My eyes returned to Wanda’s face. She was waiting, her lips pushed forward and slightly parted. They looked soft and inviting, hungry and . . . I was suddenly overcome by an awareness that I was sitting in a public park (on the stage of the bandstand, no less), in broad daylight, about to kiss Wanda Stevens. At that moment, it seemed like the most reckless, foolhardy thing I had ever considered doing in my entire life. If anyone found out, I’d be ruined. But she’d promised . . . and I knew I couldn’t resist. I closed my eyes and leaned forward, my heart pounding with some kind of perverse anticipation. During the split second before our lips met, my inability to resist her in spite of my fear and revulsion made everything a thousand times more intense. I could feel my willpower dissolve as I moved even closer and gave myself over to her. And then we were kissing. For a moment we sat motionless with our mouths pressed together and it occurred to me that just as no man had probably ever touched her breasts, odds were that she’d never been kissed either. But her paralysis lasted only an instant and then her lips began to move. Her mouth opened and she began to devour me hungrily. Her tongue parted my lips, forcing my mouth open, forcing me to join her. She let go of my wrists, wrapped her arms around me and pulled herself tight. I could feel her huge breasts pressing up against my chest. They felt incredibly soft and pillowy. She leaned into me harder, pushing me back onto the riser and then climbed on top of me, pinning me down with her weight. Her kisses were becoming more and more frantic and increasingly wet. Her mouth began to roam all over my face, kissing my chin, my cheeks and my neck. Her lips found my ear and her tongue forced its way in. The feeling was hot, wet and messy. She was rubbing against my crotch as she moved and the pressure on my erection, combined with the weight of her breasts on my chest and her tongue probing my ear, had started the familiar tingling that always preceded and orgasm. I could feel myself falling into that bottomless pit where I would loose all judgement and capacity for rational thought, where nothing would matter but the pleasure that was consuming my being. But just before I fell, my mind teetered on the edge, held there by the sound of voices. “Wanda.” She kept kissing, rubbing. “Wanda, I hear voices.” “I don’t care,” she gasped between kisses. “But they’ll see us She moved up to my forehead, bringing the top of her bosom to rest against my chin. The feel of my face sinking between her gigantic mounds threatened to push me over the edge once and for all, into a spiraling fall from which I would never recover. I hung on desperately to what little sanity I had left. The sound of the approaching voices was the only thing keeping me from giving in completely. “Wanda, please.” Finally she rolled off me and sat up. “Alright, spoiled sport! I don’t know what you’re so worried about.” I sat up beside her just in time to see two people appear from behind the bandstand. They were walking down the path with their backs to us now and all I could do was remain silent and hope that Wanda would be quiet until they were gone. She placed her hand on my thigh and for a moment I was afraid that she was going to attack me again. I raised my finger to my lips, signaling her to keep quiet. She rolled her eyes at me in disgust and sighed. I turned and watched the couple as they continued to walk off into the distance, eventually rounding a turn in the path and disappearing amongst the trees. Alone once again, I breathed my own sigh of relief. “I guess this means we’re going steady?” I turned back to Wanda in stunned disbelief. “What . . . ?” “I mean, now that we’ve kissed and everything . . . doesn’t that mean we’re going steady?” “Wanda, I didn’t . . . ” “Don’t you want to?” she said, trying to look pouty. “If we go steady, you’ll be able to look at these any time you want.” She hefted her huge breasts in her hands. “I’ll even let you touch them. And if you’re good, I’ll let you see them sometime. I mean really see them.” I looked down at Wanda’s enormous mammories and felt them take hold of me again. She was stroking them now, slowly rubbing her hands across their endless surface. “And like I said before, you don’t have to worry because I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” She placed her hand on my crotch and began rubbing my erection while her other hand continued stroking her breast. “Please.” It was more than I could take. At that moment, I would have agreed to anything she asked. I was utterly powerless to resist her. I don’t know if she knew how completely she had me under her spell, but she could tell that she was going to get what she wanted. I nodded my head silently. “Does that mean, yes?” she asked, coyly. “Uh-huh,” I murmured. She moved closer so that the side of her breast pressed against my arm. Her hand kept moving against my crotch, rubbing my cock through my jeans. “Don’t you think it would be better if you asked me? Wouldn’t it be more . . . romantic?” My eyes shifted from her hand on my crotch to her breasts pressing against my arm to her face. She was smiling at me expectantly. And she wasn’t ugly any more. Or at least if she was, I was too aroused to see it. I wanted her so badly. I was drawn to her breasts so completely that to me she was beautiful. “Will you . . . ” I stammered, my voice cracking slightly, “will you go steady with me?” “Oh yes, I will!” she declared, sounding as happy as a bride who had spoken her vows. We sat staring at each other, my mind in a state of confusion and erotic euphoria, until Wanda finally said: “Kiss me. You have to kiss me now.” I leaned forward and our lips met again. Her mouth was soft, wet and hungry. Her kiss drew me in helplessly. Her hand was still on my crotch and I could feel the thick clear lubricant seeping out of my cock and into my pants. I moaned with pleasure. “It’s okay, baby,” Wanda urged me on between kisses. I moaned again as her hand began moving faster. “It’s okay.” “No, I mustn’t,” I groaned. “I can’t . . . ” “It’s okay, baby. I don’t mind. I want you to.” Her hand moved faster and her kisses became more ravenous. “Wanda . . . ” “It’s okay, really. I want you to.” She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against my chest. They felt so big and so soft . . .so irresistible. “Wanda, please.” My breathing was getting heavier. I was quickly reaching the point of no return and she knew it. “Do it, baby, do it.” Her hand moved faster. “Do it!” Her hand, her kisses, the feel of her massive bosom pressed against me . . . the explosion started deep in my balls and then shot up through the length of my shaft until I felt wads of hot, thick cum spurting into my pants. “Oh God,” I cried out. “Do it, baby. Do it.” Her hand kept moving, urging me on. “Oh please, help me.” “I’ll help you, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll help you.” My body started to shake violently. I lost control of all my joints and my limbs turned to rubber. Wanda was still kissing me, but my jaw had gone slack and my mouth was so loose that her lips pressed against my teeth. I felt like I was falling into a deep dark hole, a bottomless pit that was filled with nothing but Wanda’s breasts. My groin convulsed in deep spasms, each wave of cum bring with it even more pleasure. I looked down at her chest and the sight of those huge mounds rising up from under her sweater so majestically pushed me to the end of it. The last surge of fluid spewing out of me felt like my soul being wrenched loose from the depth of my bowels.
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