04.14.05

After Hiss' note about my girls ("spectacular" aw shucks, ma'am), I am inspired to concentrate on boobs, tits, tatas, breasticles, or mullakatuskies (thanks to Nick B. of Philly, PA for that resounding monicker).

True story: In DC, when I was hanging out with the soi-disant scooter trash, we'd do poker runs for fun. In these runs, we'd travel to five different strip clubs and draw a card at each location. When we got back to the Crow Bar, we'd lay out our hands and go from there. As one of the few women that rode in my own right, the guys were quite titillated with the idea that I'd go to strip clubs.
"We're going to the 1725, you wanna go?" They'd ask.
"Sure," I'd say, "No problem. But remember, I've got my own tits, and I can take them out and play with them whenever I want."
Then they'd pout--but I always went along for the rides. Strippers and bikers, like salt and butter on popcorn.

True story: Many, many years ago, I travelled with my then-husband to the Cote d'Azur. France being France and Europe being Europe, all the beaches were topless. In fact, having a top on made me feel ridiculous. When in Rome, eh? As we travelled around the different beaches, I got into the habit of squawking, "Tits ahoy!" as appropriate. It was silly, juvenile, and a crap-load o' fun.

True story: Summers in DC are brutal. Hot, humid, and surrounded by pissed off lobbyists. It's Hell. Being safety conscious, I never rode my motorcycle without wearing my leathers. (Okay, it made me feel real butch, too.) In the summers, with temperatures hovering in the upper 30s (that's almost 100 degrees fahrenheit), I'd wear my chaps, jeans, steel-toed boots, helmet, and jacket. Under the jacket, I wore a bikini top. Imagine me, after a good ride, at the bar, in chaps, jeans, big ol' boots and a bikini--tattoos proudly showing. Frat boys would cower as I sashayed around the Crow Bar--and Pagans would yowlp. *laugh* One day one of my disreputable biker friends said said,
"Damn girl, I had no idea there was so much of you."

I am a shallow, shallow woman.

*grin*

I was a comparatively late-bloomer in the boobage department. Little boys would give me all sorts of crap, as though I was holding out on them, or something. As a result, I've never thought of my breasts as being spectacular or even worthy of comment. Go figure, eh?

In Japan, I'm a 75D.

Moo.

Go. Be fabulous.

Back one. ||||| Forward one.