Jodi was EXTREMELY unusual. She had an amazingly beautiful face, with luminous green eyes that seemed to look right into your soul. But that was FAR from the only thing guys noticed about her.
She was very tall – at least 6'2 – and insisted on wearing heels every day that made her several inches taller. I would guess she weighed about 170 pounds, but she didn't in any way look fat. She had straight, light-brown hair that she had cut into bangs, then flipped at her shoulders. She had a great figure – a perfect hourglass – at least when you were looking at her from the back. Her legs, arms and torso were toned and well-muscled.
She also had the biggest pair of tits I – or anyone else I knew – had ever seen, either in real life or in a magazine.
There seemed to be nothing but breast from her neck down to her navel. I couldn't even credit their size. They were just... HUGE. It seemed like this woman was wearing two basketballs on her chest. Jodi had to wear shirts that were several sizes larger than if her chest was a "normal" size. Even when she wore a bra, her breasts would bounce as she walked. I could only imagine the back trouble she would have later in life.
I'm sure the snickers and stares embarrassed the hell out of her. I would see guys walk up to her and start talking to her chest. I honestly felt badly for her. My friends would joke that her tits came into a room five minutes before the rest of her. Even my own father once pointed her out to me while she was (unfortunately) doing the backstroke at our local pool, referring to her as "Miss Water Wings."
For my part, I would wait on Jodi when she came into the pharmacy in which I worked as a stocker and delivery boy. It was a nice, easy job that I had through most of my college years. Whenever she would come into the store, I would engage her in conversation. She could talk about anything – sports, music, current events, history, politics, you name it. Always, but always, I studiously maintained eye contact with her. I just felt it was polite. I got the idea she liked having someone to chat with. We found that we had mutual friends, and that she was three years older than me. My boss would always say to me after she left, "What an AMAZING lay she must be – if she didn't kill you with that chest first!" I would just laugh it off. I never thought of her like that – and I was probably the only guy in the neighborhood who didn't. She was just a nice girl who would come into my store, buy stuff and chat.
I once ran into her at a mutual friend's party. She was wearing an oversized black shirt, tight jeans and her usual heels. She greeted me, asked me to next to her on the sofa and began talking about the previous night's baseball game. Believe me, she knew her shit – statistics galore, history of the game, you name it. I felt like I was talking to one of my guy friends. I lost track of time while we were talking, but I know that the whole time I was staring right into those jade-green eyes. Finally, one of my friends pulled me away from her, saying "You've had enough conversation with the Boobsie Twins here. What's the matter, too afraid to make a move?" I shot a dirty glare at my friend. As he pulled me across the room and out the door, I looked back, and with my eyes appealed to her:
forget him, he's an asshole.
She smiled and nodded.
It was a steaming hot Friday night in early July, a few months later. I was now 20. It was about 7:20 – closing time was 8 – and I was just starting my cleanup routine when I heard the phone ring. I heard the pharmacist talking to the customer, taking down a delivery order.
This close to closing? Damn, now I'm not going to get home 'til late.
My boss read me the order and the address, and said, "Could you make this delivery now? I know this is not on your way home, but the customer was insistent that she needed her stuff tonight. She also specifically asked for the 'cute, skinny delivery guy' (I was 5'10, about 140). I can clean up and close without you. She has a charge account here, so you don't have to worry about collecting money." Of course I would oblige – another tip meant some extra pocket money for the weekend. I bagged up the order, and jogged the ten blocks or so to the address my boss had given me.
When I rang the bell of the apartment and the door opened, there stood Jodi – towering over me, wearing a white tube top against which her enormous tits strained, and through which huge nipples poked. Her midriff was exposed, showing a hint of taut belly and a perfect naval. She was also wearing a lime-green mini-skirt that seemed to end about six inches below the belt-line on her hips, showing miles and miles of well-muscled legs, and her usual four-inch heels. Her hair had been done, and her long fingernails recently painted and shaped into crimson daggers. She didn't really need makeup, but she was wearing rouge and bright red lipstick which accented her full, pouting lips. Against me, in my t-shirt, gym shorts and sneakers, she looked the epitome of classy. In fact, she looked downright gorgeous.
"MIKE! Hi! I'm glad you got here so quickly." She took the bag from me.
"Hey, Jodi, I won't keep you long. You look like you're heading out for a date."
She laughed heartily. "Really? No, I'm home tonight. I just wanted to dress comfortably. It's REALLY hot out there, isn't it? You're soaking wet, even though you only walked that short distance."
"I didn't walk, I jogged." As always, I looked directly into her eyes.
"In THIS heat? I
like
a man who wants to keep himself in shape. Would you like to come in for some air conditioning and a cold drink? I've got the game on if you'd like to watch with me."
Even before I had a chance to answer, she pulled me by the arm into the apartment, then closed and double-locked the door behind me.
I sat down on the couch while she poured some cold lemonade. She said to me, "Why don't you take off that wet shirt? I don't want you catching cold. Here, towel off." She tossed a towel my way. I didn't see any harm in taking off my shirt, so I did so. I rubbed myself down with the towel. She looked me over and said, "Hmmm... hot body. Oops, I'm sorry. I have no edit mode at all. I'll bet you say that to girls all the time."
"No, actually. My parents brought me up to respect women. I may
think
it, but I'd never
say
it." I was suddenly ashamed of the comment my father had made about her. I was now almost certain she'd heard it.
She brought over the drinks and sat down – not next to me on the couch as I'd expected, but on the floor at my feet. We sipped our drinks and made some small talk about the game as it progressed. Still, when we talked, I made sure I was looking right into her eyes – even though her cleavage, which with her enormous breasts looked the size of the Grand Canyon, was clearly within my line of sight. It almost seemed as if she was tempting me to look at it. I maintained my gaze, looking at nothing but her face.
