gullybogan

Dear Reader,

After we’d all slept in, and Princess and me’d enjoyed a pleasant Pancake Sunday Breakfast In Bed, courtesy of Sybylla, i read my Anaïs Nin until noon, and Princess read alongside me a book of her own. Sybylla was off doing her own thing, quite happy on her own for a few hours after the torture of the night before, but then she got bored.

« Come on, guys. It’s my day off. Let’s go do something that takes my mind off waiting tables all week. »

So we went to Bar Bosh at Knox Ozone, to partake of their Sunday Sessions Half-price Tapas.

Sadly, as we discovered when we got there, the Half-price Tapas is currently off the menu, but we stayed anyway, on account of how the whole of Knox City was clogged with xmas shoppers, bouncing castles, kiddy entertainers, and weird-arse robot dudes dressed as Santa.

To venture out into that seemed somewhat parlous.

So we’re sitting there, waiting for our goat’s cheese and lentil fritters to arrive, when Princess looks over my shoulder and says, « Ooh, that poor girl! »

Natch, Sybylla and me both snap our heads up and look around, expecting to see someone with her arm chewed off at the shoulder.

« What? What? » we both asked, there being only a table of partyists in Princess’s line of sight.

« That girl with the boobs. They are *huge*, poor thing. »

Given that we were looking for “that girl with the boobs”, neither me nor Sybylla had the slightest problem finding who she was talking about: a girl of average height and girth who had somehow managed to suspend from her ribcage a pair of bowling balls, over which she had somehow managed to pull a jumper.

« Oh, yes, » i commiserated. « The poor girl. Nature has really ruined her life, giving her enormous boobs like that. »

I was this close to saying, “Lucky your boobs aren’t anything like that size, huh!”, but i am old enough and wise enough to have already formed a conversation rule that doesn’t permit me to say that sort of thing.

« Oh, it’s OK for the men around her, » Princess scoffed, « but … the poor girl! Imagine the back pain she must have to put up with… »

Despite the largely academic discussion we were having, i am a man, and i was more than a little titnotised at this point. I was imagining less her back pain and more her just plain naked and jiggling about on top of some generic viewpoint person. Certainly not me, dear Reader, since i am faultlessly loyal and faithful to Princess at all times, even in my boob-padded daydreams.

« They must be, what? » Sybylla speculated, looking over at the girl like a dairy farmer assessing a heifer, « A G cup? »

Being titnotised, i couldn’t help looking, even though i had to twist around in my seat to do so, which is exceedingly rude, but only if you do it for too long and make it obvious that you’re staring. So, while i was watching for one of my strictly timed eight second bursts, it transpired that the girl had shifted in her seat and was having to adjust her belt-width bra strap to hoist the girls back into alignment with each other, to stop herself from listing to one side; the adjustment was a clearly well-practised feat she managed without missing a beat in her conversation with the ppl she was talking to on the other side of the table.

« She couldn’t buy proper clothes with boobs like that, » Princess went on, dipping her bread into some… well… dip. « She’s a size twelve, but she’s a twelve G, and they don’t really make that. She’d have to buy BIB ["big is beautiful" - a brand name that is now a generic term in our cohort for large-size 'fashions'] and have them professionally taken in. »

Sybylla was evaluating her professionally, in her professional status as a person of ample bosom. « Those’d cost her a fortune to maintain. Clothes are just the start of it. She’d have to do gym-work to develop the upper body strength, self-defence training… »

« Oh, » i exasperated, as a result of poorly calculating my qualifications to contribute to the discussion, « It can’t be all that bad! If i was a woman, i’d want boobs like that! I mean, come on! She’s the focus of attention of the whole room! »

« Yeah, » Sybylla said, knowingly, « That’s why she’d need the self-defence training. She’s the centre of attention because she’s freakishly proportioned. As much fun as a pair of boobs like that would be to play with while having sex – and you’ll understand that as a bisexual i’m talking from experience here – for the other hundred and sixty seven and a half hours of the week they’d just be a nuisance. If she was your girlfriend and the two of you ever had to run for a bus, you’d miss the bus every time cos she can’t run. You’d never be able to go to the beach with her on account of how everyone would carry on like idiots – the men saying rude things and the women bitching… »

« OK, but i still reckon that there’s a lot more time in a year to be spent on enjoying a set of boobs like that than you’d spend running for buses or sitting around at the beach. »

« I hate to play the science card, » Princess said, with a tone of finality, « but if boobs that size were not an impediment to life, then all women would have them, wouldn’t they? The men would choose them out for sex partners, the women would pass their gigantic boob gene on to their offspring, and, before too many hundred generations had passed, that’d be a normal size for boobs to be. No, something in the past has selected tits that big out for the role of being nothing more than an anomaly. Which is exactly why you’re looking. *Both* looking, i might add. »

« You started it, » i pointed out, a little annoyed at having my gender thrown in my face.

« Well, » Sybylla sighed, « I was thinking about going bikini shopping again after the tapas, but i just don’t feel i could bear the comparison now. »

So we looked at shoes instead.

Girl shoes, of course.

Cos girl feet are all around about the same size.

Yours,
Gullybogan