Motion

Copyright 2010 by Owengreybeard

Andy should be here in a few minutes. I have to admit that the planning and deliberation I've done in the days leading up to this have been exhilarating as hell. It has forced me to do some soul searching and self-examination, which has been pretty strange. I'm not an introspective person; I tend to go with my gut a lot, for better and for worse, so the process has been interesting.

Here's the thing... My boyfriend, who is a real jewel, easily the best I've had, and a serious contender to become the ONE, is fixated on my boobs. I know there are worse things, but the problem is that I've always hated them. To me, my breasts are hideous, misshapen things, and I can't imagine anyone actually liking them, much less adoring them.

My tits are the size and shape of tennis balls, actually little spheres mounted high on my chest. Worse than that, my areolas are dark brown, almost black, and they cover over half the front surface of the spheres. If that weren't bad enough, my nipples match my areolas in color, and they stick out the front of my boobies like thumbs, ¾ of an inch wide and almost an inch long when erect, and they are always erect.

Andy didn't know about them when we started going out, or I might think they are why he chose me. Since before High School, when they appeared on my chest, I've worn seriously padded bras to cover them up, so there's no chance he could have known. The first time we made love, I tried to keep my bra on, but he got me so hot that I let him take it off in the dark. He had my pussy lips in his mouth (they are just as dark in color; huge, pendant meat flaps, really). For some reason, though, I adore them, and Andy does too.

Anyway, Andy slid up behind me, and before I had a chance to catch my breath or scream a protest, his hands slid under my bra and he had them in his hands. I started to recoil away from him, but seconds after he touched them, I felt him cum against my ass. I hadn't touched him at all; he actually came from touching my tits.

In seconds, he had the light off and was batting my hands away so he could see them. Over the next half hour, Andy touched, fondled, sucked, flicked, chewed and otherwise obsessed over my awful breasts, until to my amazement, I had an orgasm from the experience. From then on, he can't seem to go more than a few minutes without caressing them. Don't get me wrong, he caresses the rest of me as well, to the point that I feel sexier than I ever thought possible. I even go topless around the house for him; at least until we both get so sore from fucking that we have to get dressed.

For years I have spent every waking moment in a brassiere. I don't even get out of bed without putting one on. I take it off to shower, and it's the first item of clothing I put on afterward, so topless is a huge deal for me. The most amazing thing about it, other than the breathtakingly erotic nature of it, is the motion. When I walk or move without a bra, my tits are all over the place! They wiggle, sway, shake, and bob like they are alive. I can look down as I am thinking this and I can see my pulse in their motion. I really, really like the way the motion makes me aware of them, and the love and lust in Andy's eyes when he watches me move make me feel totally accepted, totally adored and loved for the first time in my life.

As I got dressed to meet Andy for lunch today, I fastened a bra around my chest and found that I hated it. I don't know where the feeling came from, but it was quite profound. So, I stood there in the bedroom, looking at the bra I'd thrown on the bed, I thought back to some of the other changes that had come over me since I'd met my remarkable Andy.

I'd started drinking my coffee black and my beer dark, not because he asked me to, but because he showed me that it could be better that way. I'd grown my hair nearly eight inches and learned to curl it and style it, again, not because he told me to do it, but because he loved to touch it and pull gently on it when we made love. I'd been in the shower one afternoon with him, and started to shave my armpits when he gave me an adorable little pout and told me he would miss my little "furry patches" if I shaved them off. I put the razor back on the shelf and hadn't used it on my armpits since, although my pussy had reaped the benefits of the razor, again, because it pleased him and made him smile.

And so, the decision was made. I re-entered our walk-in closet and found a lovely pale green silk blouse that I normally wore with a bra and a camisole underneath. I walked back to the mirror and slid the sensuous fabric over my arms and shoulders. As I buttoned it, my dark nipples seemed to stretch out to caress it with their noses. The feeling of my tits shaking and jiggling beneath the silk was at once powerfully erotic and deeply troubling. I pulled on the three inch heels that made me just over five feet tall and looked at my reflection through lidded eyes. What I saw amazed me. My self image has remained that of an embarrassed preteen hiding near her locker in gym class, knowing that the merciless horde of my peers waited to ridicule my strange body in the shower room a few yards away.

The woman I saw in the mirror was powerful, very pretty and erotic in a way I could never have imagined even a year ago. My light brown hair draped in wisps around my face, my posture was erect and shapely in my mid-thigh skirt and heels. My silk blouse was lovely, held away from my petite frame by two softly shuddering points of tender flesh, badges of my womanhood, their deeply colored outlines barely revealed by the semi-opaque material. I walked to my car, my bouncing breasts hammering with desire and yearning.

I checked my watch one more time and as I looked up, there was my Andy. He stood twenty feet from me, slack jawed in wonder. The look on his face was one of absolute adoration. I walked to meet him watching intently as his eyes slid to my shivering breasts and then back to my face.

"You are the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth," he whispered into my hair as I lay my head on his chest and he drew me gently to him.

And in my mind, the frightened little girl with the tennis ball boobs dropped her towel, uncrossed the arms that hid her body and marched proudly into the shower room to confront her future.