Till the nineteenth year of my life, my conscious history with female breasts had no chapters to tell. If life were a sum total of fantasy and reality, this would consist entirely of the former, entirely of vicarious pleasures associated with fantasies, with women real and fictitious, in stories realistic and dramatic. If memory served me right, I don’t remember sighting a pair of breasts from close quarters ever, forget doing something to them. Until that night.

Until that cool summer night when I was driving home for the weekend. The largely empty road shone bright and yellow under the headlights. Trees, green and tall, keep peeping from edgeways. It would take me half an hour to get out of that green zone, and another half before I reach the comfort of my bed. I swerved round the bend next only to find a blonde with an old, brown suitcase standing on the road. Even from a distance, her hotness had registered itself almost instantaneously causing me to start slowing the car down even before she had started flailing her arms like windmills.

“Hello! Can I get a ride till Drake City?” she spoke from outside. She had to be in her early twenties; at least the face said so. A tight white top stopping short of her midriff, ripped denim shorts, and sunglasses adorning the face – she seemed to have come right out of a movie. To top it all, her boobs were more than just fine. And as she lowered her face to talk to me through the window, the boobs poked hard at her top, like her own headlights. I was having a moment. One to remember for quite a while.

“Well of course,” I said stretching forward to open the door for her, “That seems to be an odd suitcase.”

“Ah, that’s just a prop,” she said getting in. I took the suitcase from her and dumped it in the rear. The head-turn that I made from the rear to the front of the road had that carefully constructed pause in between, to survey my latest company. Man she was hot!

“Shit! I haven’t even introduced myself,” she said after a while “I’m Lorena.”

“Myself Dobbin. Good to meet you Lorena.”

Here’s the thing about being in the company of hot girls. You can’t stop yourself from stealing glances. And you have to stop yourself from making too much talk for fear of being caught while stealing glances. With all this going on, deep inside you would always know, that you are never going to get lucky from such situations.

Within a minute, she had procured a mirror out of her bag and was presently busy scrutinizing her face. I utilized that moment to steal a couple more glances.

“Aren’t you a bit too well-dressed?” I asked after a while. “Well,” she said smirking, “I am an aspiring actress. And I’m returning from this audition. That should explain the over-the-top attire. And the bag.”

Aspiring actress. I see. No wonder she had spent the best part of her journey fiddling around with that tiny oval mirror. In fact, she wasn’t even studying her face anymore. The mirror bent sometime left, sometime right, and downward all the time. I was intrigued!

More than that though, I was helpless. So I got back to the safety of my fantasies. On the road. In the car with a young lady. Oozing hotness. Oh what would I do if things went my way? Those boobs sure seemed to tease the hell out of me. Making me mad.

“STOP! BY THAT MOTEL OVER THERE,” she said snapping me out of my reverie.

As I parked the car, instead of going for the door or her bag, she surprisingly turned to me.

“Here, take two three minutes to stare at my boobs properly,” she said sharply, looking me right in the eyes, “And then you can resume the trip.”

“I… I’m sorry!”

“Not to worry… you’re not the first man, nor will you be the last,” she spoke with a sneer.

I was offended, at being reduced to just any other man. But I swallowed my ego to accept her very tempting offer.

“You’ve got fantastic breasts I must tell you. And I dunno if it’s the situation doing this to me, but you look incredibly hot” I told her at one go. She laughed.

“Funny you used the word fantastic to describe them,” she said now lazily staring at her boobs, admiring them perhaps, “Oh and if that was your attempt at getting into my pants, you’ve failed valiantly.”

Pants! I hadn’t even reached there. In my parallel universe, I was still stuck somewhere with her boobs.

I had resumed driving even as Lorena got busy with her mirror again. She seemed thoroughly irritated about something.

“Is there something bothering you?”

“No, no. It’s just this audition. And another two days later. I’m just nervous about the results.”

“All good then? Or is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m all good,” she said finally pushing the mirror back inside her bag, “Thank you! You’ve been weird but decent company Dobbin.” She seemed to have mellowed down from her sharp, irritating demeanour.

“That’s great!” I said turning back to focus on the road, “Can I please touch your boobs?”

“WHAAAAT!? You don’t beat around the bush, do you? Touch my boobs and do what exactly?”

Solid retort from her. In all this obsession with boobs, I had never really considered this – what would I really do on that one day, the very moment I finally get hold of boobs?

“Stop with your fantasies you cheeky little pervert,” her domineering self was back.

We drove in silence for the next few minutes. Very soon we had entered the city. Meanwhile, she was back with her mirror, doing that intriguing left, right, and downward surveying.

“Tell me Dobbin,” she said suddenly, “Do you really not beat around the bush? Or was this a one-off thing?”

“Why do you ask?” I queried back not too gently, careful to keep my focus on the road this time. I wasn’t to be tempted, and then humiliated.

“Well…” she began, a little more gently this time, “I have been auditioning for this movie spoof. It’s called Fantastic Breasts and Where to Find Them …”

Aha! So that’s where I had seen that suitcase.

“… You must have heard of the original movie surely. I have to go through two auditions. One from this evening, and another the day after. Problem is, I don’t have any possible avenue for feedback. And I’m nervous about the outcome. So much so that I might let it get to my head and spoil my case during the second audition. So… what I’m trying to tell is that… you could help me Dobbin. With some feedback.”

“What kind of feedback do you need?”

“So here’s the thing Dobbin… don’t take this in any other sense, just look at my breasts, and tell me what you think of them, or rather, what would you like to do with them?”

I brought the car to a sudden stop. “Ok, what?” Ok, what did she just say?

“You heard me right”, she said now ogling expectantly at me.

“Like I said before, you’ve got good er… fantastic breasts. And they make you look pretty hot. What else can I say?” I threw my hands citing helplessness.

“See, you’re not diving deep. That’s why I asked the second question. Tell me, what would you like to do with them?”

Silence.

“Umm… I can’t answer that question.”

“Why not?” she shot back.

“Just no! I am not going to answer.” Little did she know that I couldn’t answer her because I really didn’t have an answer to her question. I didn’t really know what to do. And spontaneous answers were not my forte.

“Your answer might get me some new insight on improvements I might bring in the act. Or if there’s generous praise, it might allay my fears, and I would get a good night’s sleep. C’mon!”

I shook my head.

“I’ll let you touch my boobs,” she offered.

“Tempting, but my answer is a no still.” I was taking a big gamble here. More often than not, I would end up a fool. But there was also this outcome, whereby I benefit much more than just ‘touching boobs’.

“Fuck you! You’re such an unhelping jerk!” she yelled. “You know what, my place is near. I’ll just walk the rest of it. Thank you for the ride!” And just like that she grabbed her suitcase and stormed out of the car into the empty street.

Boy had I blown it. I sat there cursing myself, and preparing for an eventual jerking-off ceremony before resuming the journey.

“Oh c’mon! I can’t go like this!” she was back in less than two minutes, “Will you please give me an answer?”

I saw her face – flustered and impatient, yearning for it. If the books and movies said it right, she should be wet down there. Dripping really.

“Please!” she begged.

“You know what I would do…” I began a monologue that I later wish I had managed to record somehow, “I would want you on that seat right there. I would want to get on top of you. I would then press my face into your bosom and smell the hell out of that perfect pair of breasts, from over your tight white top, the black laced bra underneath, and that bare skin. God they have teased me! I would smell the hell out of you.  I would stop short of tearing apart your top, let my hands go reckless all over your breasts, and then… and then… I would let my mouth do the talking… suck at your breasts for all they are worth, while fishing my left hand inside your tight little jeans… I suck at your breasts, while fingering your pussy, with your pants on for I like it this way… so I suck at your breasts, fingering you for all the pleasure that I could muster for you, and I would then slide my right hand up your neck, through the hair, until I have thrown away those sunglasses… for I would like to see your face as I do all this, and hear you moan, and on and on, until your pussy is dripping wet and warm, so I could then go down on you and smell your sex, even taste it, though I’m wondering whether I’ll do that. All this done, I would like to kiss you. And then some more. And this is just the first act. You see, breasts don’t exist in isolation. I don’t want just your breasts, I want you, all of you, from that inviting neckline to your ridiculously hot legs with stilettos. I want all of you, there on that seat, right now!”

She stood there stunned for a good ten seconds. And then she spoke. “That was quite helpful. I’m sold Mister!”

A minute later she sat on the seat next to mine, trying her best to lie down comfortably. “One question,” she asked, “Is it only the first act you’re interested in?” I bet she knew my answer before she had even asked it.

Possibly an hour later, when my history with breast, and blondes, had changed forever, Lorena kissed me on the mouth one last time before getting off to leave.

“Hey Lorena,” I called at her. She turned to survey me from outside the window just like she had done two hours back. The boobs were still sticking out. But they weren’t making me mad anymore.

“What?”

“Where do I find such fantastic breasts again?”  

She grinned.

“Wait by that bend on the day after. I could use a ride.”