Trouble In A Bubble.

Straightforward Girl With Mysterious Breasts

I’d just gotten into Melbourne. I met this chubby eighteen year old girl with braces on Johnston St. Textbook as it comes. Said “hello” waiting for the little man to go green, got her number. I said “I’ll call you.” And she said “I look forward to it!”

I called her a couple of times – pumped my state beforehand by jumping around a bit, told her a few funny stories or whatever. Said we should meet up. When we did, I realised how little game was actually necessary. I had her from “hello”. Pretty fucking romantic really.

I met up with her near her work on Johnston.

“Do you want to get something to eat?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ve just eaten.”

“Okay. I’m starving. I know this great place to get a falafel.” I bought a felafel for $5 from Lamb on Brunswick. At that time I was living off savings, so I knew all the cheapest places around Fitzroy to go for food. Go to Vegie Bar and order the nachos for $7.50, and they give you an enormous plate of nachos – they must use a whole bag of corn chips. (Not any more though – I guess they cottoned onto the fact that this “starter” was bigger than most of their main dishes). Go to Lentil As Anything at the Abbotsford Convent and pay by donation. Especially go before 11 for the breakfast menu.

I ordered a falafel and two pieces of bakalava. “Here you go.” I handed Vanessa a piece of baklava.

“What is it?”

“It’s baklava. A Greek pastry with nuts and honey. Delicious.”

She took one bite and handed it back to me. “Uh.. Thanks. Where are we going now?”

Then I said those two words that I would become very used to saying over the next few months: “My place.”

I took her back to my scummy studio apartment. Make out. Bedroom. Take off her jacket. Take off her shirt. Take off her bra… almost.

“Wait – don’t.”

“Okay.” Make out. Take off her skirt. Take off her panties. Take off her bra.

“Wait… I can’t take my bra off.”

“Why not?”

“That’s only for special people.”

We had sex, with her bra still on. I was scrambling with the strap, trying to take it off just at the right time so she might not notice, and get a glimpse of those bazoongas.

She stopped bouncing on top of me. “Don’t. Hey! When did you undo that?!”

I fingered her and tried to get her to come. I put my index and ring finger on her labia, and tried to put my middle finger on her clitoris. She was starfishing. She just lay there and didn’t make a sound.

“It’s done,” she said.

“What?”

“It’s okay. I’m done.” Worst fake orgasm ever. “Don’t worry,” she said “One day someone will teach you how to do it.” Most condescending sexual statement ever made by an eighteen year old girl in any bed I’ve slept in. I felt like telling her that I’ve had quite a few sexual partners that seemed to think I did know what I was doing. But then, what would I gain from telling her that.

She was the only girl in that period that I invited back for more sex. She came over about once a week for four weeks. I was really curious about her breasts. I don’t know if it was a brilliant ploy on her behalf to get a continuing sexual partner – but if it was, it worked wonderfully. They looked great in a bra. She said if she was drunk she would probably show them to me. So I bought a bottle of wine and invited her over. She took about two sips.

“Why do you want me to drink so bad?” she said.

As if I wasn’t being obvious enough. “No reason,” I said. I guess this was before I invented “Direct As Fuck Method“.

She didn’t finish her wine. I took her to bed. I have to wonder why she kept coming back, considering she seemed so dissatisfied with me every time I had sex with her. I never made her come, unless she is one of those girls that just looks like they’re daydreaming when they orgasm. Though, she never made me come either, except for the one time when we were watching lesbian porn beforehand. That time I came almost as soon as I entered. Oops.

After that, I stopped seeing her. I guess the possibility of seeing her breasts wasn’t enough to warrant keeping her around any longer.

I got a text from her a few months later. The worst booty call text ever. “hey is anyone bored this week?” Okay, you’re not really selling me here. You’re telling me that this is a mass text message to all of your fuckbuddies, and implying “hey, if you’ve got nothing better to do, you can stick your weiner in me.”

I wrote back “I would, but I’ve got a girlfriend now.”

About nine months after that, I texted her for some reason. I think it was to invite her to a party. Everyone knows you can’t have enough cute sluts at a party – they’re what make it worth turning up.

She wrote back something like “I’d love to but I have a boyfriend… What would we do at this party?”

I wrote back something charming like “I’d stick my dick in your butt.”

“Oooh, that’s my favourite!”

Following was about half an hour of sexting, with her telling me what a dirty slut she was, and how I should blow a hot load in her mouth – fun stuff like that. Her boyfriend had dungeoned her, refusing to let her out of the house to see her friends. I think there must be some kind of formula… I’m not sure of the exact science, but it would go something like:

SLUT + DUNGEON = TURBOSLUT

She told me to text her back in a few weeks when she could get rid of her boyfriend. I assumed she meant she was going to dump him, but who knows.  I haven’t spoken to her since.

Sweet girl. I wonder what her breasts actually did look like. I guess some things man was just not meant to know, or at least a man without strong liquor.

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