March 01, 2006
Brighton Big Tits
I glanced down at the lover who was buried in the fulsomeness of my billowy, soft breasts.
I sat back....so that he might admire and fully appreciate the womanly voluptuous curves of his dreams....and said.........
.....'would you like a Farley's Rusk to go with that?'
My boobs have gotten me into all sorts of difficulties over the years.
Stand up/knockdown arguments with my first boyfriend who insisted upon me wearing a bra (i wouldn't)
Being sent home from the Income Tax office (twice) because i was deemed as being 'inappropreately dressed'
Being followed round half of London by some Psycho (until i had to jump in a cab to shake him off)
Having them fall into my mouth and smother me when i was doing a complicated gym workout
Being ordered away from simply STANDING outside of a mosque (supposedly bringing the strumpet slur to the holy building by my very presence)
Watching with horror, motorists swivelling by 180 degrees and crashing into a bollard.
Having complete strangers prod my venus like mounds and ask: are they real.....
The list is endless.
I think i might market a Letitcia Pillow.....then you can all snuggle to your heart's content.....
Posted by Letitcia at 11:02 PM | Comments (0)
July 21, 2005
Get yer tits out for the lads
A few years ago, i felt that body fascism had reached it's nadir---i looked down from my eerie, overlooking the pavement, and saw:..............A WANKING MAN.
The ultimate irony was not lost on me. Don't laugh, but i felt a mixture of annoyance, impotence, revulsion and i also felt a tad frightened (titter ye not)
The guy had obviously seen me sitting on the balcony, though in no way was i in such a state of nudity to warrant such attention.
I was quite happily reading about how the Hang Seng and Dow jones had added 300 points overnight and that the Footsie was at an all time high (pushing the 7000 barrier)---when my attention was drawn to a car that was parked on the road, but blocking the entrance to the next door's forecourt.
'He'd better move before the 'witch of the south' twitches her curtains and runs out to him' i thought.
He appeared to be having trouble winding up what appeared to be a very stiff window.
On closer inspection, i could see that it wasn't the window which was enjoying the wrist action--- and as for what WAS being tugged--- turgidity was not in question.
I rang the police.
'There's a guy masturbating outside my flat' i complained
'Is he on your property madam?' the call centre guy replied.
'He's in his car, on the side of the road---looking up at me---and he's erm wanking'
'So he's not in fact trespassing then Madam' said ther call centre dolt who was in danger of me crawling down the phone wire and ripping out his throat
'Well no, but surely he is contravening certain anti social behaviour as in 'lewd in public' or something' i snapped
He droned on about this that and the other, but was not telling me what i wanted to hear. I mean, even the bird from Eastenders got done for fellating her OWN boyfriend in public.
'In which case, i will just have to go down there myself' i petulantly stated.
'I strongly advise you not to do that Madam, he may be armed'
Ha!! well his weapon was neither dangerous nor concealed---and that was my very point.
'Perhaps if you go inside for a while, he will leave of his own accord' Mr impassive and impervious suggested.
Drawing breath to remonstrate, i realised that this is what the crime is all about---it's about power.
So i bade farewell to 'Mr useless as a chocolate teapot' and cowered---yes COWERED behind my drapes until the bastard had either left or finished the 'job in hand'
After a while the coast was clear and i took up my position on my balcony once more----5 mins later the wanker was back----i went back inside and rang the police once again.
I got the same phone controller.
We pretty much went laboriously through the former conversation until he said:
'you must be doing something to incite the guy'
When i had finally picked myself up from the floor of incredulity and taken any hint of umbridge out of the timbre of my voice, i told him calmly and concisely what i was wearing.
SARONG FROM WAIST TO FLOOR--AND MATCHING TRES ATTRACTIVE BIKINI TOP.
One would think that this was perfectly acceptable sunbathing apparel on a torrid day where the mercury was hitting 90---
'Are you --what i mean to ask is----bosom wise-----do you-----HAVE YOU GOT A LARGE BUST madam?'
I told him i did, and also informed him that as far as i knew---THERE WAS NO LAW AGAINST HAVING BIG TITS.
He GRUDGINGLY ACCEPTED THIS STATEMENT.
But the subtext/unspoken twaddle was: 'if you have massive mammaries, what do you expect'
So that's O.K then.
Beaten into submission by horny man's inability to stop playing with himself when confronted with bewitching jugs.
Well PAINT ME BLACK AND CALL ME BWANA!!
I'm going to get one of those protective splatter guards (like Lady Di had when going into the bomb disposal zone) and i will fry my baps with impunity.
If the plonkers make a habit of it, i WILL post their number plate to the cops, just so they can get an official warning.
Even better, i will/ can get friendly officail help with regard to addresses matching DVLA records.
I just want to see the look on the twit's face when i rock up and start 'touching myself inappropriately' whilst opposite his house.
I will of course make sure that i am not on his property.
THAT WOULD BE AGAINST THE LAW.
Posted by Letitcia at 10:35 PM | Comments (0)