The first pair of women's breasts that I remember looking at with lust belonged to Riva, the 20 year-old college student who babysat for my siblings and I. Riva was tall and pretty, with long dark-brown hair and brown eyes. One time Riva came to stay ar our house while my parents went out of town for a couple of days. I woke up hearing Riva already in the shower. So I went to sit downstairs to read a book by the dining room window. While I sat there reading my book, I heard a pot come to boil on the stove - Riva must have put the water on the stove for coffee. Riva come downstairs wrapped in a towel after taking a shower - she must have thought we were all still asleep. Her towel slipped down to her waist while she was taking the pot off the stove. I'll never forget that sight! The skin of her breasts, shoulders and arms looked very smooth. Her breasts were pale against slightly tanned skin. Her nipples looked (to me at age ten) to be about the diameter, length and color of the eraser on a brand-new Husky pencil (those thick pencils that kids use when they first learn to write because they are easier to hold), and they grew hard before my eyes as the cool air came in contact with her still-wet skin. She reached down to grab the towel before it dropped below her waist (otherwise this page would have a different title) and pulled it back up under her arms, made her coffee, and went upstairs to dress before going to wake us. I snuck upstairs with my book and waited for her to come into my room. I always felt a little different when I was around Rita from that day on, but didn't know why at the time.
We moved away before Riva graduated, but she and my mother stayed in touch for a few years. I carried the image of Riva breasts in my mind for years as the image of what perfect breasts were supposed to look like - slightly hemispherical with silky skin and slightly upturned bubble-gum pink nipples. And there were many times when the image of Riva breasts came to mind as I took "matters in hand" in high school and college. I tried unsucessfully to visualize what the rest of Riva's body looked like, but just couldn't do it - the image I saw when I was ten was just too strong to overcome! And when I grew to manhood, I became a confirmed breast man. And although I like then in virtually every shape and size, I always have the most fun playing with a woman's breasts when they looked like Riva's did (or at least how I thought they looked like). I went through my sexual prime (18 to 23) thinking that I would have to be content with just the memory of Riva's perfect breasts, or so I thought.....
I had to write a paper about my family history during my Senior year of college, so I went looking for suitable family photos to include. I came across some photos of Riva and got to thinking about her. After graduation, I wondered what happened to Riva, and I located her parent's phone number in her old hometown. They remembered me, and gave me her address and phone number. When I called her, she was surprised and very happy to hear from me. I found out that she had never married, but I didn't ask why. We kept in touch even after I moved to a larger city. During one subsequent conversation, I found out that she was going to be attending a conference at a downtown hotel, and we arranged to meet for a drink the first evening of the conference.
I was feeling a little strange about meeting her because we hadn't seen each other for fifteen years. Even though we told each other what we looked like and would be wearing (and she would be wearing one of those "Hello, my name is..." tags), and she was an adult when I last saw her, I didn't know if she was going to recognize me - I was an eleven year-old child when she saw me last. But she saw me first, and came over and gave me a big tight hug. When she pulled back to look at me, I saw tears in her eyes. I gave her my handkerchief to wipe away the tears, and after she did I could see her sniffing the scent of my colonge that had lingered in my handkerchief. She knew I was going to look grown-up and different, but she said that she was expecting me to look like my Dad (who looked like a younger and thinner Frank Sinatra with more hair) did when she knew him. She said I looked more like a more muscular (and sober) Dean Martin. When I told her that she looked more beautiful than I remembered, she blushed and smiled from ear to ear.
Over several cups of coffee, we talked about our lives since we moved out of the neighborhood. I told her all about my family and our many moves, about what my sister and brother were doing in school, what my parents were doing, etc. We talked about her life after college, what her parents and brother were doing, her career, etc. She asked me if I was married, and I told her I saw single and wasn't looking to get married right away. When I asked her if she was or ever had been married, she looked a little embarassed and even a little uncomfortable. She hesitated for a moment, then changed the topic. We switched to alcoholic beverages and had a few, since she was staying there and I was going to take public transportation. After more conversation, she excused herself for a few moments.
I detected some very subtle differences in her appearance and demeanor when she returned. She had applied more purfume in her hair, on her blouse and on her skirt (under it too as I was to find out later). She had undone a few buttons on her blouse, and I could see what looked to be a little rouge applied at the top of the valley between her breast (which I could see from time to time). She had taken the pins out of her hair, and brushed it a little. She looked very hot - I was 25 at the time, and it occured to me that she was 35 and in her sexual prime. We had another drink, and then she haltingly asked me if I would like to dance with her. I said that I wasn't a good dancer, but that we could dance if she wanted to. So went into the lounge and began dancing - at first to several popular tunes (a little faster than I was capable of dancing well to) before the music got slower. So we moved closer together and I danced holding her slightly away from my body - like I would with my sister, female cousins, or women I worked with. After one slow dance, she moved in closer and held me tight. I could smell the purfume in her hair. At the same time I realized that those prefect breasts were now snuggle-up against my chest, she told me that I had grown into a very handsome man and snuggled her head right on my shoulder and pressed her swaying hips closer to my body. My hydraulic equipment started into operation at that time. When I reached half-mast, she pulled her head off my shoulder, smiled and looked me in the eye and told me she was getting tired and wanted me to escort her to her room.
When we got to here room I went to hug her goodbye, but she asked me inside. After opening the door for her and going inside, she followed and told me to have a seat while she went into the bathroom and ran the water for a few minutes. When she came out, her jacket, shoes and hose were gone, and the blouse was open a bit more. She told me to take my coat off and make myself comfortable because she wanted to tell me something. She sat on the bed next to me and told me why she had never got married. Shortly after we had moved away from the neighborhood, she said was sexually assaulted by someone (who she wouldn't name), and that it had really thrown her into a state of depression. She said that she wasn't able to have a normal relationship with a man for the rest of her college years (even into grad school). She said that she tried women a few times, but still had a mental block that kept her from being able to trust anyone enough to be intimate with them. She started counseling a few years earlier, and she thought she was making progress and was ready to try being with a man, but had a hard time finding anyone to trust. When she heard from me, she rememberd that I was one of the only males she didn't have to fear, because she had known me when I was a boy and not a man who might have caused her some harm. And she had got it into her head that she wouldn't have to fear me even thought I was a grown man. She asked me if I wanted to help her be comfortable being with a man again after 14 years. I was near tears myself, because I had known several female friends who had similar experiences. I had always remembered feeling so powerless to do anything to help my my friends, not realizing that help wasn't what they needed until they had asked for it. I gave her the help she asked for. I never made it home that night, and stayed with her in the hotel room for the length of the conference.
That was the first time I was a "Rebound Guy". Although I have filled that role several times since then, it was the only time I ever felt good about it because she told me beforehand why she wanted my help. About three years ago (ten years after we met at the hotel), my mother got a call from Riva and gave her my number. She told me that she had felt better about men after we were together. She continued with her counseling, and was able to begin dating. She met and fell in love with a nice guy and got married. She was still happilly married with two children. She thanked me for helping her and said that she would always have a special feeling for me. What goes around - comes around. Karma is karma, eh?
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