I am not a large-breasted woman. My physical blessing is definitely my ass. However, my best friend, Terri, is stacked enough for the both of us. While I hear comments like “you should have that framed” or “if you posted your ass on Match.com you could really increase your appeal…,” more often the focus is on her bodacious bosom.
My relationship with Terri goes back over 15 years. My relationship with Terri’s breasts started shortly after that. The first clear memory I have of them is under a cream-colored, ribbed turtleneck that left absolutely nothing to the imagination and showcased the breasts proudly, if ridiculously.
“Do you think this is a little…” Terri didn’t even finish her sentence as she watched me slide to the floor in hysterics. And the most amazing thing about Terri’s breasts is that those featured so prominently in the turtleneck were significantly smaller than the Triple D’s she now possesses. It’s like her breasts are the next step in evolution. They keep growing. And I think they have a plan.
I started a collection of Terri cleavage shots several years ago. It wasn’t really an intentional thing, but as I flipped through photo albums, I started to notice a trend. Very often—whenever possible, it would seem—Terri was shown pushing her breasts together, leaning over provocatively, wearing dangerously low-cut tops. I decided that since I didn’t have my own rack to show off, I would show off Terri’s. These photos have been useful on many occasions—most recently showcased in a display at her first son’s baby shower. (And yes, pregnancy brought a whole new dimension to the breasts.)
Probably my favorite photo of Terri’s breasts is at a birthday party I threw for her. Her birthday is New Year’s Eve, so it’s always quite an occasion. This year we had decided to throw a murder-mystery dinner party. The kind where you dress up as a character, play a role, and guess who the murderer is. The theme for this party was prohibition, and one of the characters was a madam who ran a brothel. What better role for the buxom birthday girl? Terri was immediately cast as the high-falootin’ harlot. Needless to say, she had to dress the part. And to do so she borrowed a dress from me. (Remember, I’m the one with the ass.) The intention of the photo was to capture the lovely cake that my mother had made for Terri and driven over three hours to deliver. And the cake is in the photo, held by the happy birthday girl—although Terri is not identified by her face, but rather, by the significant cleavage upon which we could serve the cake. No one who sees that photo ever notices the cake.
Terri and I have been likened to several well-known pairs over the years: salt and pepper, Snow White and Rose Red, but I think it has been a significant oversight that no one has ever referred to us as “T & A.”