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Have you ever sucked a woman?s boob? I mean take it in your mouth and suck on it so tightly that you cause her to wince and yelp in sweet pain. Is it not arousing to hold a woman tightly from around her waist like she is your captive and then devour her bare tits like those nipples were attached for your sadistic pleasure? To cause her to melt in your arms while you subject her tits to your assaulting mouth, showing the bitch no mercy. If her tits are nice enough to get you that wild, that horny, that beastly, then the bitch deserves no mercy.I love doing exactly that to my sex partners and it should be no surprise that all the women in my life have been ample breasted. I am presently married to a 38 E so you can say that I am a boob man. How do you become a boob man, or a butt man, or a leg man? Are we born as those, or do our past arousals incline us to fall into one of those categories? In other words, can you take a leg man and turn him into a boob man? All women are beautiful in their own unique way but why does a certain genre of female beauty appeal to you more than the other?*What you are about to read is not a story but a fragmented collection of my real memories. It is because of these that I am what I am, a boob man. I am not going to get too much into explaining why those situations were happening otherwise this will turn into a biography. Instead, I will try to jot down my memories from my earliest arousals to my present-day bedroom moments with my wife. By the time I am done, my memories will be your memories and you will see the series of events that led me to become a boob man.*The black swimsuit*I am running on the beach, reaching out to catch a flying frisbee as it glides a few inches past my fingertips. The boardshorts that I am wearing are too loose and every time I run, they try to fall off my hips. The frisbee lands on the white sand and my sprint turns into that lazy walk of a defeated man as I struggle to catch my breath with each heavy step.While picking up the frisbee, I hear my step-mother call me, ?Hank, come here so that I may fix your shorts!?I am a skinny teenager in my late teenage years, with raging, out-of-control hormones, coming to terms with my sexuality*in an age where the Internet has not been invented. Pornography is not a casual phenomenon as it has become today thus most of my arousals are everyday situations such as the one I am about to experience.Martha is the only mother I have known since I was five. Unable to have any children, she has accepted her medical condition and owned me as her son. With a frisbee in my hand, I walk towards Martha like an obedient Ankara bayan escort mama?s boy. She is sitting on her bum, hugging her knees as she looks at me. There is no sexual admiration in her gaze but a look of pride in the man she has raised. Then she begins to rise up and I can not help but look down into the plunging neck of her bathing suit. It is a one-piece bathing suit that moms wear around their sons, except that the neckline on this one is cut low and I can see Martha?s breasts coming together to form a deep cleavage. She puts the magazine away and then stands on her feet.?You have sand in your hair,? she says as she begins to scrubs my hair to shake the beach out of them. Finally, she laughs and says, ?let me tighten your shorts, otherwise they will drop any instant ok??With that, she bends in front of me to tighten the drawstrings of my broad shorts. I stand there like an obedient son, looking down, noticing her massive breasts that are almost falling out of the plunging neck of her swimsuit. My cock begins to come to life, virtually inches from her face, while she works my drawstrings.?There!? she says as she stands up adjusting her swimsuit to conceal the pair of boobs that almost jumped out of the V neck. I look at her tits and see how nicely they fill her swimsuit.*That moment lasted only a few seconds but it was so erotic, so forbidden and so arousing that it would influence almost all the women that I would gravitate towards in my life. Sigmund Freud was probably correct when he said that boys develop fantasies about their mothers and search for women to fulfill them when they grow up. In all my romance, I subconsciously searched for Martha.The Closet ...Then there was my closet. It was a claustrophobic mess of clothes that would get lost under more clothes and music CDs that were competing with comics and sports equipment for shelf space. When I was in that closet, I was in my past, my present and my future all at the same time and it was during those moments that I would hear sounds from my dad?s bedroom. There were times of intense moaning that would make me stop whatever I was doing and imagine Martha naked as he did those things to her.*I wanted my own Martha.*Honda CivicIt is 1999. The Internet has finally been invented and the world has started to see just how obnoxious we truly are. There is an explosion of pornography and, while facebook and twitter are still a decade away, online chatrooms have opened up a pandora?s box of suppressed sexuality. Technology has allowed distant strangers to open up to each other in ways that were not Escort bayan Ankara socially acceptable before.*Yvonne Hughes is a catch that I owe entirely to this cyber revolution. Had this been a different era, Yvonne would not be sitting in my rusty, 1992 model Civic. Here she is, sitting next to the driver?s seat as I speed down the road listening to Cher?s latest, ?Do you believe in life after love!? It is hard to keep my eyes on the road for Yvonne has pulled up her jeans to expose her calves. They are strong and shapely, with feet that are perfectly arched. Yet it is really not her statuesque feet or calves that drew me to her in the first place. I am a boob man, not a footman remember?*The girl is tall, almost as tall as my own five feet ten inches and buxom, tilting to the heavier side. Yet she is pleasingly filled and carries that extra weight where it exaggerates her womanliness in the most erotic way. It is hard for me to look at her and not imagine her naked. In short, she has a body that is built for one thing and one thing only. Raw fucking! Not the slow, romantic lovemaking in dim candlelight but savage pounding that would probably kill a skinny fashion model. Yvonne is built to take it. She is my own Martha!*?I have to see them!? I say as I keep my eyes on the road.?Noooo!? She blushes and laughs.*?If I do not get to see them, I will die,? I say.?Go to a strip bar. There is plenty to see there,? she teases me opening up an opportunity for flattery.?Yvonne, look at your feet. If a hundred strippers were dancing naked, I would commit the sin of looking at your calves.??Alright. Pullover but you will have to control yourself.? She says as she collects her hark hair and gathers them behind her head to tie them in a ponytail.*I pass a gas station and then pull into the back of an abandoned strip mall. Sun has already gone down and the orange sky is turning purple. There is no one for miles and the only sound I hear is that of traffic on top of the bridge. I step out of the car, walk around it and hold Yvonne?s door like a gentleman as she gets out of the car suppressing a smile. Grazing against me, she walks towards the front of the car and sits on the bonnet. ?Hank, I will show you my boobs because I made that promise. I do not trust that you will be able to control yourself so you will have to kneel down in front of me and if you try to rise from your knees, this date is over. Do you understand sir??*Now, this is what I call female power. Here is this girl who makes a man kneel down on the road in front of her on their first date. A lot of Internet activity Bayan escort Ankara back and forth has happened between us with pictures being exchanged and what not but conventionally speaking, this is our first date and here I am kneeling in front of this goddess while she looks down at me with a distant gaze and a suppressed smile, while her perfectly manicured fingers take their sweet time working the buttons of her blouse. She could not go slower and my heart is pounding for reasons I do not understand but finally, she has undone three of her buttons and I can see a glimpse of a navy blue lace bra cups, framing a really deep cleavage.?Are we done?? she asks.*?Nooo! I want more of them,? I say.*?Let me think about that,? she says while crossing her arms under her tits and raising one to hold her chin as she ponders teasingly into the distance.*?You promised and that is why I drove such a long distance. Now stop teasing me,? I plead.*?You are a such a man, do you know that?? she says and then unbuttons her shirt down to her navel.I am kneeling like a punished child, enjoying the glimpse of her belly, the plump roundness of her tits and the sheer depth of her cleavage. Then, the smile disappears and her face turns stern. She gaps open her blouse to expose the full upper swells of her tits and then looks down into them like she was looking deep into her cleavage. Her manicured hands crawl up her body until they reach her bra and then she pulls one of the bra cups down to release a perfectly rounded orb from the tight confines of her bra.*It is a well-rounded melon, heavy and ripe with a dark, erect, cherry nipple that is protruding outwards. She takes the nipple bud between her fingers and rolls it, causing it to harden even more. A storm of thoughts is going through my mind. What if I was to rise up from my knees and take her in my arms. Would she really end the date? I am starting to sense intense chemistry for this woman and I do not want to lose my Martha in a sudden outburst of lust. Then, on second thoughts, a girl who takes you this far may be disappointed if you do not rise up on your knees and become a man. Now I understand why my heart is beating so hard. I am nervous because one wrong decision and I lose her.*Then she pulls down the other cup and allows her other boob to come into view. I can not believe my eyes as I admire her twins. They are both perfect, flawless, round and heavy and my heart is beating as I watch her roll both excited nipples between her fingers. Watching her exposed breasts, I realize that I no longer wish to be an obedient son. I have played enough of that with Martha during my years of teenage arousal. If this bitch gets me aroused, she will get it because while she may be another Martha body wise, our social circumstances are different. With that thought in my mind, I spring up towards her like a tiger and she freezes! I push her back into the bonnet of the Honda Civic.*