I never have problems remembering her name. I need to be careful not to be caught off guard and mistakenly call someone else by her name. Letting anyone know about her would be the beginning of a rather large fall that I don't wish to be part of. No need to be pushed down the well this time round, especially if it's easily avoidable. Her name was Lucy, her breasts were juic- you know what look, I don't want to go there, I'm trying not to go there but my brain keeps telling me this is vital to the story. Let's lay the cards on the table, her bosom wasn't exactly the highlight of her silky, milky white athletic body.
As I stroll around my imagination I keep thinking about how unfitting they were. Bottom line is there such a thing is an ugly boob? As long as it's not on your back and doesn't touch you knees I don't think people will mind. Some prefer them saggy. But that wasn't the case - her inhumanly fit body was like that of an 8 year old boy who decided to hit the gym. Those tits were like two innocent bunnies just sitting on top of her chest. Emphasis on small... bunnies. Flat-chested girls are amazing, the whole bigger equals better mentality is stuck in the 80's along with beaverish hairy male chests and a distinctive negligence for genital hygiene. When I asked if she fancies a titfuck she looked me in the eyes with displeasure and the only reply I received was silent treatment. The silent minute was discomforting so naturally, playing the dumb macho role I posed the question again, louder, more intrusive, more arrogant. Ignorance is bliss, once you accept the role of a idiot everything is much easier... so I thought. What seems to be the problem? I asked. If you enjoy it and it's something we haven't done before that could be exciting, what's holding you back? .

Those two bunnies gazed at me, she got these huge puppy eyes, her areola got bigger, it was moment of pure chauvinistic transcendence. I.... I don't think we can do it... they're just too small. It felt like achieving a trophy for being superior. It felt like pure, unadulterated dominance. It was a chance to shine, a chance to prove there's more to this human soulless shell. A chance to redeem myself from being completely void and stripped of all emotions. Honey really? They look amazing and feel great too, you don't have to be shy about the size, it prefer them this way. Fucking well played. Hm? Not amazed? Not even a flinch of emotions? Just ... 100 yard stare like I just told her about her mother's terminal condition? I deserve at least a fucking hug for being a lying bastard enjoying this moment of superiority. You know bullshit aside, those tits were actually too small for some X rated movie titfucking. That wasn't the point, it's never the point to make it look like a scene from a movie. You never drill someone's ass hole in hope to look like Patrick Bateman doing a whore. You always do it to free yourself and your partner from the meat-world and together fly into the abyss of eroticism and insomnia. How am I to explain this to a broken down girl? It's over. The deal is off. Unless of course, I give it a shot without her permission. Then it hit me. Switch places for a bit and try to comprehend the complexity of the situation from you own, ignorant, self-absorbed, chauvinistic view. Replace her cute little bunnies with an inadequate penis. She wants missionary now and you just can't reach the spot. We've all had our ups and premature downs, no one is completely comfortable with his imperfections.

We're at a red light, a guy stops besides me and gives me the thumbs up. I chuckle a bit and tell Lucy she looks lovely. What I really meant was that I'm pleased that she took care of her hair and is wearing glasses. Her face was just made that way. Remove the glasses, say hello to one of the most unattractive rat-faced females. It just wasn't "right". That was the last night we spent together. I don't think it had anything to do with her tits, neither of us had plans to start dating anyway. She used to love Italian music, Italian food and later found a gypsy guy who she mistakenly took for an Italian Latin lover. The alcohol is the ying-yang that brought us together and broke her family apart. It became a part of her life, it consumed her and it consumed me. Was it a red flag, a cry for help or just a way of life? Excessive drinking, prostitution, drug abuse, can it all be neglected if you pay your taxes, are a functional member of society with a finished Master's degree and a decent income? Few nights before our final almost ritualistic sexual practice, she shared the story about giving head to a guy in a public restroom. She found him making out with another guy on the same evening and decided to call it quits, block him from all social media contacts, erase his number and never speak a word with him. Did she get the kicks from it? What's with the whole, "I'm going to blow your fucking mind, smear all your load all over my tight body, insert my soapy fingers inside of you and banish you to eternal silence after a week" mentality. There has to be more than that, the seemingly innocent rat-eyed girl has to be more than just a shell, an alcohol fuelled robot.

For better or for worse, the small talk diminished to occasional head nod. Nights spent together, moments shared and stupidly high cellphone bills were now gone. Awaiting the next victim... the questions remains... will you be the master or the slave?

She had blonde hair, a glorious body that people would kill for and a soul that even Satan would fear.

Or... is it only me? has it always been me? I am the alcohol fuelled robot.