Largely ignored bust

So Lora finally turned up for work this morning, claiming that she’d been struck down with some general and unspecific ‘flu type virus. I had heard most of her sex gossip over the weekend, but there were plenty of things for me to report. My disastrous Sunday night date being one of them. There’s difference between confidence (which is a good thing) and arrogance (which is a very bad thing) and releasing that shouldn’t be beyond the realm of any adult’s understanding. It was partly my fault – being a Catholic means that it’s always partly my fault – because I broke one of my golden rules of dating. When I’m with a man I like to be the pretty one, thank you very much. When I go to all the trouble of dressing up, showing a bit of cleavage and looking my best, I expect my date to spend more time looking at my tits than looking at his own reflection. Anyway, I’m drawing a line under all that.

There was a bit of a commotion in the office just after lunch this afternoon.

Paul walked through the office escorting a new client to his office. She was very pretty and rather provocatively dressed in an eye-catching outfit. All of the men had their eyes popping out as she passed. Lora and me watched her go by, laughing quietly at the reaction from all the guys.

“Those just have to be fake tits”, she said.

“God, I hope so”, I answered as I looked down at my own (previously largely ignored) bust.

I didn’t recognise her, but I found out from the spotty youth from the post room that she’s a glamour model which I always assumed was another term for a softcore porn star. After the lad returned to his hideout, my friend and I searched for her name on the internet and we found pictures of the model in all her pneumatic breasted glory, posing suggestively with another girl showing their pussies to the camera.

Neither of us has ever been with a woman who’s had breast augmentation but we both agreed that, given the opportunity, we’d start with her.