Breast Inflation

"Honey, are you about ready?" you called from downstairs. "Just about! Be down in a minute!" I called out, still standing before the mirror on the oak dresser. I stand there with my one-piece outfit, a tight little black dress you had picked out for me. It is very elegant, hanging loosely in gentle folds of black fabric and v-shaped in the front. It hugs my shapely hips and stops an inch above my knees.

I must say that I expected the last half of my break to be rather boring. My friends had all left a week early. I was pretty much all on my own for the rest of my time in sunny Florida that consisted of four days of, like I said and what I expected to be, pure solitudinal hell.

I'm a beach person. I love the water. I love the sand. I love the sight of sweet chicks strolling the shore with their skimpy ass suits made of twine. I spent a lot of time walking up and down the shoreline. I guess what happened wasn't too surprising yet…

There is nothing like a little sun on the bod to make one feel more radiant and alive. In the winter months though it is almost totally impossible in the face of a Buffalo NY winter to get sunlight and a tan the natural way…unless one is a walrus. (Funny I say that…there was a comment once from a not-so-brainy admirer of mine that referred to my massive bosoms as "a pair of walrus bodies.")

"You know, I've never done it with someone else before." Says Amelia. She nuzzles forward, the abyssal moon is filigree to crown her blushes.

"That's…ballooning, I mean, not…you know"

Your hands intertwine gently as she plays with your fingers. Your elbows rest on the smooth goosebump-puce of her breasts, barely indenting them. Those are a girl's breasts, you keep reminding yourself, Just 5 foot wide and filled with helium.