| Dear whoop gino, After reading your article on the sex scene with the student and teacher story, I thought i’d share my fictional story that I previously wrote months ago. I didn’t know you were into such....well...."romance" (if you can acutally call it that) But niethertheless read this you might enjoy it yet I must inform you that it drags on and hails in comparisson to your writing abilities. It isn’t really like your’s as far as the whole genre. As for why it’s titled as such? Umm so no one would click on it in the document folder and I was planning and ready to wirte my holocaust paper one day and I remebered that I wasn’t going to waste my time on that filth. So....instead? I wrote this "filith". Let me know what you think, besides reprimanding me on the frequent gramatical errors. The Clarkson thing is still being formulated in my head. Oh ya don't e-mail me back just verbally talk to me. The story really is fictional, and if you are too lazy to read it I suppose I understand. Also, any redistriudting of this story wtihout the expressed written concent of "Cazzo Grande" productions is strictly prohibited. Sincerely, Phil L. THE ESTABLISHMENT OF ISRAEL Ahh....the ocean a great and vast body of water. Yet the way people overrate the sight of it just makes me sick. Don’t get me wrong it’s pretty but not worthy of it’s praise. I’ll never forget the parts of a movie when the character laments "oh I've never seen the ocean before, I bet it’s the greatest sight on earth", well that’s certainly pish posh. I mean I can hardly remember the first time I've seen the ocean. Now Marisa Mammelegrande’s breasts, the first sight of those beats any body of water and probably even the sphinx for that matter or the sphinx on water on a cruise ship with playmates in bikinis and ... opps sorry to ramble. One may ask, "How is it possible to view these cans?, It’s not like you can go on a pier and view them, right?" Well I had to earn it, which is more than what can be said about the ocean’s easy accessibility. How did I earn it?? By arranging a date with her of course. I had the whole date (the only setting in which I could view those succulent beauties) with her planned out in my head first. And this is how things would unfold; for the first half of it anyway. I pretty much used the same exact process on every date. After one of those unwatchable, make you sleep kind of three hour movies that I’d bring her to, (strategically of course) I would have the rest of the date laid out perfectly. You see I always had this silly notion that if you bring a girl to a remarkably boring and long movie she’ll have no choice but to focus in on you and probably your crotch, but my crotch theory is a whole other one I can’t focus in on right now. Anyhoo, back to the date. After using the old "yawn, then arm around her" approach I would pretty much be low on ideas. I’d have to work my magic in the car on the way back. You see Becky Mamellegrande was the kind of girl that would reward you based on weather your car was a v-6 or not. I would have to fully utilize the vehicle to my advantage. Lucky for me, my "MA" always let me borrow hers. I have always had this sure fire way to get a girl to fall into my arms in the small confines of a two door grandam. Which has quite a roomy back seat. (but that’s beside the point) Back to the plan. Step one: Carefully talk about how sensitive you are. (i.e.: that movie made me tear up, but in a manly way) Step two: The awkward pause where there is nothing to say. This is where Becky’s thinking why she agreed to this date in the first place. (mercy date) I carefully chime in and sniff the air and say "hmm, what’s that great smell? Is that your hair?" Confused and delighted Becky (or any other naive girl) says something along the lines of "yes it is, I think." Then I continue by asking if I can smell it. I don’t wait for her to say yes or no, cause she might say no and the plan is finished. On route to smelling her hair I sniff all the way down her beautiful brown chestnut hair (that usually smelled of pantene) and as I get to her ear lobe I start to blow in her ear and then move to her lips which turns into a very steamy make out session. (Note: when performing a maneuver of this magnitude always be aware of sharp and dangerous earrings) That is how the first part of every date I’ve had works out, only making out and no breasts in sight or hand for that matter. I suppose it’s a result of my bad kissing, ugly face, obesity, bad breath, horrid hygiene...ahh no wait I don’t have those. Honestly now, this whole plan sounds like pure gold, but how do I get to the breasts? Which are the main attraction of her, kind of like the shopping in San Francisco, opps I mean baseball and football in San Francisco. Well let me be honest. Becky Mammelegrande (which means big boobs in Italian, well kind of) is also the kind of girl that gave the word consistency a whole new meaning. Being the modern day genius that I am, I asked around before setting up this date. I asked my buddy Marvin (I know but not the Martian, very reliable) about her. He revealed that he needed precisely two dates to see those (in his words) "Masterpiece Boobies." The same also rained true for Rafael Emersoni and Filippo Tolstoino. So, me being the visionary that I am, figured I could do it in one date. All I needed was an ingenious plan, but what do I do after the steamy make out session? Only after the make out session was it possible to work on the chest area. I remember thinking that I needed her tight top coming off only by a mere fluke or catastrophe. But how? I had a few options, options I had discussed with my fellow visionaries. First we observed the pure facts and brainstormed from there. We all knew that she always wore a tight top along with a very shear strapless bra that she always adjusted as it kept slipping down. And on those dates they all said the cleavage was atleast an inch (if not 2 inches) more than her school attire. Allow me to explain her school attire. It consists of all low cut and tight shirts that looked painted on and on most days nipple or nipples was very visible to the naked eye. I was left with the incontrovertible tidbit that she enjoyed it when guys looked down her shirt. She found it to be very amusing or "flattering" as girls say it. "But if you show you want them she would definitely make you wait the second date" exclaimed Filippo as he slammed the diagram of the car and vivid blueprint of her bosom on the grimy cafeteria floor. What options was I left with to get this hindrance of a bra off? I had two ideas, the second was strictly a long shot option that didn’t seem to long shot once faced with the date. The first idea was to somehow have her shirt rip in a way that the boobs would pop out and somehow be revealed. Once exposed the rest is history. Leaving a pair of divulged tits is not only a travesty but it’s just really really bad. Therefore, I would have to put pressure on the shirt that would act like force on them. A force of Newton's that would allow Keeper's law of physics to come into play. These things (breasts) literally defied the laws of gravity and every science known to man. Physics, chemistry and even human anatomy, truly remarkable. Therefore, I could use my knowledge in the sciences to have these mammary glands (all perky and high) to some how escape the blouse. The common rule of thumb was to make it seem like as much of an accident as possible. I decided that if I act like I'm playfully tickling her she will resist (in a playful manner) and thus the force that is needed on the shirt is applied. I would just have to pull or gently tug at the shirt while tickling her. Any force put on the actually "date shirts" she wore would just rip the shirt in half or atleast cause her jugs to fall out. Which did leave one huge problem once the blouse is permeated. The seldom mentioned strapless, shear, white as a dentist’s teeth: bra. But I figured if I could get passed the treachery and booby trapped (no pun intended) blouse, the bra would be a day in the park in comparison. The other plan was just not my style, more like a double plan B, something that you only use in an extreme case of desperation. What was it? The long shot that I call: "Honesty". I know it’s a tough word I'm sorry but when times get desperate you know what happens. Desperate measures are taken, which the guy who hasn’t seen the ocean yet would never resort to. After a tumultuous date filled with her melons remaining concealed, I relinquish my ace in the hole. I simply ask her if I can see her big knocks. I know, how could I possibly do that? It literally goes against everything I believe in. No planning involved, I mean the ingenuity is just not there. It’s like I'm that drunk guy at parties that blatantly asks women to have sex with him. The main difference is the possible dividends that this could pay. As a result, I went ahead and put that in as the final solution. Risky, but I had to have another plan. The result: The actual date Of course, I was anxious right before the whole date even started. I mean I bet Neil Armstrong himself or Buzz Aldren (he did things too) wasn’t this anxious. I picked her up in the consummate mom car (v-6, 4 door, which would hopefully let me see her 42 D's) about 10 minutes late making her think I had better things to do and I wasn’t really hyped up for the date. (classic move) As I pulled into her driveway, which was reminiscent of her chest: Huge. I beeped the horn once to look cool (twice shows impatience) and she came out of her garage side door and my first plan was already shot in the first seconds of the date. My worst nightmare came true. She was wearing for the first time ever an oversized "sweatshirt." I couldn’t believe it. I was floored. I only thought girls wore those sweatshirts when their boyfriend calls them fat or he dumps her and she’s left crying and eating bon bons, watching Oprha while waiting to be caught on the rebound, by some hapless loser. (OK so I've been known to average a rebound here and there but yet again that’s besides the point) Back to my reaction. Unbelievable I thought, yet I kept my composure as she entered the car. Miss constancy, you could always count on her to show cleavage in school, even the male teachers would sneak a peak, and on my date, where I would experience the greatest sight on earth for the first time she wears a SWEATSHIRT?! Very disappointing to say the least. I was already stuck on the planned long shot and she was just entering the car. I decided on the three hour movie which turned out to be another flaw. As my luck had it, the movie was a critically acclaimed thriller that happened to be three hours long. (damn Ropert and his inexperienced thumb) Therefore back to plan B. She didn’t look at my crotch once, which may have been a good thing since I forgot to put a sock in it. (Note: this is the crotch technique) For the first half of the date everything else went as expected and I had her in the car after the movie. I started the car, did the ear lobe routine and the making out took place. But only this time I would have to end the session with that question. I took a deep breath which subsequetially smelled like her strawberry banana lip gloss, (very slutly like) I felt right at home. I started it with the timeless maneuver. I stopped then paused and said "Can I ask you a question?" That question alone, (if you can ask a question) is just irresistible. I mean there is no possible way she won’t listen after that. As she wiped her lips of my disgusting slobber which came out in spaghetti like string form, she said with a chuckle "yeah haha sure." I replied with the biggest gulp known to man, it was like I swallowed a cotton ball, "umm ca...nnnn I see your breasts?" (notice I said breasts to be more eloquent about things) She then giggles, "well hehe I don’t know....how about next date or something?" I ...I ....pussied out and sighed "well I don't see the harm in that." I was just like the man and the first time seeing the ocean. I waited and didn't rush it. Yet, it wasn’t the same for me I tried to get what others got on two dates, only in one. I was a pioneer or a Ponce Deleon if you will. I almost made it! I almost found the fountain of youth, just like Ponce himself but like Ponce, I fell a bit short. I kind of saw the beauty of the unseen ocean for a split second. I remember thinking that it’s unfamiliarity might be what makes it’s first sight so "beautiful". Then I ended up going out with Becky the next week and I did see those jugs. (right on schedule) Although feeling a bit bitter the sight of them was still one to be held. (literally and figuratively speaking) I remember her down to the "strapless" (I'm referring to the bra) and her just sliding it down very slowly, like the opening of a curtain on the first night of a Broadway play. The anticipation and anxiety alone was likely to cause a artery to clog but I maintained my composure. You could see the initial movement from the bra rubbing them down but then they just magically went right back to there standard perky position. They really did defy the laws of gravity. I remember myself just mesmerized, I later thought of the silly look I must have had on my face. But as I looked around the 10 inch diameter (that’s 20 inches total for both) I found myself tearing up a bit. I’m sure it was just standard issue for such a sight. I then proceeded to touching them and just laying my face on/in them as if they were a pillow. I later thought if a pillow of that magnitude and feel was really invented that person would be a millionaire, but I don’t want to give out any ideas. I remember myself rubbing them and her content and delighted (O.K. maybe a little wierded out) look on her face. I mean she knew that she was attached to the eighth wonder of the world. After about the greatest ten minutes of my life she put them away and I happily took her home. On the way home I don’t think plastic surgery could have wiped the grin off my face, it was awesome. Obviously I would never have the pleasure of seeing them again because of my blabbing to the whole school of the event, but once was all I needed. And all I lost was that little overrated thing we call respect and the inability to keep something on the dreaded "down low". Later, in life (about a month later) after seeing my fair share of boobs (O.K. only one more set) and oceans I noticed something. Each ocean had the same panoramic look, icky wetness, blue-green color, and salty smell but Becky Mamellegrande’s Knocks were strictly one of a kind and worth waiting for. The gasp I had when seeing the water and touching it just hailed in comparison to those luscious pair of hood ornaments. But unlike the oceans I would never see her breasts again but the memory and beauty of them would remain in my mind forever. One may point out the fact of seeing a woman’s breasts, then ranting and raving about them is a shallow thing to do. I say that the process and the experience is not shallow. In fact, the thought is as deep of a concept as the ocean’s floor itself. by Phil LaMartina |