My hot blonde friend with big tits was an OG hottie rockin’ a killer bod back in the ’80s. And as you can see — she still is.
I remember the day I saw her in a blue ribbed tank top.
Her tits looked terrific under that shirt. It fit her like a second skin, and there was just a hint of cleavage.
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It’s hard to remember for sure when I saw her in that shirt, but I’m guessing it was around 1986. There’s only enough room in my noggin for the important stuff these days. For example, I can’t tell you what I was wearing that day, what I ate, or even what time of year it was. Because that shit doesn’t matter.
But I damn sure remember that blue tank top straining against the pressure of those gorgeous breasts. THAT matters!
It couldn’t have been easy for Michelle to find shirts that fit. She had a tiny little waist in the middle of a slender frame. And then there was that generous rack.
“Generous” is the closest I can come to telling what size those puppies were. Lots of guys like to give you their guess about a woman’s bra size, but most of us don’t have a clue. That’s complex business.
As young men, we assumed it went something like this:
A cup = Less than a handful. (But who cares? I’m touching real-live tits.)
B cup = That girl has nice tits.
C cup = She has big tits.
D cup = I’d sure love to titty-fuck her!
Based on what I knew back then, I would have told you she was a 30DD. But I could be way off. You need an engineering degree to “size” a woman’s tittiesl There’s the “underbust” measurement and the “overbust” measurement, and then they use some version of the Pythagorean theorem to calculate the cup size.
They have some real NASA stuff going on in those lingerie stores.
So How Did It Go With My Hot Blonde Friend?
So tell us all about it, pal. [wink-wink, nudge-nudge]
Sorry. Wink all you want — I got nothin’ to share.
No amount of nudge-nudge will get me to tell a story about what it was like when my hands and mouth made it through the porcelain valley and down to the Promised Land.
I can’t tell you how beautifully lacy Michelle’s bra was. I didn’t walk away with any titillating tales about how her supple breasts were moisturized with Love’s Baby Soft lotion. I don’t know if she incited lust by giving them a teasing spritz of Calvin Klein Obsession for Women.
However, we’ll assume that’s all true.
Nope. It wasn’t a date. We never went out. She never gazed into my eyes with a look that said, “Take me.”
Girls like her weren’t into dudes like me. I was the funny friend — the witty guy who was a fun hang and who was available when you moved.
Michelle and I were just friends. And my friend happened to be wearing that blue tank top on the evening when I helped her move.
She’s still a friend. Or at least she has been up to this point. There’s no telling what happens after she reads this.
All I know is I’m still trying to figure out which is more worse. Having a hot blonde friend and never getting your hands on the tits. Or potentially ruining the friendship by getting your hands on the tits.
Just so her tits don’t get all the attention, I should add that she was also pretty and had great hair. She was a funny girl and a nice person. The complete package.
And after 30-plus years, it’s all still true. You’re looking at the modern-day version of her in these pictures. Which brings us to the reason this website exists.
I’m featuring Michelle in the first post on this website because she’s a reminder that hotness doesn’t have an expiration date. It doesn’t suddenly go away on some particular birthday.
Oddly enough, the older I get, the hotter “mature” women seem to be.
Sure, youth is still attractive. Not gonna lie about that. But if I see a hot 22-year old somewhere with her hot 50-something-year-old mom — then my eyes go to the mom.
So here’s to the ladies — the mature ones. And the ones who still give me a little glimpse of cleavage.
Thanks for the eye candy.