Transplanted Life
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
I've got boobs. Deal with it.
Gads, I thought we were past that thing with giving the guy at the video store a peek down my shirt. Okay, I admit, it was kind of immature and less-than-sophisticated, but, geez, it's not like it was any big deal. So I gave a sixteen-year-old kid a cheap thrill; it's not like that kid got to see (or run his tongue all over) nipples like Carter did that night, among other things. You'd think that would give a man some understanding of where he stands relative to the rest of the world. And he didn't make any comments about it yesterday.

But today, he gets in, and sees that I'm wearing a tight black sweater, and as soon as Maureen's out of the lobby area, he's sidling up to me hissing about whether that's what I'm wearing on our date tonight. Well, yeah, it is. I knew I was going out after work so I chose something that wouldn't make me look like I was overdressed for dinner and a movie on a Wednesday night. Especially, I said, since I figured there was a good chance he would be wearing jeans and sneakers (half-right; khakis). He says someting about worrying about how we'd look, and I tell him that nobody's going to look down on him for landing a decent-looking girl with big tits. I almost say a decent-looking white girl, but I am able to exert some self-control.

And I'm not dressed trashy at all; after six months of practice and checking out what Kate wears, I'm beginning to get the hang of this whole dressing myself thing. Yes, the sweater is snug and no, it doesn't leave a whole lot of doubt as to the size of my breasts (especially with those vertical ridges that run from top to bottom, whatever they're called), but it's also wool and warm. The black slacks and shoes go with it, offset by a white belt, and I've got my hair clipped back in a barrette. I look quite professional, thank you very much.

He stomps away, but apologizes later. I think that's the end until we actually get into the theater and take my coat off, but I evidently arched my back too much doing so or something, because he shakes his head again. Okay, a couple guys are looking, and maybe it says something that I don't really notice that unless it's something I'm going for or someone else comments on it, but, really, I don't like that condescending look much. I just shoot a "what?" in his direction.

"How can you stand men looking at you like that?" He looked around to see if anyone was seated near us; AMC plays 20 minutes of ads even before coming attractions, so you have to speak up a little bit.

I try to defuse it a little. "If I couldn't, then you'd be in big trouble."

"I suppose. I just can't see how you, of all people, can not only stand the idea of guys thinking of you as a sex object, but even kind of encourage it."

"What do you mean, 'me of all people'? Is there some reason you think it should bug me more?"

He smiled, the opposite of how tense the question made me. "No, just... You've got so much going for you, I'd think you'd want people to think of you as more than just a hot body." He finished up by kissing me on the forehead.

"That's awful sweet. Look, trust me, I know how these measurements affect guys." Lord, do I know. "And, believe it or not, it's not what I wanted when I was little. But you play the hand you're dealt, and, darn it, I liked how I looked in the mirror this morning. And let's not be hypocritical, here. If you didn't want to be looked at as a handsome stud, you'd let the afro grow out a bit or something. Besides, people underestimate a girl with an ample bosom who doesn't bother to conceal it."

He was kind of running his hand over his head. "Do they now?"

"Yeah. Even the ones who should know better."

He nodded, suitably chastised, and we sat back to watch the movie. Not bad, though nothing in Return Of The King excited me as much as the Sky Captain or Hellboy previews before it. Just not a sword-and-sorcery kind of person, like I said yesterday, I guess.

He walked me to the BU Central station, trying to convince me to come back to his place but, honestly, I was beat. I was going to go straight to bed, but once I was down to my cami and panties I decided that I wanted to get this down; I think it means something that we were able to survive our first fight - well, spat, really - while dating. That I'm not looking for an escape hatch in my relationships with men or something.

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