I don't want to be rude about her or anything; and were you to see her in a low cut top you'd find it extremely difficult to look anywhere else: yup, when fully clothed Julie has a rocking body and an enormous set of tits.
But Julie's had surgery, you see. She's had breast enhancement surgery. They cut a whole under each breast, inserted an empty bag into them and filled them with water. The nipples were removed first, moved higher up the breasts and reattached. It's a disgusting process, prone to mishaps and mistakes and is followed by a painful and lengthy recovery period. Added to that, they don't even look like breasts: they're too round. They're stupidly round. They're almost comical.
It's like some nice looking lady had sex with a cartoon character and Julie is their first-born.
I was completely undecided on fake breasts until I met Julie. I had never seen a pair in real life (knowingly) and I'd certainly never touched any. Half the little strumpets in your average lad's mag are enhanced and I'd fuck them in an instant; so what changed?
here's how it all went down:
I was out and about, head full of mescaline and bourbon (I hate whisky, but this American Rye shit isn't bad. Expensive though, fortunately the mescaline was free: gift from a client of mine: I built his website for free, he gives me drugs now and then. It's ideal.) looking for something to do. Then I run into Mitch, who's eyes are glowing in his face like he's possessed or something so I do exactly as he says in case he destroys me or some shit like that; it's difficult to ascertain what my motives were at the time, not everything was very clear back then.
He says (in a booming voice that echoes off the walls of the inside of my head like Brian Blessed with a fucking megaphone)
"Follow us, we're going to go and party."
We go to this club I'm always hearing about but have never actually visited. It's underground in a damp but interesting vaulted structure which is common in merchant's houses in this part of down, on this side of the river. The music's awful but it's cool and dark and anonymous so I'm happy here. And I meet Julie. I have a moment when I think I'm in the Matrix -the club, the "follow me" the mescaline, the girl. Then I have a moment when I think I've shit myself and I have to check with a none-too-subtle hand down the back of my cords to make sure but it's OK because I haven't. That never happened to Neo. Anyway, back to Julie.
I've met her before (before the surgery) but now she looks different somehow, like her tits are bigger or something?
Long story short she gets fucked up on some filthy PCP that one of her "girlfriends" has on her (she's like one of those cooler-than-thou hippy types who always smells and has horrible dreads), we go to her place together I get her shirt off and I laugh. I actually laugh, out loud. I can't even help it man, it just pours out of me like air out of a puncture. Not a nervous chuckle or a single guffaw either; it's an uncontrollable, heartfelt laugh. She's not happy with this and once I get myself under control I apologise and decide, on balance that it's best if I leave.
I can't describe what those fake tits were like. I guess what they actually WERE is "balloons" -plastic bags full of water under her skin; why the fuck would anyone want to do that? I mean, they look great until you see them naked, and then it's all like: "dude, no."
So now I have made my decision. Fake tits? Gross man. Gross.