Sometimes all it takes is one look and sometimes that’s a big mistake
She had posed for some photos in a tight black singlet, mostly just from her head to below her chest, the pics, not showing the rest of her But her boobs looked huge, because they WERE huge!
She was a poet and she’d published a few things and was also an editor for an online Lit. mag. Googling her, in the Images section, were the black singlet pics that had caught my attention in the first place.
But in most of the other Google pics she looked like a developmentally delayed 7th grader, her boobs hidden, her clothes, shoes, and hair, all done up to attract attention to how youthful and “fun” she wanted to appear. (I think she was actually already in her 30s). Nonetheless, those black singlet pics kept haunting me, and I started up a correspondence with her supposedly to discuss poetry. I even wrote a poem about women with big boobs, inspired by my fantasies about her, and in that poem, in my own admittedly pervy way, I owned how much I adored her. I sent her a copy of my best-selling and most critically acclaimed book, personalized and autographed, and I admitted in subsequent emails that I had a crush on her boobs. (Not even mentioning how dorky she looked style-wise and personality-wise in all her other Google images which I thought was rather kind and strategically clever of me.)
She wrote back that she didn’t like my decisions about where to break the lines in my poems. She never commented about my novel and she quite understandably ignored my big boobs remarks. And that was the last I ever heard from her.
I’ll tell you right now, though it’s been over a year since we emailed back and forth and unless she sends some full-frontal topless shots (even black and white would be okay) attached to a fawning email, begging me to take her back, I’m done.
Hey, a guy’s gotta have some standards after all, no matter how smokin’ hot a “poetess” looks in a snug black singlet.