Posted 6th November 2011 28

For 36 years, I have lusted over the woman who was my freshman English teacher in high school. “Barbie” was a plus-sized woman who had the biggest breasts I’ve ever seen in my life. Every single day, she wore clothing so tight, you could see her panty line right down to the “V” of her crotch. And her huge breasts jiggled back and forth whenever she did something as simple as walking across her classroom.

For the year that I had her class, and the two years afterward (I had to move away at the end of my junior year), I used any excuse I could to sidle up to Barbie and make idle conversation with her, just so that I could be inches away from the body of my dreams. That I resisted every urge to kiss and fondle this woman’s outrageous physique, I chalk up solely to divine intervention.

One day in class, Barbie left her suit jacket on a table at the far end of her classroom. While the rest of the class noisily worked on projects, I sneaked over to the table and fondled the jacket as much as I could. It was a pointless exercise, I know — I just wanted to touch something that had been so close to that big, beautiful body. At one point, I looked across the room and saw Barbie, looking at me with a sickly smile on her face. It was then that I knew: If she didn’t know that I wanted to make love to her, it was only because she didn’t want to know.

Barbie, if you’re reading this, I’d still make love to you now, even if you’re in your seventies and wrinkled — just out of gratitude for all the lustful memories you’ve given me. I’d be so grateful to take your big boobs in my mouth, and thrust myself inside you over and over until your beautiful body shook with the powerful, shuddering orgasm you deserve. I still masturbate to your yearbook photos and find myself climaxing to your glorious form.

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