This story is basically true, but I’ll be changing a few facts around. I don’t want Mary — that’s the name I’m going to give her — to recognize herself. The reality is she probably won’t be reading this anyway, as she doesn’t like alternative newspapers. The Wall Street Journal is more her thing.
She’s a businesswoman who works downtown. I’ll keep it a secret as to how we met, but for whatever reason she was attracted to me. I know why I was attracted to her. She’s a knockout of a woman maybe 15 years younger than me. I’m not going to describe her looks — again trying to be respectful of her privacy.
To make a long story short, I asked Mary out on a date. Yes, I’m old, but old people still date. That Friday night was going to be special for me.
The big night arrived. I took a bus from Westwood and I met her downtown. We had dinner at a fancy seafood restaurant close to Fountain Square.
The food and wine tasted great, the conversation was fun and witty and I could tell this date was going to turn into an overnight stay at her apartment downtown. Again, I’m old, but old people still have sex. I found myself getting excited.
When we reached her place, she led me to her bedroom. We both undressed quickly. As Mary turned off the light, we laid down on her massive bed.
It was the normal foreplay — kissing and touching. When I touched her breasts, I couldn’t help but notice something. They were rather large and felt hard. Immediately, I began to wonder if she had breast implants.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing.” I replied back.
“You suddenly tensed up,” she said.
“I’m fine, Mary, really.”
“Do you like touching my breasts?”
“Well, yeah,” I answered back.
“I had breasts implants done about a year ago,” she said. “I wanted to feel better about my body.”
“OK,” I said. “If that makes you feel better, great.”
“Do you like them?”
I could feel my excitement starting to soften, if you know what I mean, and I said the wrong thing — a very bad thing.
“Well, actually, they kind of feel like rubber balls,” I said.
Mary stood up straight in bed. “What?”
“They kind of feel hard,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with that if that’s what you want.”
“Are you saying my breasts feel like rubber?”
“Kind of, but, you know, in a good way,” I replied. She wasn’t buying any of it.
“Get the hell out of my goddamn apartment!” she said while running naked to the bathroom in her bedroom. I couldn’t help but notice her fake breasts didn’t bounce once.
Always able to take a hint, I dressed and left her apartment. I could hear Mary crying in her bathroom as I made my way out. I took a bus back home to Westwood. The following morning, I called her to say how sorry I was about what I’d said. She didn’t pick up.
Some weeks have passed since this date, and while I admit I was a fool for saying what I did, what I said was honest.
I don’t understand why women feel the need to have breast implants or alter what they already have. Breasts on women, whether large or small, should be natural. A woman should accept what she’s got and not go under the knife to attempt to improve her appearance. I feel the same way about other “enhancing” procedures.
I recently learned a little bit about Botox. It’s some kind of injection that makes wrinkles in your face disappear. This isn’t quite as drastic as a facelift, but to me people who do this kind of stuff, and I’m including men here, can’t accept the fact they’re aging. I’ve accepted it. I’m 56. More wrinkles will join the ones I already have. It’s called facing reality.
Another procedure I don’t know much about is liposuction. Apparently if you’re fat, that fat can be surgically removed. I’m sure it cost a lot of money. Not that long ago if a person wanted to get rid of fat, they exercised and watched their diet. Why not give that a try?
I don’t know if Mary knows anything about Botox or liposuction, but I almost ran into her a few days ago walking around downtown. I say almost, because when she saw me approaching her, she quickly crossed the street. Clearly, she hasn’t forgotten about our date.
I’m still feeling bad about my lack of judgment as to what I said, but I’m hoping sooner or later we’ll make up. When that happens and since the door to the subject is already open, I might as well continue my openness when it comes to her rubber ball breasts.
I want to ask Mary why she thinks her breasts implants are an improvement. What was in her head when she made the decision to have it done? I also want to know if she made her breasts bigger or smaller.
If I get away with those questions, I’ll ask another one. I’m curious if she thinks breasts should relax when she’s lying on her back instead of standing straight up. I mean, does she get tired of them always standing at attention?
For now, all those questions and others are on hold. Phone calls still go unanswered. Mary’s not talking to me.
CONTACT LARRY GROSS: [email protected]
