In my time I've been fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to be relatively friendly with an almost-spilling handful of wonderful women (and their almost-spilling handfuls.) (Subtle subtext presented through hardlinks for your enjoyment.)

In the course of being friendily frisky, my splendid opportunity bestowed dividends in the form of seven pairs of breasts:

    The first pair she most distinctly moved my hand up from around her waist to, despite the fact that there really wasn't anything there beneath the training bra yet. I left it there to humour her, but that didn't keep her mind from breaking.

    I was mortified to realize that I might possess a pair of wandering hands so once I realized what I was holding I slowly slipped my hand off pair #2, but to no avail - she headed me off at the pass, rounded me up and rather firmly led me back up the hill.

    Expectations higher by now I rather breathlessly asked my way into the third pair in a manner not dissimilar to my previous request for the first kiss with the owner of numbers three and four. Communication is the most important thing, after all, although I would eventually regret the outcome of this inquiry.

    I don't recall much discussion as to the potential fate of the fourth pair (in truth, I can't recall a single conversation with the one who wore them) but expression of their availability was communicated effectively enough in a wordless pudendum pounce. If she's going -there- SURELY some reciprocation wouldn't be entirely amiss...

    The fifth was never intended (though I will leave hopes unspoken for); I would not move there though it took no great struggle for me to be moved. "We have lots of time to be platonic" betrayed our mutual vague regret and embarassment after the fact but sometimes saying no can seem mutually rude.

    The sixth were everything I could have wanted, if only I had.

    The seventh went untouched, though perhaps I should have indulged the shameless feline somewhere inside.

My vague inquiry is thus:

Is there anything to be learned from an analysis of the shifting locus of power in these situations? Will certain types of women bring matters into their own hands (er, mix-your-own metaphor here) or is the active / passive paradigm determined more by context than by type?

Owners of breasts, do you have any light to shed regarding the past and present conditions and constraints you have enjoyed and imposed on your own?

Not to shift subjectivity too far, I should also inquire if you have any thoughts on the kind of boy who wouldn't dive into cleavage until told that the water's fine. Whose want is more compelling when conditions are regrettably unmatched?

Has activity or passivity resulted in more regret? How have you gone about doing this, and what is the best way?

I realize there are no right or wrong answers here (though some righter than others) which haven't been sought for thousands of years. However, I suspect there are some good stories here.

Once, a boy asked if he could kiss my stomach. I laughed but made sure he knew I found it charming. Of course, I said.

Once, a girl didn't ask but just started in on me with little kisses, then bigger ones. That was good too.

I have never been expert at knowing what's right when. But I know absolutely when something is not.

If nobody asks permission, things can get complicated. But there is a difference between "that kiss should perhaps not have happened, but it's no big deal" and "get the hell away, wetmouth." Anyone who is paying attention will know which is more likely to come his way, in the event of a verdict of   "no more kissing from you, please."

You wanted good stories; here is my best one. A boy I spent a lot of time with. We learned each other's middle names long before my breasts got personally involved. He bought me a smoothie and we sat outside on the brick wall behind the parking lot, watching the sun vaporize. We had known each other forever by now and had a nice repertoire of   "when we..." stories to tell other people.

If it is a kind and warm shoulder you are leaning against, any cold brick wall is the best place to sit. It was the correct shoulder for me at the time. We were calm; we knew there would be kissing, and breasts, and we knew they would happen in their own time. We kicked our feet against the wall, and talked some more. If we kissed then, or groped each other like kids keeping an eye out for grownups and trying not to stretch out my shirt, well, it doesn't matter. It all happened when it was supposed to, and neither of us had to ask.

I don't mind the occasional spontaneous wandering hands (in fact, i quite enjoy them), but what bothers me is a frantic messy rush to get to my breasts with little or no thought given to anything else. Please, my breasts are not a finish line. Example:

I give you the stare, the one that means I want to be kissed, and we lean in slowly, careful not to rush the moment. A delicate kiss, your hands on the back of my head. We're enjoying the slowness of it all, when suddenly you realize "OH MY GOD - SHE HAS BOOBIES!" and you plunge into my cleavage in a matter of seconds, forgetting that I have a face or a neck or even thoughts to be stroked lovingly. You remain in my chest area until I get bored and turn on the TV, at which point you either get the hint and mumble an apology or I physically remove you from my body. Boys, boys, boys.....this is not a good thing.

So if you do decide to take the plunge (no pun intended, well, maybe it was, come to think of it), do it with care. Don't forget that the rest of me exists in your blind frenzy to get to one particular area of my body. Maybe next time we can work on the rest of it. :)

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