A few years ago I was at a staff party for a large bar in which I worked at the time. We had a big day of it out on the ocean on a charted boat. The bar girls were all in bikinis and the ugliest one among them was a strong 7. We anchored at a small island off the coast and drank and ate ourselves into stupification on the white sandy beach. There may or may not have been other substances involved as well. Finally the day became late and it was time to take the boat back to harbor. We ended up at a bar where a bunch of us did our very best to start a large fight but to no avail.

One of my colleagues had fake tits. We discovered that she had fake tits because I asked her. She confirmed that they were indeed fake thus solving a puzzle that had beset a bunch of us for a good quarter of an hour. This is a long time when you’re off your tits. In all honesty I was so far gone that it was hard for me to string a coherent sentence together.

I then remarked to the young lady that I had never touched fake boobs before. She smiled, a broad and open smile, the sort of smile that would have launched ships back in the day. Then she said that I was more than welcome to try them out for myself.

The large group in attendance was now properly attentive as to the unfolding events. I reached out, took one of her large breasts in hand, and calmly manipulated it for a long ten second count. I then withdrew my hand to consider the ramifications and discoveries made.

“It’s different,” I said. A great calmness had settled upon me and my feelings of severe inebriation had dispersed like Antifa members at the threat of a bath. But my tone left some good measure of doubt as to whether a final decision had been made.

“Try both hands at the same time,” the wonderful young lady said to me. There was a collective intake of breath around me.

I reached out with both hands and made a calm scientific study of the situation. They were firm, very very firm. To be honest they felt like small basketballs that had been hidden under a layer of skin. At any moment I expected them to come bursting out of their protective covering. Or perhaps I was still very much off my face.

I withdrew once again to contemplate my findings. I was careful to be suitably appreciative, (after all, the young lady had actually paid for the investment herself), while at the same time remaining obscure as to my final conclusion. I hemmed and hawed while chatting with those around me. Among the other young ladies present was a very voluptuous redhead. She was a good sort, at least as far as redheads go. She also had a rather spectacular set of tits. They were the sort of tits that you could really appreciate in the moment while also considering that they would be absolutely horrific in 15 or 20 years time. But still, in the present time while she was still young and firm they were the sort of tits that you could really put your face into and go blubbery, blubbery, blubbery.

They were also natural tits, unmarked and unspoiled by the surgeon’s scalpel.

She smiled at me, a smile that says I really want to be part of the entertainment too, and she thrust her tits forward, her body eventually following.

“Why don’t you feel mine too to compare?” she said.

I looked around at the by now very large group and made a face of stoic acceptance at my unfortunate lot in life. The things we have to do in the pressure of social situations. I dutifully took her breasts in hand, (this was more difficult than it seems), and gave them a very good feel indeed. I then turned back to fake tits girl and repeated the gesture. By now the crowd were very much involved in the scientific analysis that was unfolding before them. Science is such a rewarding and important aspect of our lives and I urge every young man to get involved in it as much as I myself have done.

Finally there was only one final avenue left to take. In order to be completely objective I took one breast in hand from each of the beautiful young ladies and then I gave them both a thorough tactile investigation as the crowd broke into a hearty cheer. As the noise subsided I presented my findings. Of course I was suitably diplomatic and I left both the young ladies feeling happy and confident in their choice of physical beauty.

But to be honest, the fake tits felt just wrong. They weren’t sexy. They looked sexy; hell, they looked amazing. But they felt off and by a long way. Redhead’s tits were amazing in comparison and there was no doubt as to who got me going out of the two.

Years later I had the chance to confirm my findings when I started dating a hawt Slovakian girl. She was a 10 and she had fake tits. She had got the fake tits for her modeling career but now her career was over and she was on the prowl for a provider. Enter yours truly. If you’re not one of the very top percentage of men but you want to sleep with 10s, hit them when they’re just beginning their search for the man of the next stage of their lives. In order to understand where they’re at you’ll have to develop the conversational art of listening, but that is a separate discussion.

She was amazing in bed and amazing to look at. Physically perfect in every way. And yet, and yet. Those mini basketballs of not fun just stood out like the fake tits that they were. It’s a hard run decision as to whether fake tits or tattoos are worse on a girl. At least the fake tits look good even if they don’t feel good. But when sex becomes this flawed a fundamental part of the pleasure is lost.

Just as well that I refrained from sleeping with fake tits girl at that party all those years ago.

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