I've been at the bar for a couple hours now. Every man in the joint has bought me a drink, but I've already chosen the man I want to go home with. He's sitting right next to me at the bar with his hand high up on my thigh, rubbing. He's here with two friends, who are both sitting on the other side of him at the bar. All three are very handsome, frat-bro-looking white boys, probably in their mid-twenties. A little younger than me, but not by too much.

As usual, everyone in the bar is staring at my chest. I have a massive set of fake jugs—32JJ to be exact—and I always wear incredibly low-cut, revealing tops with my ultra-short skirts. My breasts are the size and shape of two overinflated beach balls, perfectly round, sitting high and proud on my chest. I rarely wear a bra; I don't need one because of the implants. My titties stick forward, round and juicy like jumbo watermelons. My nipples, always hard, are visible in outline through my gauzy white top.