MYCROFT'S MUSE:
THE CHESHIRE CAT'S GRIN...
PART 1 - THE GREEN YEARS
b y    M Y C R O F T   (text)    &    T R A X   (illustrations)

Time for a personal confession: I've been part of this breast-loving community for two years now, but the vigor of the beginning is long gone. Those romantic times... I went to the forum three times a day, not only at wartime, and remember doing a lot of net research, be it Tina Small (yes, fake), or Candy Morrison. I've experienced hostility as well as friendship, got my share of flaming and shoulder-patting. I virtually made real friends, even if I'll never meet them in 3D, like gonZo, our Editor, JMM, our talent scout, St Stephan, my Latin & American alter ego, Chili Palmer, our packrat & guide, the I-man, Palomine, the Jedge, etc., etc.(If I did not mention you, it's just because this article is merely about my girl friends...)

I spent some time with you, with them and that little fetish of ours. But my heart... my heart is elsewhere meanwhile. My most beautiful woman on earth is a tall slender tennis crack in her early forties. If she'd care to wear a bra it would not be one worth showing the tag around. But whenever I look at her my soul does workouts, and not only my soul. Maybe it's true what they say about that bust fixation, maybe I grew out of it. Maybe all that remains is that Cheshire grin...

And those memories, of course. The earliest stage, pictures of Anita Ekberg in a black dress, all wet and clinging to her voluptuous body (La Dolce Vita, 1959)...the athletic and big-busted girl I adored at school (1961, she was three years older than me, which was an eon at that time)...Christel, my elder sister's girlfriend, in a light pink see-through baby doll playing the grand piano downstairs....

All very platonic etudes in approaching the optimal female form. I grew up in West Germany in the early fifties, those years when owning a Volkswagen beetle was virtually the measure of affluence.

And we did not have one until 1960-something. We lived in a tiny village near the Iron Curtain, and when I was 5, I went to tend the cows with the other youngsters, and some of them were girls. Who, some afternoons, showed us what they had between their legs. That's when I saw my first real "butterfly", on a cold September day, and that's why I still believe a rather dark bluish-red is a skin tone. I still wonder what made Marie and Helene stretch their tiny labiae like that.

I grew up in a family of extremely flat-chested women. Neither Mom nor my three sisters had any of those mysterious protuberances that stood out so prominently on the neighboring farmers' wives... They baked their own bread in those days, in a community oven once a week, a specially spiced, disk-shaped bread. Even now my mouth waters as I remember the smell of it... and those peasant women would cut it practically on their tits, with the knife sawing closer and closer to those massive orbs... Then Dad got a promotion and we had to move to what I believed to be a town. It even had two movie theaters, and about 6,000 souls. I was ten then.

Ten years old... That was Anita Ekberg's time, she starred in that scandalous movie La Dolce Vita, and nobody of my generation will forget her voluptuous figure in some fountain in Rome, with Mr. Marcello Mastroianni giving his interpretation of an end-fifties playboy... My father took that right-wing German Sunday paper Die Welt am Sonntag, and their star cartoonist, a former Nazi called Hicks, published a cartoon exaggerating both the excesses the film portrays: the behavior of the high society and the busts of the actresses.
 
I'll never forget that lousy cartoon. I could not cut it out of Dad's paper, so I copied it, i.e. (1959!) I made a drawing after it, and as exaggeration was Hr. Hicks' - may his soul rot in some forgotten dungeon - business, I continued along that line. Innocent fantasies of weightless drifting boobs twice the size of a head. My only excuse is that I had never ever seen a boob before, and, secondly, Newton's law is something for elder boys, too. I hid the stuff in my toy train set, below the mountain. It was unearthed, I was prosecuted and found guilty of committing a crime I'd never heard of: pornography! Unfortunately, at that time my Dad still held to the biblical motto of "if you love your son, beat him"...apparently he loved me very much that day.

The next thing (after my first and very shocking experiences with masturbation - I thought the roof of that toilet had collapsed) I remember boobwise was Christel, a girlfriend of my elder sister. I described her appearance in the forum a few weeks ago, so all I'll say now is that I have positive proof that Chopin etudes, if played by a buxom girl in a see-through baby doll nightshirt, are pure sex. It still works today, something my shrink calls conditioning. Chopin keeps me off Viagra... and ever since then I've found that type of woman extremely attractive.

There is a little gap in my memories, I reckon there were two boobless years until I met my first girlfriend. She was, you name it, a somewhat plumper younger version of that Christel.

I joined that folk dance society just to get my hands on what must have been her supple D's, but they looked like Bavarian mountains to me. Strange, she'd let me fondle her beauties in the dark after those dance sessions, but she would not show them to me. A first lesson in feminine witchcraft - you always have to deny something, no matter what. Our relation ended, unfortunately, when, at an international folk dance meeting, she was found stark naked in the tent of the French delegation. I only cared about that because those blokes got to see what I didn't...

traX wants me to go on and on, he's been very proliferate lately, but I don't have too many stories to tell, and this one will have to last for at least two more BEhavior issues, so it's

to be continued

Thanks go,
-   as usual, to St Stephan for his editing - he says there's hardly anything he changes,
    but that's only because he is a saint and sometime vowed to be positive -
-   to Solitron for his fading Cheshire Cat -
    traX had to change this and that, but it still remains yours, pal (and Tenniel's)
-   and to gonZo, our HTML and graphics wizard cumeditor for the chance to use that fine
    layout of his...