This was one of those totally spontaneous episodes in my life that will likely have ramifications long afterward.It was no big thing. Actually, it was...two little things, my b-cup titties, that started it. "Show me your tits" is a common refrain among young men. Overly-optimistic and expectant, but usually disappointed, they bark these words at women all the time. It was a hot, humid summer day and sundresses were as ubiquitous as mosquitoes. I was no exception. Breezy cotton and spaghetti. I have started to work on another invention, so he has a bit of a vested interest in keeping me on his good side, since he will probably bid on the patents. At any rate, I had mentioned that I knew practically nothing about investments. During our conversation, I reminded him that he had said he knew a broker who was young, very intelligent, and had only been in business for himself for about a year. Frank said the guy was sharp, trustworthy, and hungry. Against all reason I guess, I took. He limped, bleeding and angry towards the door. "I don't know why you're so pissed," he whimpered. "You got what you wanted; Sam WhoSnacky won't want to have anything to do with you." We were only supposed to make him angry enough to dump me, asshole. Not angry enough to make him want me out of his life forever. There's a good chance that I'll never get him back now." If you wanted to get him back, why'd you do this in the first place?" he asked. "What is so God Damned special about Sam. On top Gloria helped me first into a long-sleeved, sheer, blacknylon tee and over that a little black lace shrug that she knotted justbelow my bosom. To bridge the gap around my middle, she had foundanother, bright red, waist cinch that she used in lieu of a belt. A pairof plain black court shoes - with very high heels, of course - completedthe outfit.The effect of the double corseting was to push my loose chest flesh evenfurther up and in; I had never had such cleavage as I was.