I used to live right in the heart of Buckhead, Atlanta’s party district.
One time, my ex had some co-workers from out-of-town come in for a meeting. The last night they were in the city, all of us met at our apartment and went out for dinner and drinks.
After dinner, we walked from bar to bar. At one point, we were crossing the street, when I noticed a man crossing the street in the opposite direction.
He was wearing old, nasty biker boots. He had on ancient blue jeans with stains and dirt and what appeared to be dried paint or jizz on them. He was wearing an old, equally-stained red and white checkerboard flannel shirt that looked like an old Pizza Hut table cloth. He was shorter than me, I’d guess around 5’7″ or so without the boots. He was very skinny and had this incredibly greasy salt and pepper hair, which was combed back. He had a stringy mustache and a 5 o’clock shadow. I think he was missing a few teeth. His skin was weathered and wrinkled and his eyes were slightly sunken in. He completed his ensemble with one of those “chain wallets” that bikers and rednecks like so much.
In short, he looked like a cross between your typical urban homeless guy and some wild “Mountain Man”. Or, even better, he looked something like the love child of Earl Hickey (from My Name Is Earl) and Begbie (from Trainspotting), only with AIDS or some sort of debilitating disease that makes you waste away.
But his red and white flannel shirt was open, and underneath it he was wearing a white, ribbed ladies t-shirt… the kind with the collar that circles down low to show off their cleavage.
And there, the man had a perfect set of tits.
They were large, Katy Perry-sized breasts, and they formed perfect teardrops on his chest. The white shirt was such that you could see the cleavage, and it didn’t appear that he was wearing a “push ’em up” or “squish ’em together” bra. I’ve actually known a few transvestites in my time, and in every case they ended up with the “grapefruits under the skin” type of fake breasts. But not this guy. I’ve rarely seen women that had such perfect breasts, much less a Mountain Man homeless guy.
I turned to the male one of my ex’s co-workers to ask if he’d saw the man and his breasts too. But I actually didn’t need to ask him, because when I turned to speak to him, the look on his face said it all: he’d seen Perfect Tits Homeless Mountain Man, too.