Nina Written by Titslaveon March 30, 2000 They say you can’t home again, but my college sweetheart and I did it. Last year David and Nina James came back to this suburb of St. Louis, where we had grown up, to settle down and raise a family. About three years ago we had graduated from the University of Wisconsin, both with degrees in therapeutic counseling, with an emphasis in Christian pastoral support work, and lived on one coast, then the other. Last June we decided there was no place like home. We saw this also as a way to grow in our faith, and to follow the Lord. God had blessed me when Nina took my hand in marriage. She has a soft, smoky voice and is a green-eyed blonde with finely chiseled cheeks. She is somewhat tall (5’7″) with a slender figure, but very curvy at chest level. It’s a feature that you encounter in a woman rarely – this combination of slender build with bustiness – and she has an eye popping, perky bosom, one that stops traffic. Just before our wedding I snuck a peak at one of her brassieres and sighed when I read the label: 42DDD. After we married I frequently glanced at the labels on her bras, picking them up off the floor or pulling them out of the dresser. Sometimes she was wearing E cup bras and it made my heart stop. She was quite a big girl where it counted, and she was all mine. Thank you Lord, I thought to myself. Two incidents during our marriage showed how modest Nina could be about this aspect of her anatomy. We visited Cancun on our honeymoon and she wore a rather scanty bikini on the beach for first day. Her breasts were so conspicuous and I was once again bowled over by them as I walked back to our towel from a walk I had taken down the beach. Evidently the stares she got were so intense that she left the beach in the afternoon and refused to go out of the hotel room until I went and bought her a one-piece, conservative swimsuit with a high neckline. She insisted on going to a church to pray while we were still in Mexico. I said I felt badly that she had been humiliated getting constant stares on the beach and I suggested that she should not feel dirty wearing a swimsuit. She sort of agreed, saying it was not the wearing of the bikini that was lustful, it was the feeling she got from all the stares from the young college guys. I had assumed she meant a feeling of shame. A more recent situation was back here, after we had returned to our hometown, while she was working for an insurance agency before she had Jenni – our baby girl. Nina told me in great detail that two smartass high school interns working at her office had been making comments about her chest and had asked her to bend over more and wear more low-cut tops. One morning she left for work with a low cut blouse to placate them. “Maybe that will shut them up,” she sighed as I dropped her off. She was staring intently at me as if to evaluate my reaction, “What do you think?” She looked down at her chest. I empathized with her, saying: “Maybe it will. But you’re more than they can handle, the little twirps.” “Do you mean they might try to handle my breasts?” she asked, kissing my lips warmly. “Uh, no,” I said. “Well, I hope this placates them.” She said, a deep sigh leaving her. Unfortunately, as she related to me that night, their comments only got more filthy and these conceited types a few times that day came up behind her when she was at her desk and had reached down under her top and grabbed her breasts. “I guess this blouse sent a strong message,” she said. We prayed about the embarrassment and she asked God to help her with the feelings that she had when they did these things. “I need to be strong, Lord,” she said. “You no doubt are very angry with them,” I said. “Your feelings must be very deep.” She looked down and said, “they are.” “They will have to answer for this,” I said, referring to God’s judgment of them. “I guess they won’t be answering to you in the meantime,” Nina said teasingly. “Just kidding,” she grinned, looking down at her wine glass. We had settled in quickly in our hometown, renewed old friendships, shook our heads at the changes like the new mall a few miles away, and then joined a church that Nina had attended when she was little. The congregation was large, the minister gave a good sermon, and people were nice. We jumped into church work full throttle, eager to grow spiritually. And when it was obvious to her that the youth group needed more attention than it had been getting, Nina eagerly suggested that we volunteer to help get it back on track. I agreed. At church the head of the youth group, Cal, approached us after service one Sunday. I hadn’t realized Nina had spoken to him and expressed an interest in working with older teenage boys. Following up, Cal asked if we were interested in counseling a few of them. “They’re getting in all kinds of scrapes,” he told us. He seemed quite concerned about what he had to tell us and pulled us off to a corner during coffee hour. “There’s Wade, the son of the richest family in town. He’s 17 going on 29. He was arrested for holding a gang bang with a woman – from this church – in his parent’s house while they were out of town. He made a video of it. ‘Big Wade and the Boys do Little Nikki'” My wife was listening very intently, and said, like a true Christian soldier. “He’s lost, he needs Jesus.” Then she frowned: “Is he overweight? Why is he called ‘Big’?” Cal grinned slightly and rolled his eyes, “It’s sick. Apparently he’s very well equipped, like major king size. He’s talking about going out to California to break into the porn business. Loves to wear a T shirt that says ‘Down there I got more than you can handle.'” My wife put her hand on her gaping mouth and, with her wide eyes, stifled a mock scream. “It gets worse,” Cal went on. “He put a woman on his block in the hospital by having anal intercourse with her and ripping her rectal tissue. Sorry to gross you out, Nina.” He went on: “Then there’s Larry, who is another sexual predator. He’s 18 and had sex with his science teacher. She had an abortion. These two are very smooth, and precocious, and would be jailed sex offenders if they were of age and they’re families had no clout. Then there’s Chris, who, along with Robert, the fourth problem baby in our teens, is African-American. They’re fundamentally good kids but have been arrested for fighting, selling grass, they talk trash incessantly and need direction. I know you really pushed to do this,” he looked intently at Nina, ” but can you handle these youngsters in a small group? With your counseling training and all….” Before she and I had talked it over Nina assured him on the , obviously anxious to meet the challenge. She felt that God had called us to this ministry. I was struck by her enthusiasm and wondered if our schedules permitted this effort but later she talked me into it, after the fact. Sleeping a few feet away, as we spoke with Cal that day, was Jenni, our darling baby girl, now three months old. She was a gift from Heaven. And God wasn’t done with the gift to me of my wife’s spectacular chest. When Nina’s milk came in her breasts swelled into these very large, rounded, firm watermelons bursting with milk. Her nipples were huge. She had aureoles the size of small pancakes- the forward most flesh of her breasts was all nipple – and she had teats that really protruded. I gazed through mirrors and around corners in the house to watch Nina nurse Jenni. I felt like a voyeur, and could not resist the persistent urge to masturbate. To record the wonders of babyhood I managed to do a video of Nina nursing Jenni after giving assurances to Nina that no one would ever see the tape. I did zoom-in close-ups of Nina’s breasts – surreptitiously – having talked Nina into nursing from each breast. I made a copy of the tape to watch at my office, and I did so in one of the c ence rooms a few times on weekends or after hours, but felt conflicted about the sexual excitement I felt so I threw the tape out. Our first meeting with the boys was to take place the next Saturday. Nina mentioned to me over dinner on the Friday night before that in her eagerness to get started with this ministry she had gotten Wade’s phone number and met briefly with him and the other boys in the church parking lot, after they had returned from a youth group outing into the city. I was impressed with her drive to meet the challenge of four mixed up young men who were facing an adulthood of problems and were without some special attention – attention she and I were trained to provide. The next morning I picked the baby and Nina up at home after finishing an early golf game. As I pulled up in front of our house I was a little surprised that Nina had worn a light brown, thin sweater that was not loosely fitting, as usual, but that was tucked in and stretched very snugly over her chest. She wore a navy blue back pack with her baby accessories in it, the pack’s straps pulling tautly on her sweater’s front, especially when she reached to pull it off to get in the car, then stretched to get in on again when we got out, and so on before and after the meeting. She had on a short plaid skirt and navy blue hose. This was not her usual style, but I assumed she wanted to look casual and youthful to set them at ease and I thought nothing of it. Back packs were in with young people, after all. We met the boys in a small meeting room upstairs at the church. We were excited about getting acquainted with them and sat down with a commitment to get relaxed and learn about what made them tick. Nina was all smiles, upbeat, and told them that this was not the usual youth group meeting. She several times asked each of them to say whatever they wanted, and to think of her as their “special church mom” who was always there for them. “And guys, we’re going to throw away all the rules,” she said, letting her loafers fall off her feet and stretching her legs, one slightly bent, over mine. Wade was very charming, a tall, dark, muscular boy – they all looked like they worked out regularly. Larry was short but handsome and a wrestler at the local high school. Robert smoked and stared hard at me when I reminded him the church was smoke-free. He was not happy about being here. Chris was always smiling, especially at Nina as she held the baby. We talked about youth group trips coming up, music, school, but skirted faith issues – no need to sound like we were trying to get into their spiritual heads. Eventually each of them expressed a good deal of anger toward their parents and stressed, particularly, how estranged they were from their mothers. Wade stared imploringly at us and said: “I need someone to mother me. I am so lonely and need nourishing.” They all seemed to know the right buzz words. Larry looked at Jenni sleeping peacefully in a portable crib I had set up on the floor. “She’s lucky to have a loving mom,” Larry said sadly. At one point I wanted to set the tone of where I wanted them to be going in their lives and said firmly to each boy, “Stand up.” I wanted to apply my skills in Christian counseling. I had started with Wade and he studied me with a grin, and as it would be with the others he then reluctantly, warily rose from his chair. “Put your hands in mine,” I said as we faced each other. “Are you ready to turn your life over to Jesus?” I asked him firmly, looking directly into his eyes. With a modicum of enthusiasm Wade, and afterwards each boy said: “Yeah, whatever.” At my initiative we embraced. “I wish we could have done this with Mrs. James,” Chris said, looking my wife over for the nineteenth time. Nina stood and said to Chris, “Do you need a motherly hug?” He said he sure did, and she got up and stood before him, offering her arms around his head as he sat forward on the couch and eagerly buried it in her chest, his large hands on her back, pulling her against him firmly. After a few minutes of her petting his head while he seemed to overdo the maternal coziness of my wife’s breasts, Nina sighed, red-faced, and patted him briskly on his back. Then she offered the same warm hug to each of the others. Wade was particularly enthusiastic, sighing: “God, this feels so good. Like God’s grace is flowing through your arms into my heart.” I wondered at his sincerity. I also wondered if Nina was getting tired, standing in front of each boy and offering each this five-minute affection. “You guys can call me mom if you want,” she suggested tenderly, “I’m here for you, to love you.” Through the corner of my eye I caught Robert rubbing his crotch and smiling at Larry and Wade, who got serious when they noticed my eyes on them. The gesture surprised and offended me and I said to Robert: “Something about your crotch you want to share, Robert?” I felt good about confronting him, taking control. We had to nip this in the bud if the group was going to grow. He was unprepared for my straight talk and put on a best behavior face and said: “Guys my age…….rub our crotches alot, I meant no disrespect.” After a pause he said, “I do it when I’m feeling lonely and I need someone to help me turn my life over to Jesus.” Nina looked at him bright-eyed and I had expected her to say something about how it was better to control what you did with your hands out in public, out of respect for others, especially a member of the opposite sex. I had thought she was going to mention that she was uncomfortable with suggestive gestures in her presence. Instead, she said, in a seling voice: “Whatever you guys normally do is OK with me. If rubbing your crotches helps you express your feelings, I want you to feel positive about it. Just be you.” Then she smiled and said, rather overdoing the warm fuzzies, “And I have to say I feel lucky to be with such attractive young lady-killers.” We sat there quietly and now all of them were ever so often rubbing themselves. “I notice that each of you is touching yourself, and that’s expected” she said, staring, then she turned to me and said matter of factly, in a collegial tone: “Honey, do you notice how each of them is doing it? This is entirely normal for boys this age.” I tried to speak to her confidentially, and moved close to her, saying: “This is a little outrageous. We’re losing control here. They’re obviously sexually attracted to you. Don’t you see the inappropriateness of what they’re doing?” She looked down at her sweater and said: “Honey, let’s not lecture them the first time!” Instead of keeping the chat between us, Nina then looked at the boys and said: “My husband thinks you guys are sexually attracted to me. Are you?” Instead of answering they continued to stare – and rub. I was indignant. “My wife and I will not tolerate rudeness. We are not going to sit here to try to work with you boys if you —” But she cut me off, and said sweetly, looking at them: “It’s expected behavior, Dave. I’m a woman and they’ve got ants in their pants. Comes with the territory.” She smiled at Wade and I felt somewhat lost and needlessly undermined by my wife. Nina still seemed flushed from the hugging and now from the discussion of the crotch rubbing, and lay back with a heavy sigh. Her arms draped over the back of the couch. After a moment of silence, with everyone exchanging stares except me, Wade cleared his throat. “So Mr. James, where did you meet Mrs. James?” he asked smoothly. I welcomed the shift from the preoccupation with my wife. I spoke proudly: “Right here. We grew up here. Best decision I ever made was to marry my wife.” “You must have had some major competition,” Larry laughed. I put my arm around my wife and smiled: “I’m blessed.” “Thank you Larry,” Nina smiled. Robert said: “Yeah, if I’d a been around I would have wanted some of THAT!” Wade interrupted: “Robert, show some respect.” Robert talked over him. “Let’s get it out on the table. I mean this is one of those group sessions, so let me do what I got to do.” He turned to look at me, smiling, and then got out of his chair and stepped in front of Nina. “Stand up,” he said firmly. I was caught off guard as was my wife. “Stand up,” he repeated, a little louder. She did so, smiling awkwardly and saying, “Well, my husband got you to stand so what’s good for the goose….” She stood and faced him, holding out her hands as each boy had done before. But Robert grabbed her by the waist and moved her so that he was behind her. “Stretch your arms behind you, like this,” he said, and he took her arms and moved them so that her knuckles were resting in the small of her back, and then he pulled her elbows back so that they were almost parallel facing behind her. “And bring your shoulders back, stand straight,” he pulled her shoulders back. He was at her side and looked down at me. “Shit, this is even better than the back pack she walked in with…….Now, you get some of this every night, right Mr. James? What’s it like to play with these un vable tits?” I said: “Really, Robert,” I laughed nervously. For some reason Nina did not move a muscle, kind of froze in this pose and looked around at our faces. “He’s asking a fair question,” Wade said. “We’ve been getting to know each other for about forty minutes, shooting the shit and opening up to you with our feelings. So Mr. James, how about it?” I was extremely uncomfortable with this brazen behavior, and I just stared at my wife’s body, accentuated dramatically so that her breasts were sticking out like extra large cantaloupes. I finally said: “We’re here to talk about other things. Nina, sit down. Larry, sit down.” Neither moved. Nina smiled, ill at ease, and said, “Maybe you should tell them what it’s like, honey.” She seemed very excited, almost trembling, and I wanted to get this over with, so I said, “It’s great.” “What’s great?” Robert said quietly. “Her chest,” I said. “Her big tits,” Robert said. “Right,” I muttered, eager to avoid the fearsome danger in his manner. Robert seemed to have this power in his voice and he said, staring down at her breasts, “they’re a lot more than you can handle, right Mr. James?” I tated, and said, “We’re not here to talk about my wife.” Chris jumped in, “so we’ll talk about you. She’s gotta be way beyond what you can handle, right?” She looked at me as if waiting for more of an answer and I for some reason said, trying to put admiration in my voice, slowly saying: “Yeah, more than I can handle. A lot more.” Robert then had the audacity to reach around my wife with his arms and put his hands on her breasts, squeezing them several times, his fingers stretching out over the massive flesh. “Robert!” I yelled, “that’s enough!” He moved his hands back in an exaggerated gesture, with a big “I’m so sorry” expression on his face. He looked at me for a few seconds and then, grinning, said loudly to the others: “What did I tell you!” The four boys let out cheers and applause, except Larry, who sat down next to me with a shake of the head and put his arm around me. “Dude, I thought you were going to kick his ass! I just lost twenty bucks!” Nina continued posing the same way, until I demanded she sit. Her face was beet red, and she was grinning. “This is a heck of meeting for a church,” she said, “I felt like I was in the spotlight.” “You were, Nina,” Wade smiled, “and you liked it.” “You guys need to be put in check,” she said, trying to sound clinical, then after a beat she added: “and I guess no one here is going to do that.” Then, disturbingly, she looked up at Wade and laughed. I was beside myself, but Nina snuggled up to me and said: “Oh Dave, it’s all right. Robert’s a lost soul. It doesn’t offend me. I can get through to him.” I continued to glare at him, and then he said: “Hey, Mr. James, you’re being too nice. Still time to kick my ass.” Not wanting to reduce this effort to violence, I said: “Just keep your hands to yourself.” “I just need some love from our Mrs. Mom,” he said, almost smirking. “How’d that love feel?” Chris asked. “This bitch has got a LOT of love there,” Robert said, whistling. Then he with exaggerated politeness said to me, “now Mr. James, don’t go postal on me. I mean ‘bitch’ out of respect. It’s a black thing, right Chris?” Chris smiled and they knocked their fists together. We changed the subject to Larry’s home life, which was awful, and to his compulsion to conquer women older than him. Nina, for some reason, was still shaking, and I attempted to calm her down by holding her hand. “How do these married women react when you have sex with them?” she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity. Gone was that clinical detachment she normally always kept “on”. Wade said: “Nina, God gave me the equipment, and once they get it they keep begging. The married ones just love to get nasty and I do mean nasty. So I can fuck ’em for hours. But I’m so lonely all the time.” He began to sob and held his arms out to my wife for a hug. “Now hold it right there,” I said, “I won’t stand for any more pawing of my wife.” Nina turned to me, glaring. “Dave, can’t you see he’s hurting? These young men are in pain. Get over it!” She stood and embraced him for a long few minutes, this time both of them standing, and then did the same with Larry, then Robert, then Robert and Larry together. Wade had managed to sneak a kiss on her lips, and then they all did. By the time Robert and Larry were hugging her, two pairs of lips were kissing her face and neck. I felt like I would sound like a jerk if I objected to that, so I remained silent. I was happy to have the meeting as a first step with these young men but a big part of me was glad it was over. These were fast track teenagers, brash, physical, aggressive. Nina and I spoke about it in the car, and again as we went to bed. “That was very productive. I wasn’t expecting so much attention. I think they really liked me. What do you think?” she inquired, her voice a little tense, higher, sounding oddly formal. “If it continues like this maybe someone else should work with these guys,” I said, a sense of apprehension coming over me, “I can’t believe Robert grabbed your chest. You must be deeply offended.” She spoke quietly: “He obviously is starving for affection. We have just started this ministry, and with a lot of love they’ll turn out OK.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Nina appeared to take this assault in stride. I told her I thought that Robert was way out of line, and I objected to the hugging and kissing. “You must not have thought Robert was too far out of line,” she said, looking at me closely. “Why do you say that?” I responded, defensively. “I was expecting you to stop him,” she laughed, an edge in her voice. I said: “I guess he took charge before I could do anything, and then I told him to sit down, and then you asked me to tell them —-” She jumped in, “—that my big chest is more than you can handle. You know, you didn’t have to play along with that. You could have cut him off and sat him down. You seemed to go along with the boasting about the fun you have with my breasts, and you told those boys I’m more than you can handle. Maybe you actually liked Robert grabbing my ‘big tits’ – another thing you went along with.” “That’s just not true!” I said. We were quiet for a few minutes. “I just know,” she then said, “these four can handle the love I have for them. I’ve got so much to give.” This conversation had gone from my concern over the boys’ treatment of my wife to my lack of aggression and my fetishism, then to her desire to give them something that was beyond me. I pouted, and became very anxious about what lay ahead. In bed she was eager to make love, in a hellcat way that completely surprised me. She tired me out and when I suggested we call it a night she seemed extremely disappointed. “I wish you’d get hard again,” she must have said ten times.