The Unexpected Trouble With Large Breasts 3


When we were still living in Kuwait, my grandmother would come visit us from Czechoslovakia. My grandmother was a large woman with large breasts. As large as water melons. Her breasts were so large that she was able to hide beer bottles and other liquor bottles underneath them to smuggle the illegal substance into the Islamic country.

Her greatest joy and pleasure upon visiting Kuwait was going to the beach, since there is no access to the sea in Czechoslovakia, only lakes. Swimming in the salty water and walking on those big grains of sand was a novelty for an old European lady.

One early morning my mother decided to take her mother to the beach. Thinking that an early morning swim would enable them to have the beach all to themselves, plus avoid the unbearable noon time heat. ihath decided to stay home, but ihath’s brother, who was only about 12 or 13 at the time chose to join the beach going party.

At the beach my mother sat on blanket reading a book, while my brother and grandmother went swimming and splashing in the sea. After a while the old lady tired from all the excitement and decided to sit in the very shallow end of the water to enjoy a sandwich. The falling bread crumbs attracted tiny little fishes who were plentiful in those seas named the Persian gulf at the time and always seemed to be swimming together in large swarms. When all was good and happy, an angry wave couldn’t bare to see such innocent fun taking place when only miles away war raged. The angry sea wave gathered up all her strength and decided to splash over the old European lady with large breasts spoiling her sandwich with salty water. The hostile wave was successful in its mission only too well. But, as always, vigorous actions have unintended consequences. A tiny little fish was swooped up in the determined wave and found itself swimming on the inside of my grandmothers’ swimming suit when only moments ago it was swimming on the outside of my grandmothers’ swimming suit. The fish flapped around in alarm attempting to escape confinement. When my grandmother sensed something moving about inside her swimming suit, she was dumb founded by the strange sensation and began to scream. My brother reacted immediately by pulling open the front side of my grandmothers’ swimming suit and sticking his hand down the same path the fish went only moments ago. He tried to grab the fish and throw it back in the sea, but the fish kept slipping away. The young man, barely a man, more like a boy stood over his sitting grandmother ,who was still screaming, attempting to the best of his abilities to grab the poor fish.

At that very same moment, a police car was driving by on the road across from the beach. My mother, still sitting on the blanket, noticed the police car come to a sudden halt. The police officer jumped out of the car leaving the car door open. He began to run towards my family as fast as he could. My mother noticed that he was placing his hand on his gun as he ran towards them. From a distance, it seemed that a woman with large breasts was swimming in the sea minding her own business when a man decided to sexually assault her right on the beach. The desperate screams of the woman with the large breasts were a further proof of her distress and her desperate need for a knight in shining armor to come to her rescue. The police office’s perception was quickly surmised by my mother. She knew that swift action was required before a tragic ending could take place to what started as humorous incident on the beach. My mother jumped right in front of the police officer and yelled ‘Stop!’. ‘This is not what you think’ she continued after a suitable dramatic pause. ‘The woman sitting in the sea is my mother and that is my son’ she tried to explain to the police officer. ‘But, if that is his grandmother, then how come he is touching her boobs?’ The police officer asked in a disbelieving tone of voice. My mother told him about the wave and the fish. From up close the police officer could see that the damsel in distress was really an old lady that just happens to have large breasts. And that what seemed like an crazy predator was really a young man, almost a boy. After a contemplative pause the police man relaxed, wished the beach revelers a good day and walked back to his car. Probably thinking: “Stupid Foreigners.”

I myself, did not inherit my grandmother’s secret smuggling compartment (is this a new euphemism for large breasts?), but certainly inherited the family’s legacy of causing mischief even in the most innocuous of situations. I don’t go around looking for mischief. It just seems to always find me.

I woke up hearing flamenco guitar. In between states of sleepiness and awakeness, I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming the music or actually hearing it. “Maybe one of travel companions got all exited and decided to play a flamenco CD”, I thought to myself. But since the music was stopping and starting, I finally realized that a guitarist was playing underneath my window. That is how I woke up on my first day in Seville. It was the perfect start to what continued to emerge as the most perfect trip. Seville, whose streets lined with orange trees, weeping fountains and breezy courtyards, is the throbbing heart of this magical art form called flamenco. And that is where I went recently with two companions to explore and experience to the maximum. During the day I was taking dance classes and in the evening I was attending shows. In short, I was in heaven. Completely submerging myself in something that I love. I was a happy fish swimming in my favorite waters. All was beyond perfect, more than I had wished for. In a world or turmoil and upheaval, innocent fun can be painful to bear for some.

My rhythm and clapping class was extremely useful and I learned plenty about the different flamenco rhythms and how to listen to the music. Our teacher, who shall be renamed, was very knowledgeable and had a beautiful voice. Frequently he sang in the class. However he also had an arrogant attitude which implied “I know this stuff and you guys are too stupid to get it”. On my second day of classes, when I asked him about something which I didn’t understand he replied by saying “you will understand this in your next life” … Ouch! … what a nasty comment. That night my travel companions and I nicknamed him “Estúpido Bastardo “ which means stupid bastard in Spanish. His standard answers to questions frequently included “Flamenco is very difficult”, “You need to live in Andalucía for many years before you can understand this” and “You need to listen to lots of Flamenco”. While his nasty comments where spread across all the students in the class, I seemed to be singled out for the most awful ones. I spend the next 10 days thinking about the perfect way to seek revenge on Estúpido Bastardo for his demeaning comments. My options were – make fun of his physical appearance, ridicule his pathetic English or disrupt the class in some way that would annoy him. None of the three options seemed very satisfying. I kept hoping that an opportunity would come up that would allow me to get back at him for his arrogant attitude. The perfect opportunity came up on the last day of classes when Estúpido Bastardo was saying goodbye to all the students and he would shake hands with each one and give them a kiss on each cheek as is customary in Spain. When he approached me to say goodbye. I stuck my hand out in an obvious manner as to say please don’t come too close to me. Being a Estúpido Bastardo he ignored my body language and kissed me on each cheek anyway. My reaction to that was to make a facial gesture of absolute disgust as if I was just kissed by a slimy slithering lizard. I could see on his face that he was very upset by my reaction. My message got across. Estúpido Bastardo got his just dessert. Ha ha ha ha ha! Perhaps he will learn some humility in this life.

Do you have a story involving large breasts? Would love to hear about it.


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3 thoughts on “The Unexpected Trouble With Large Breasts

  • Leo

    Hi Ihath,
    I just came across your blog. Very interesting! what are the odds of coming across an Iraqi blogger/writer/flamenco dancer in Vancouver? Anyway, about flamenco, have you tried going to Kino's Cafe on Cambie and 19th? if you have not, you should. There is live "modern" flamenco shows "singing and dancing" that take place every night except for Mondays and Tuesdays but I would suggest, if you are intending to see the shows and enjoy them, to go on a Sunday or a Wednesday as the crowds are a bit wild on weekends if you know what I mean! keep up the good work.