That first week in August 2010, I let Best Boy set the tone about how often we saw each other.  That seemed to work well, as I saw him four times within seven nights. Sex was definitely the focus of our time together, but while he was over, we also managed to catch up, watch some television and do some work.

When I saw Best Boy 12 days after my first breast surgery, I felt strong enough to have sex without a bra.  (Boobs are meant to be displayed, kissed and licked, after all!)  I took my bra off, and Best Boy got on top of me.  My right leg was around his neck, and he was thrusting with a high velocity.  My tits started bouncing, and I wondered if that would be a problem so I moved my left hand over to cup my right breast.

After we both came, Best Boy got up to go to the bathroom.  I turned over and was in excruciating pain.  I looked down and saw that my right breast had swelled to THREE times the size!  (I wish I was exaggerating, but I'm not.  This was like elephanTITis!)

Me  [in a voice that sounded as though I was trying to imitate Rain Man]: This isn't good.  [Pause.]  Something’s wrong.  [Pause.]  This isn't good.  Something's wrong.

Best Boy [coming out of the bathroom]: What’s wrong?  [He looks at me, and his eyes become wide.]  Do we need to go to the ER?

Me: I really hope not.  I don’t know, though.  Mind getting me some ice?

I put my bra back on, placed the ice packs inside and took some Tylenol.  My swollen tit kept throbbing, and I was worried.  My next surgery was less than three days away, and I would hate to have it postponed from a sex injury!  (I'm all for having fun, but there are limits!)

In the morning, I had an event to go to, and Best Boy was kind enough to give me a ride.  He told me to let him know if I needed anything.  Later that day, I texted him:

I’m thankful that we have such great chemistry, but I’m far more thankful that you’re my friend.

And, I was.