Don't Slap My Boob!

By Isabella Martini

Just as Izzy is about to pop the last potato chip in the bag into her mouth her mother suddenly yells at her. "You're too fat! No Indian man will ever marry you!"

Izzy's traditional, fat and married Indian mother has just uttered the words that will scar her for life. With a perplexed look on her chubby and greasy face, Izzy stares at her irate mother. Slowly, the words sink in. Although she's just a little girl, the seeds of doubt and insecurity have been planted. Never one to accept defeat, Izzy refuses to believe that her worth is determined by her body size. She will prove her mother wrong... someday!

Years later, Izzy goes off to college and discovers freedom. Away from her strict parents and over-protective brother, she's ready to discover her feminine power and unleash her suppressed sexuality. Izzy is determined to show her family that she's lovable and sexy even if she's a plus-size chick. At all costs, Izzy must find a husband who doesn't care about her weight and respects her independent and out-spoken ways.

“Don’t Smack My Boob” is a candid account of the most intimate moments of Izzy's wacky, desperate, and often hilarious on-line dating escapades. When this very Americanized girl goes against her traditional Indian parents' values and expectations, disaster is sure to strike...and it does...again and again! The internet becomes both her best friend and worst enemy as Izzy unwittingly draws in one loser after another and repeatedly misses all the red flags. Her search for Mr. Right only leads her to outrageous scenarios with guys who only seem to want one thing from her...and it surely isn't marriage!

While it’s often said that “mother knows best” Izzy can attest to the fact that this is not true. There are plenty of men of all cultures who are willing to date Izzy, regardless of her weight. In Izzy's conventional, Indian family, you're an "old maid" if you're not married before the age of 21. At 22, Izzy has graduated with a Master's degree but her accomplishments are overshadowed by the fact that her parents believe she's way past her prime.

The problem? Izzy is a fun-loving, not-so-traditional, Americanized Indian girl who likes to flirt like crazy. Marriage-minded men aren't gravitating to her, but liars, cheats and morons are. Meanwhile, her inability to find a husband feels like a major tragedy to her parents. Being fat and unmarried is the equivalent of a death sentence!

Finding a husband that meets her standards and those of her parents is not that easy. From the start, Izzy's dates are never who they seem to be. First, there's the dream-date who terrifies an inexperienced Izzy when he reveals a kinky fetish with boob-smacking. Then there's the little gorilla of a man who's perfect in every way...except that he's covered in hair from head to toe. They're followed by the seemingly perfect, Indian doctor who soon reveals himself to be a self-prescribing drug addict...and it only gets worse from there!

An ever-optimistic Izzy repeatedly subjects herself to bizarre dating scenarios in her quest to find a husband. She's even conned into going on painfully awkward double dates with her parents, who aren't beyond "arranging" to marry her off to a FOB (Fresh Off the Boat, non-English speaking guy). By the age of 27, Izzy feels like she has seen and felt it all! Along the way, she learns powerful messages about her self-worth and begins a journey to self-acceptance.

"Don't Smack My Boob" offers a humorous, sneak view of first and second generation Indian families in New York City. Izzy's stories exemplify how their values and cultural views on women and marriage can clash with American ideals. Join a bubbly and idealistic Izzy as she learns how to navigate the two worlds and discovers herself in the process.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Isabella Martini
• Release date: Mar 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311602503

Isabella Martini

When she's not writing about her on-line dating disasters, Isabella (Izzy) Martini spends her days working overtime as an Administrator. She earned a Master's degree at a young age and is rapidly moving up the ladder of success. Outside of work Izzy is a fun loving, happy-go-lucky girl. She enjoys exploring the social scene, discovering the city's sights and hidden gems that can be found in NYC, and immersing herself in multi-cultural activities. Nothing makes Izzy happier than preparing a home-made feast for loved ones. Izzy adores her old-fashioned Indian family but they have no idea that she's had multiple, on-line dates. They have not lost hope that one day she will find a good, old-fashioned, Indian husband. Right now, Izzy is at the prime of her life and enjoying every minute of it.

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Don’t Slap My Boob!

Isabella Martini

Copyright 2014 by Isabella Martini

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Electronic adaptation by www.StunningBooks.com

Table of Contents

Prologue: You’re Too Fat…No Indian Man Will Ever Marry You!

Chapter 1: Boob Slapping & Other Awkward Sexual Encounters

Chapter 2: Filmmaker Drama

Chapter 3: Jagger Lips

Chapter 4: Indian Sloppy Joe’s

Chapter 5: I Feel Pretty?

Chapter 6: What’s Up Doc?

Chapter 7: Flying High With Indian Romeo

Chapter 8: Liar, Liar!

Chapter 9: Three Cows & One Sheep = Izzy M’s Dowry

Chapter 10: How You Doin’?

Chapter 11: Mr. Wrong

Chapter 12: The Nub

Chapter 13: Train Wreck

Chapter 14: Alien Attack

Chapter 15: Lost in Translation

Chapter 16: Well...Where is Mr. Right?

About The Authors

Connect with Izzy Martini

Acknowledgements

Izzy Martini: I would like to thank my family for loving me and for challenging me. Without them, I would not be the strong, assertive woman I am today. I’m grateful to all my girlfriends for listening to my endless stories about my many dating adventures and my mission to find a husband. Their unconditional love, friendship and honest advice throughout the years have made me wiser. A special thank you goes to my co-writer, Ariana Di Maio, who put in countless hours and spent many sleepless nights in her quest to support me in making Don’t Slap My Boob a great success.

Ariana Di Maio: My friend Izzy Martini has made me laugh more than I ever thought I would in this lifetime. I’m thankful to Izzy for so honestly sharing her stories with me, and asking me to co-write Don’t Slap My Boob! I’d like to say it was hard work but the truth is, thanks to Izzy, it was mostly fun. I’d also like to thank my family and my supportive and loving husband, who so patiently sat down to read the countless re-writes of every chapter.

Prologue

You’re Too Fat…No Indian Man Will Ever Marry You!

It all began in Middle School, right smack in the middle of puberty as my ovaries started to tingle and make their presence known. I was the shy Indian girl with the biggest boobs in the class, attending a predominantly white school. Since I’ve always gravitated to the familiar, of course I fell in love with the smartest Indian boy in my homeroom.

There weren’t all that many awesome guys to choose from in eighth grade and Pret met all the qualities that my parents required of my future husband. (Izzy M. afterthought: Can someone please tell me why on earth I was thinking about marriage in the eighth grade? Actually, just read the entire book and I know you will understand.)

I’d had an intense crush on Pret since the fourth grade and obsessed over him throughout my middle school years. It seemed that every single teacher at the school knew how I felt about my feelings. Let’s just say I’ve always been the kind of girl who wears her heart on her sleeve. Although everyone else seemed to know that I was madly in love with Pret, he was oblivious to the manner in which my soulful, puppy dog followed him each time he walked by.

I was an awkward kid who had no idea about how to fit in, much less how to interact with members of the opposite sex. My parents were always so busy worrying that I’d never be marriage material that they completely forgot to coach me on what to do with all the crazy, hormonally induced urges that were raging inside of me.

My crush on Pret seemed like nothing more than an unattainable fantasy. After all, my own mother had told me that I’d never get married, given that no Indian man would want me because I was too fat. FYI, she yelled this dire prediction across the kitchen as I was popping the last potato chip in the bag into my mouth. Talk about being scarred for life!

Mind you, my overly-critical mother was the very same person who used to make me wear my brother’s clothes every day, completely overlooking some important facts in the process. One, my brother was hyperthyroid and had a super speedy metabolism. I’ll leave it to your imagination but I’m certain you can visualize my bodacious curves spilling out of his slim jeans.

Secondly, Mom was so worried about what was wrong with me that she forgot to teach me that a kiss-ass attitude, high self-esteem, and clothes that actually fit me could help me to get plenty of admirers, regardless of my weight. (This book will prove that to you!) In spite of my mother’s hopeless prediction, I discovered something very important during my dating adventures; no matter what size you are...you too can get some ass!

Now…back to Pret. In addition to starring in many PG-rated, Bollywood style dreams, Pret occupied my waking thoughts constantly. I would stare at him with undisguised longing every day, sighing as I tried to come to terms with the fact that he would never give me a second glance.

Well, imagine my surprise when, out of the blue, Pret asked me to the eighth grade dance! I was in a state of shock and disbelief over this random occurrence. It all just seemed too good to be true…and sure enough, it was. The day after the dance, Pret dumped me. I still don’t know why. It still hurts. Damn you Pret! Before it had even begun, my fantasy relationship abruptly ended.

The remainder of my dating life would follow a similar pattern, for many years to come. In fact, I found myself in so many bizarre dating scenarios that my friends would often shake their heads in disbelief and say, That’s crazy! You really should write a book. So guess what? I did!

My good friend, Ariana Di Maio co-wrote this story with me. Ariana is a women’s counselor, specializing in relationship issues. Writing the stories was a lot of fun, but it also became a cathartic process. Over wine, laughter and tears we gave a unique voice to the girl who was driven to find a husband in order to prove her worth. We decided to have a little fun by changing my actual name to Izzy Martini. After all, there’s no way in hell my family would allow this book to be published if they knew I’d written it.

Together, Ariana and I came to understand the root cause of my bad dating choices. Those insights are interjected throughout the book with honesty and humor. I keep it real baby! I’ve added my very own Indian spiciness, quirky outlook on life, and insane sense of humor into the mix and… voila! Don’t Slap My Boob was born.

From crazy, boob-slapping guys to dudes with some very bizarre sexual fetishes, this 27 year old girl has seen and felt it all! My early, wacky, disappointing and often hilarious dating experiences mark the beginning of the desperate escapades of a single, Indian fat chick looking for a husband and driven by the compelling need to prove my mother wrong.

The following chapters are all about the disastrous dates which I went on with the idealistic notion that each guy I met could be Mr. Right. This was a silly fantasy I entertained for years, in spite of hard evidence in every instance that they were always Mr. Oh-So-Wrong!

Chapter 1

Boob Slapping & Other Awkward Sexual Encounters

There’s not much of a dating life to speak of during my freshman and sophomore High School years. This I owe to my Dad and my brother for taking on full-time roles as unpaid cock-blockers. Mind you, while they perfected their strategies to keep me away from boys, I perfected the art of having secret, online relationships.

It was a hell of a lot of work to date online while keeping it on the down low. My very old-fashioned and traditional Indian dad wasn’t hip enough to really understand the internet, so he had no idea what I was up to. However my big bro was like a bloodhound on the trail of a rabbit. As soon as he left for college I was on like Donkey Kong!

Let’s talk about my first so-called relationship. I had known this guy for a year online, although I hadn’t yet met him in person. He was my Irish God as far as I was concerned, complete with red hair and sea-green eyes.

Finally, the planets and the stars aligned and we set up our first meeting. Of course, of the many questions I might have asked my online boyfriend on the day we finally met, what do you think was the first thing I blurted out? I asked, So…umm…does the downstairs match the upstairs? (Izzy M. afterthought: Clearly, I had no filter. Well, actually, I’m still a work in progress when it comes to that, but I honestly have no idea how I was able to get away with some of the things that came out of my mouth back then!)

I’m certain it wasn’t a very appropriate question to ask, but it reflected my naivety, social awkwardness, and burgeoning curiosity about dating men of different ethnic backgrounds. After my mom’s doomsday prediction that Indian men would never date or marry me due to my weight, I decided to take matters into my own hands. At all costs, and by all means, I was going to make sure that marriage to somebody was guaranteed to be in my future. Since my only life mission had become to prove her wrong, I dated plenty of non-Indian guys in order to increase the probability that I would win this battle.

In my immature mind, the wedding to my Irish God was a sealed deal. At last, here was a guy who loved me for me. He didn’t care whatsoever about my physical attributes and was accepting of my size. This felt like a sign from above, because all the men I liked seemed to be looking for rail-thin, half-starved chicks.

I fully trusted the Irish God because I had no idea yet about the games people play in relationships. You know what they say? Love is blind, and oh man, was I blind. In my innocence I unknowingly introduced the Irish God to the girl that he would eventually cheat on me with. And just how did I manage to do that, you ask? Well, in true Izzy M. fashion, I became friends with this girl online. Although I had never met her, I trusted her…as if she were a real friend. (Yeah, same way I trusted my online BF, the Irish God!)

Since my new online GF lived near my Irish God’s place, I foolishly asked her to do me a favor and keep tabs on him. I don’t know why but I had started to get this weird sense that he might cheat. Well…bingo!

My online GF sure did a fine job of keeping an eye on my Irish God. She had sex with him, and screwed me over in the process! I don’t know if she misunderstood my request but this much I did know; I was single once again. And, just like that, this was the end of my first online relationship.

Being betrayed really stung, but it taught me a very important lesson. In love and life, cyber friends and boyfriends are just about the equivalent of having imaginary friends when you’re five years old. They only exist in your head!

Not one to be deterred by that little mishap, I soon returned to the dating scene with renewed vigor. I had just moved away to college and I had my first dorm room. All I could think of was FREEDOM!

Even before I moved, my mind was already calculating how many guys I could hook up with, without my parents ever finding out. Their biggest concern was that if I dated while in college, my grades would suffer. I had the pleasure of debunking that myth after I dated far more than any of my college friends and still graduated with a 3.8 GPA plus a Master’s Degree at age 22. So, in short, eat that Mom and Dad! Wrong again!

Okay, I know you’re dying to hear about my boob slapper, so let’s get right to it. (Come on, it’s okay to admit it. We all know that it was the title of this book that made you want to read it in the first place.) So, without further delay, let’s get back to my dating escapades!

I was in my fourth week of college and I wasted no time jump-starting my dating life. I finally invited the guy I’d been talking to all summer to visit me at my dorm. Let’s just call him…Booby! I was beyond excited that I was finally going to get some one-on-one time with my crush and I was praying that I might actually get to kiss him.

Shortly after settling in, I was ready to have my first real sleepover and of course, Booby was my first guest. I went out of my way to ensure that no one would disturb our peace by warning all my friends in advance that I’d break their legs if they so much as sent me a text. Mind you, this guy and I had not really gone past the flirting stage and yet here I was, willing to have him sleep over. I was very clueless about dating rules and etiquette and saw no harm in it.

For the record, please don’t get the wrong idea about me…at least, not yet! I actually invited my new friend to just sleep over. I really liked to kiss and cuddle and was nowhere near ready to give up my prized virginity to any average Joe…or Booby. Hell no, a very special man would have to earn that!

When my newest online BF arrived at my dorm, there was no need for small talk. We wasted no time and started to kiss like long-lost lovers. He was a great kisser and my affection-starved body was in sheer bliss! Something just happened to me that I can’t even put into words. My heart was racing as we shared the most passionate kiss I had ever experienced. I loved the feel of his arms around me. Booby was sweet and gentle and he made me feel so pretty.

I turned off the lights. Let’s face it girls...all guys think we’re beautiful when the lights go out! I tried to savor every second of our embrace. Booby slowly began to remove my shirt, and my mind was blown away as I thought, This is moving really fast but I don’t want him to stop. Here was a guy who really knew how to make a girl feel good, and it was all so romantic that I guess I just got carried away.

I offered no resistance when Booby took off my bra. Yummy! My heart was racing faster now! We continued to make out and things really started to get hot and heavy. Booby asked me if we could have sex now and of course I looked at him with genuine shock and annoyance and said, No way dude! My reaction made it seem like he’d just made the most outrageous request ever. (Izzy M. heavily sarcastic afterthought: I wonder what made Booby think I was going to give it up to him so soon.)

Booby seemed just fine with my no penetration rule. We decided to keep fooling around however, because it felt so damn good. Soon enough, I was lying flat on my back, and he was on top of me, straddling me like I was his pony ride. When his hand reached out I closed my eyes, eagerly anticipating a sensuous and gentle touch but instead...HE SLAPPED MY BOOB!

I know what you’re thinking. WTF? Yeah…me too! But I kid you not. He actually slapped my boob! It wasn’t a light, playful little love tap either. It was a full-blown slap in the boob followed by something like a war-cry. Do you like it baby? Tell me you like it!

So just imagine this…deer in headlights expression, flat on my back with a hot guy straddling me as he waits for me to tell him that I liked his boob slapping. I was outwardly speechless, but all the time I was screaming inside my head, Ouch, that hurt...like crazy! No way, I don’t like it! Is this what people do in bed? Mom…? You never warned me!

Oblivious to the voices in my head, my enthusiastic boob-slapper patiently waited for my reaction. An awkward silence followed. Honestly, I was at a loss for words. What do you say to a hot guy who’s straddling you, and has just slapped your boob?

Mistaking my silence for approval, the silly man decided to slap my boob...again! At this point, our sexy little scenario didn’t seem so sweet anymore. This wasn’t much fun and it certainly didn’t look like the foreplay I had seen couples engage in when I watched romantic movies. Besides, it really hurt, and I thought I was going to pass out. (Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit here but I really don’t have much tolerance for unnecessary suffering and in my opinion, boob-slapping pain is not a necessary anything.)

Why was Booby so clueless? Every guy should know that boobs are ultra-sensitive! They’re supposed to learn that in Human Biology, aren’t they? My dazed mind kept thinking, If this is what sex is all about, thank you very much God but I can wait a very long time to do it.

So let’s just pause here for a second, because to this very day, I’m still dumbfounded by the events of that night. Boob slapping? How does anyone come to the conclusion that this is sexy? Do guys sit around and give sex tips to each other over beer and chicken wings? What moron tells their guy friends, Hey dude, chicks really dig it you when slap their boobs! She’ll be at your feet in no time!

I was ready to fall at Booby’s feet, not because I was so overcome by lust, but because I was writhing in pain. I really hope that