text: "Nice tits!" Carlos had been pedaling hard, his legs moving in circles, his ass and hamstrings burning, when he passed the woman. A hiker with stick and backpack, deeply tanned and wrinkled, with thin, kinky shoulder length brown hair, the hiker was about fifty years old. And she'd just insulted him. _Nice tits!_ Nice TITS? Was she saying he _had_ tits, or that she _liked_ his tits? It must be the former, he decided. She was simply mistaken, that's all. He chuckled, slowing to an easy pace. Tits! Some people on the trail, especially far out in the boonies where he sometimes rode his bicycle, were just crazy. Raving and mad from the heat. Tits! He slowed again as he approached the trailhead and the lot where his truck was parked. Next to it was a small modern building with water fountains and benches, so he took the path leading to the water fountains. As he approached, he noticed his reflection in the building's smoked glass windows, and let out a small sound. His cycling jersey was very tight, and small breasts were visible, casting little triangular shadows on his thick torso (thicker than he remembered) in the midday light. _Nice tits!_ His body, the way it looked wrapped in Lycra, was not suitable for public display. Carlos felt a lump form in his throat as he noticed again how prominent, how _proud,_ his tits and their pointy nipples were through the thin fabric of his cycling jersey. How had this gone unnoticed? He turned around quickly on the path and rode back in the direction he'd come, but not before he got a second look at his reflection. His helmet, cheap and full of dents, looked too large on his head. His mirrored glasses looked out of place on his face, slightly crooked, with lenses too large. He slowed and looked at some of the other cyclists. Most were very lean and muscled, with fancy equipment and expensive clothing. He looked again at his reflection. _Nice tits!_ ** Carlos had finished email for the day and was getting ready to hit the Indian buffet when Jaleel, his assistant, appeared with a small package. "Ah, I know what that is!" He plucked it out of Jaleel's massive hand and removed its brown paper wrapper. They both stood admiring the coffee mug. "A classy little number," Jaleel said. "There's a story to it." Jaleel shook his head and went for the door. Carlos paused, staring. He wasn't sure why he'd paid for this mug. Maybe it was funny. Maybe he hated himself. NICE TITS, it said.