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THE NIGHT STEVEN TYLER SAW MY BREASTS

Aero Smith was coming to Duluth, Minnesota. Yea, you heard me right, Duluth, Minnesota, and I was almost peeing in my britches. The very idea of seeing Steven Tyler face to face, even if he were a mile away, excited me: those lush lips, that raspy voice, the way he twirled and twisted his silk scarves, really turned my crank.

So, I called all of my friends. The one's who'd give a damn.

"You'll never guess in a million, trillion years who's coming to Duluth?" Before any of them could utter a single word, I shrieked in the receiver, "Steven Tyler!"

Us girls rushed to the mall to hunt for the right outfits; something sexy perhaps, something that would reveal a little cleavage, something other than what we usually wear. I finally decided on a mustard yellow tube top, which after much consideration, I decided to wear without a bra.

For a girl like me, one who happens to be generously endowed with womanhood, this decision was not made lightly. But I thought, what the hell, it's rock and roll. And anyhow, isn't that the way girls dress at concerts, like Woodstock, braless feminists?

Like I was saying, a tube top, if one isn't familiar, is like a piece of piped material, and mine was so vividly mustard yellow, it looked as if one could spread it on a corn dog. Seriously.

"You're not wearing a bra?" My girlfriend, Sue, peered at my chest in shock. "Are you kidding me?"

"It's rock and roll, babe," I said, pushing my boobs up with my hands.

Of course, being the timid person I am, I brought a jacket to wear over my tube top. Have you ever heard the expression big talker - no action?' That's me. So on went the jacket over my braless, unfastened melons. Rock and roll or not, I was not about to flash my fruit in front of thousands of strangers.

When Steven Tyler sauntered on stage in all his glorious satin, the crowd went wild. My girlfriends and I ended up in the third row, thus we could detect the sweat upon his brow, the sound of his shoes squeaking, and even felt a slender breeze against our skin as he ran across the tiles, his silk scarves trailing behind him.

The crowd was pushing forward so closely that I smelled the strong odor of cigarettes, weed, and somebody's breath was so appalling; I edged my way closer to the stage to breath some oxygen. I had to take off my jacket or I would have passed out from the heat. To this day, I don't know where that jacket ended up. Probably Hell.

So there's beautiful Steven Tyler directly in front of

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