Posted 15 July 2008 - 05:56 AM
Well, I love breasts. If it were raining breasts, my first impulse would not be to take cover, but to grab a bushel basket.*
I have a theory. Men who were NOT breast-fed are way more into the titties than those who were; ya know, always seeking what you never had and all that rot. I'm a fifties baby, so of course I was bottle fed. (I think in those days breast-feeding was regarded as something that belonged in a Dorothea Lange photograph.) Ergo, i have spent a significant portion of my life seeking the warm, pillowy comfort of a first-class rack. But here is the irony: neither of my three wife/wifettes had particularly large bazooms. I had a wonderful girlfriend in LA for about three months (maybe it was weeks). She was rich, really rich, a great cook, a beautiful Safardic jew with skin like coffee with lotsa cream, and----the most incredible tits I've ever performed a home mammogram on. Big, soft. with perfect-sized nips (crucial point, pardon the pun), and positioned parallel to the floor. But I threw her over for a titless hag who was in the godawful sewer of film business. Go figure. Maybe whatcha think you want is not always whatcha want.
Anyway, here is the thing about the aforementioned goddess of gazongas:
I was having one of those post-coital cups of coffee in her kitchen, and I saw a photo of her a few years prior. Wow. Sag harbor. I wondered, to myself, if there was an overflowing river nearby at the time of the photo, cuz she she was doing some serious sand-bagging. So, apparently, she'd had some work done. It was really good work, though, because her breasts looked and felt real, except that they pointed straight ahead, instead of showing you where to dig for buried treasure. She must have had some sort of elaborate buttress system installed; it has puzzled me to this day. Point is, now THAT was a tit-job.
I don't care for the cereal-bowl look myself, and I rather like the way a woman's breasts, au naturel, will slide over and re-locate when she's on her back, as opposed to fakies just standing straight up like a topographical map of the battle of Gettysburg. I recently attended the depressing, pointless event known as a "bachelor party", and I asked one of the strippers if I could feel her big fake tit, ya know, in the interest of science. Hey, it felt pretty good, but, frankly, I'm still a sucker for presenting whatcha got, and/or some creative augmentation as described earlier. I think the bottom line with fake tits is this: they are more striking with your clothes on than off.
ps: Between fake tits, tattoos, and piercings, be prepared for the weirdest, ugliest looking group of senior citizens in American history, coming up in about thirty or forty years. Mercifully, I'll be dead.
*nicked from Nat.Lampoon, early 70's
As the psychiatrist said to the man wearing nothing but Saran-Wrap,
"I can clearly see you're nuts."