In a surprising turn of events, apparently women’s breasts can have an effect on a man. Who knew? I love science.
I used to have a roommate with double D breasts. When I first met her, I did my best to ignore them. Ignoring them was extremely difficult as they usually entered any room two or three minutes before she did. Whenever I spoke to her, I would look directly into her face lest she think I was kneading her funbags with my eyes.
For the first month or so, I was almost capable of ignoring them. I say almost because quite often her mammaries were like two small moons orbiting my head with an oppressive gravitational pull that seemed to only affect the eyes. It really wasn’t until I joined my roommate and few of our friends in New Orleans during Mardi Gras that I was finally able to see them for what they were… huge fucking tits!
While in New Orleans, she unleashed her dual Mausers on the unsuspecting populace of the French Quarter. To say she drew a big crowd would be an understatement on par with calling the gentlemen from Queer Eye For the Straight Guy a little gay. Over the course of the ten days in New Orleans I saw more sweater puppies than a technician at a free mammogram clinic and my roommates Tatas were not immune to my gaze. I saw her lady lumps so often I stopped even noticing they were out… unless she moved and they would swing slowly back and forth like two large fleshy pendulums… I mean, c’mon… who wouldn’t be hypnotized by pendulous flesh? On that day, I came to understand that the only way a man can become totally immune to a woman’s milk sacks is repetition. Total immersion therapy… like the guy from A Clockwork Orange only with Hoohas instead of with violence.
Anyboob, I mean anywho… the article i linked above is interesting if only as an exercise in acknowledgement of someone stating the obvious. Saying that, I am almost tempted to write a companion piece… you know, stuff like a four pound potato in the front* of my pants and see how I am treated by the opposite sex… you know… for the sake of science.
* I had to put the word FRONT in that sentence so people would understand what I was going for… cause if I didn’t put FRONT there, who knows where you might imagine I would put a four pound potato.
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Pondering the effect of sweater puppies whilst listening to: Electric Light Orchestra (Elo) – Evil Woman via FoxyTunes
As custodian of a pair of DDs, I can tell you they are difficult to manage. I accept them because they grew there with no enouragement or input from me and because, well, what else could I do? I don’t like the attention I get because of them, but I refuse to have them reduced because my health is good, and I don’t suffer from any back problems because of them. It would be irresponsible to have major surgery on a part of my body that is healthy and not doing me or anyone else harm.
And in truth, I do like certain things about them. Lacy bras and matching panties and being able to fill out a wrap dress work for me. And if I ever want to date a man with a weakness for boobs, I have them. Of course, that rarely happens.
There are men who are immune to breasts?