12
Apr
11

a tribute to a tit.

As a bit of a tribute to a friend who is improving the lives of many men today, from her perspective she’s improving her own but I know she’s really being a humanitarian, I thought I would write about those things that fascinate and amuse us male of the species. From birth, with a short break when we think girls are disgusting but our boogers are just fine, to puberty, and from there on till death we are hooked. The Inuit people have something to the tune of 100 words for snow, understandable because 99% of the time they are surrounded by the shit. Men, in general, probably surpass that number even if just by making up stupid noises and gesturing, because frankly we are obsessed with the magic that is, boobs.

hypnotic, aren't they? tell me that's not magic!

You quickly realise how much these parts of the female anatomy matter to us men when you consider just how many names we give them and the endless array of descriptions we use to explain to our mates, in detail, just how awesome they are. I don’t condone men turning our female counterparts in to little more than sex objects that occasionally speak and have a hint of personality. Not at all. Women are wholly fascinating and at times completely confusing creatures that no man has ever managed to fully decipher. They deserve respect and at very least should be treated with a degree of caution. This is probably why we men focus in on your chest pillows so much, ladies. Unlike your minds, or peculiar ways, we can understand ta-tas. We like them. We want them. We have a clearly marked area that we need to pay special attention to. The reasons for all this are inconsequential. We have bars, magazines and most of the internet dedicated to those fun bags. Boobs of every imaginable shade, big ones, small ones, fake ones, real ones, ones that you  never actually want to see, and ones you wish you could, but know in your heart you will have to pay for the pleasure, to see. In our tender teen years we fantasized endlessly about them and embarrassed ourselves for years just trying to get the briefest glimpse of cleavage or the tiniest feel of chesticles. The idea of actually laying our peepers on a real pair, with full view of nips, in person, drove our younger selves to blistering masturbation. I’m afraid not much changes as we get older. The skills we acquire through trial and error over the years help us not to embarrass ourselves quite as often but it still happens. Why, just the other day I lost myself while gazing for an inappropriate length of time upon a rather lovely pair in a low-cut black top, only to suddenly snap out of my trance and see that the owner of said lovely pair was glaring directly back at me with an expression of disgust and contempt, her boyfriend had a smirk on I wish I could have slapped off his smug face. Not being one for random violence, I just grinned and averted my eyes like a decent pervert. For future reference ladies, if you catch a guy doing that, stare at his crotch with a bemused look. It was done to me one night and I don’t think my ego has quite recovered from it yet.

even the ancients were mad about them. not much in the way of a face, but the boobs are sweet.

So, my mate is getting her boobs augmented, which if you’ve seen those shows that graphically document it, it is a god awful gruesome, painful procedure. I wouldn’t go through it for anything in the world.  I, like many guys, cringe at the idea of waxing my pubes never mind going through bloody, extreme surgery. Yet we all enjoy and rejoice the fact that ladies make their jugs even better. We come to think of it as normal. It’s extremely selfish of us to expect woman to go through all those discomforts, I think. So lads, I say the next time you see your lady-friend, girlfriend, wife, mistress, work colleague that you act inappropriately towards, and if you’re weird, your cousin or blood relative, give them your thanks, and thank them on behalf of men everywhere for making those bazoombas look better than what a god that doesn’t exist saw fit to bestow on them, and for occasionally sharing them, if not with you, some other lucky bastard. In fact, thank every woman you meet for putting up with our idiotic kind. We owe them that much at least for all the pain and discomfort they go through to look good for us. Although woman should probably take pity on us men. We may be intelligent enough of a species to be able dominate and control our environment to the extent that we have and fly to outer space, (today is the 50th anniversary of the first man in space, if you didn’t know) but we can’t get a handle on our titty fascination. There is small yet pervasive part of our brains, that when we suspect a glorious rack lurks below your blouse, we turn into drooling tools. If that isn’t worthy of pity, I don’t know what is.

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