Breasts

Okay; this is one for the fellas... ?

Who am I kidding.
With the gender-preference closet wide open, the internet, mobile phones, Craig's List, social networks, and chat rooms connecting people like never before, global consciousness and sexual exploits of nearly every culture are all on line!

I've been Wandering about California from north of Sacramento to San Diego lately. This morning, I woke up in Los Angeles holding my body pillow in an interesting position after an interesting dream about an interesting ex. I haven't posted in a while, but this one I just have to. It's a topic near and dear to my heart.

Big Picture

Americans, not just Texans, like everything big... Especially breasts.
For some it's preference, but culturally, breasts seem to have won out.
And, since I don't see silicone or saline getting as expensive as oil any time soon, I don't foresee much chance of big, bouncing, beautiful breasts going to economy sizes or hybrids any time soon. There will be no pain at the pump in that respect - nudge-nudge, wink-wink, say no more.

By no means am I denigrating women or breaking them down into mere body parts like a meat market. I have sisters and a wonderful, Wandering mother. I'm a romantic at heart; truly. But I am also a realist of late.

In the best of worlds, we 'true-love seekers' hope a person's personality outweighs so many other attributes, but on the other hand, when all else fails, an ample pair is nice to fall back on - so to speak.

In all my travels, I have learned a few valuable lessons but this one is one of my favorites:

Never, never, never, neva-neva-neva, underestimate the power of large breasts.
Or small breasts or medium breasts... Well, you get the idea. There is just something about breasts and the usually sensible people who are entrusted with them; women.
A childhood friend of mind told me, "Girls have things we ain't got," and to that I say, "Amen!"

In my slumber, I remember a most wonderful day in my life.
As a kid, when I was, oh about 11 or so, I noticed that all women had breasts. Big ones, little ones and all those in between. Remember that day, fellas? What took me so long? Okay, so I was a late bloomer.

I never thanked God for my eyesight more fervently than I did on that day. Breasts came to my attention, literally, with an eye-opening or rather and eye-closing experience. One of my mother's girlfriend's had breasts so large she wore one of those 'super support bras' that made her bosom point north about 14 inches from her torso. You know, the kind grandma wore that looked like body armor and only came in one color; beige.

Well, I was just tall enough that when I turned, her left one poked me in the oculus. Of course I was surprised, rubbed it (my eye), and turned to find out what had gotten me. Angry at first, I whipped around, then smiled in a juvenile stupor when I realized it was a woman's boob.
I was changed forever.

I've grown a little since then, but not the lizard brain part of me.
Breasts are so powerful that a lot of guys don't care whether they are connected to the slimmest, most delectable hunny or to the ugliest, hairiest, crustiest, skankiest, robeast to ever walk upright. That's both in the daytime and at night. Beer goggles be damned; weeeeeeee love breasts!
Hollywood, Las Vegas and countless neighborhood legends abound with stories about how many times we guys have woken up next to a large-breasted uugah-moogah, wondering how she got in our beds.

What is it that makes us men lose it when it comes to breasts, especially large ones?
Well, the Freudians would say it has to do with that breast feeding, motherly connection. Okay; I can go with that; the primal thing and all. And, fellas, it's not only hard-wired into us; I know several women who like women and they like big breast-a-sis too.

I've noticed while Wandering about, that in some female cliques the ones with the largest breasts are either the 'Alpha' female or the most desired in the group.

And I've noticed that women who are less endowed are both envious and jealous of a woman who is. All the while, plastic surgeon's cups runneth over too. Not to mention all the goodies they get to perform the procedure. I watch Nip/Tuck. That's real, right?

Everyone, even a 'leg man' (I know, I used to be one) has to stop and take notice of a nice pair, whether he wants to or not.

Here's a thought, fellas.
Just imagine how popular we'd be if those of us who are endowed (I'll be in that group until proven otherwise, dammit - it's My Blog!) walked around with a mammoth boner. You know, a Smiling Bob, Enzyte boner - the kind they warn you about if it lasts more than 7 hours.
Think you'd get looks of hatred from some jealously less-endowed fellers? Would you really care if your horizontal mambo dance card was full? You bet you wouldn't care!
Well that's where women are now. Even previously unattractive thick girls know what's up.

Note: Women don't get thrown in jail for walking around with excessive protrusion, instead, they are rewarded! It's even called eye candy now. How cool is that?

And make no mistake, women at younger and younger ages are well aware of the power they possess.

Gone are they days when we could tell a busty girl or woman, "Of course I like you for you..." (Do the Mike Myers look skyward over your shoulder here).

There are some of us guys left who sincerely mean it when we say, we like them for more than their lady lumps. But fellas, women have years of experience with breast-lover's lies and let-downs. So, a word to the wise; PAY ATTENTION:
When you say something like, "I like you for you," please, please, please say it while looking into her eyes!

Guys, it's not hard to figure us out; we need as many hedges as possible.

One just has to look at a middle of the road restaurant like "Hooters" for a clue - no one I know goes there for their fine cuisine. And then the waitresses have the nerve to ask,
"What can I get you guys?" R U frakin' kidding?
How about fill your navel with barbecue sauce, lay naked on a table and let me dip my spicy seasoned fries in it before I take a bite? Yeah, like that will ever happen. But they know what we're looking at and they know what we're thinking. The bigger the boobs, the bigger the tips!

The saddest part of that hormone driven story is that many of those young women have more padding in those push-up bras than actual hooter. (Where did that silly name come from anyway?)
What's worse is that we don't even care if they're real or not! The breasticle image is locked in our head so firmly that a cow - and I mean a real Jersey cow (with teats, of course) - could walk out with a menu and we'd still be grinning like gleeful idiots. "I'm in Hooters... Ah-heeeee."

Need another example? Heffner's "Girls Next Door."
He ain't with those platinum hotties for their dazzling conversation or theories on the cosmos. No, those young women have, ahem, very nice personalities and - real or not - very nice boobs. And, gentlemen, while we're looking at their bikini stuffers, they are smart enough to stay in Hef's mansion - rent free mind you - and spend his money. Who ever said a boob was stupid? Those are some pretty savvy boobs.

Women (and men) are dropping millions nationwide to get augmentations. They're not even concerned that getting the procedure kills a few here and there. The rewards are high and worth it.

So now, is the cup half full or half empty? Perspective, my ass. The fuller the cup the happier we are.

As a species we are "Mammalian" or having mammaries or breasts...
Oh and bearing live young, yada, yada.

So, the highest female form of our species should have signature ones. Big, bold and beautiful. Size doesn't really matter, right? Men never said that.
A woman slipped that one in our less-endowed, male's consciousness while they were getting banged silly by a brother who is hung like... A four-legged mammal.

On the eve of summer 2008 when clothes come off and bust lines get lower and lower (God bless America), I offer this rising, world-wide salute to the breast keepers and those lovely, life-givers they carry about - those beautiful breast-a-sis, jablongas, ba-zooms, who-whos, chi-chis, tah-tahs and to that funny noise we make when we're lucky enough to have them slap us silly on each side of our face... You know.

I know if I hit the lottery, I'd wander straight for T-town USA; wherever that is. California, maybe?