My friends, I have a confession. I love boobs. Tits, fun-bags, TaTa’s. I love the shape, the feel the texture. I love them big and small, from the tiniest mosquito bites to the worlds most gigantic Big boppers. My love of Sweater Puppets didn’t spring up overnight, No-siree bob. It took a lifetime of staring at every type of muffins, squeeze bags and milk makers to decided that breasts were for me. I mean not FOR me, but you know, my thing.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a fetishist. The mere sight of bazooms doesn’t get me to the finish line. But they are a great start. I remember being a young lad of about 10 or 11 staring at a ripped out page from a porn magazine that was probably printed in 1982, and seeing bosoms of epic and unheard of proportions. Up to that point of course, I’d lived a mostly sheltered life with visual access to only the occasional teat or melon of normal size. But man oh man, seeing this Triple-D-Delight (Fake as hell of course, but at that point, I had no idea that fake breasts even existed.) sent me to the stratosphere.
Suddenly my every waking moment was filled with visions of Rib Cushions from the wildest corners of my fantastic imagination. I would imagine girls in locker rooms soaping each other’s love bubbles and giggling like every day was a re-run of the porkies movies. As I got older the fantasy faded, but then came the internet, porn, self-discovery and well, the internet.
The Internet was a source of yaya’s and zingers that the world had never known. No collection in a dusty basement or garage could compare with the sheer diversity of female front flesh fins available to me then. I like regular porn too, sure. But the loblollies online were the stuff of legend. Bra Buddies from the famous stars of the time, like Dixie-Dynamite, flat chested women, big roundies, snoobs, boobs, scoobs, kajoobies and pink nosed puppies to dark silver dollar nipples. I had it all. But I noticed that the women around me didn’t really have this same sense of scale (because, I didn’t live on a porn-set despite my most fervent wishes). So for a while I was disappointed with real life.
And then I realized throughout the journey of my sexual career, that there was so much more than extreme examples. There was a world of subtlety for the fabled twin towers. Girls with ski-slopes, bee-stings, flapjacks, and the creepy “Fried-egg-on-a-nail” effect *shudder* Not all breasts are good, some have stretch marks, scars, size differences ranging from tiny to severe, the game was back on. There was so much to discover. I ended up at Mardi-Gras in 2005 and there was the motherload. We’ve probably all seen a lot of breasts in our day, but this really upped my mental index.
I’ve sort of waxed rhetorical thus far, and to tell you the truth, its really an experiment to see how many euphemisms for wobblers/humdingers/nubbins I can use naturally in writing. I realize its a bit forced so without further ado, here’s a list of other terms for the fabled sweater meat.
- Junk in the Front
- The Twins
- Suck Toys
- Cannon Balls
- Dueling Banjos
- Blouse Bunnies
- Volcanos of Love
- Floatation Devices
One thought on “Here’s to the Breast”
Life loves us!
-A pair of naturally big mushmelons