If you read this post then you're probably sitting there thinking: "What's the deal here? First vaginas and now boobs?" But obviously this is how my brain works - it's just connecting the dots from the G-spot up to the nipples. Next time I'll probably write something about the mouth since that seems to be the direction we're heading towards. But first let's talk some booby business.
A couple of weeks ago, me and my boyfriend went go-karting. When we got to the track, the guy in the booth said: "Racing is one of the few sports where women are completely equal to men if not even better off because they have better intuition and are more prudent."
"And they have boobs," my boyfriend cleverly added.
The remark didn't even register with me because I'm used to those kinds of comments, but the dude at the register seemed irked and said: "Yeah, right, boobs. How annoyed would we be if we had something growing out of our forehead and you girls would constantly nagged us about it. Boobs... If you went for a drive with Susie Wolff, the world Formula 3 champion, I doubt that you'd still be thinking of boobs."
The weird thing is, HE probably would still think of breasts all the same. You know the phrase "his life flashed before his eyes"? I'm 100 % sure a PowerPoint presentation of all the boobs he saw, fondled, licked, slapped, caressed, held or just admired from afar would scroll before his eyes like the Star Wars intro. How can I be so certain? Because I know the guy and his boobsession. To tell you the truth, I kind of think it's cute, it's his way of being attentive and romantical. Wait... Is that the right word? Or is it romantic? See, the concept is so foreign to me, I don't even know the word. But I do know the word breast, because I've had two of them since I was 10.
I still remember like it was yesterday: We were having our break in the third grade and a bunch of guys, me and one other girl were sitting at a table together, eating our sandwiches. The girl started talking about boobs, much to the guys' enjoyment, and how hers started growing. Then she asked me:
"How about yours, did yours start growing?"
And one of the guys (I've already mentioned him here) said, almost choking on his sandwich: "Do you even have to ask?! Look at her, hers are huge!!"
That's when I thought for the first time: "Ok, it's time for a bra," and I and my mom went bra shopping, fun times. When I got home and started wearing the damn thing, my father wasn't pleased. He refused to believe I needed one and constantly asked me: "Why do you wear that stupid armor?" as he called it. Well, I need it, because something serious is about to go down, daddy - the imminent protrusion of mammary glands right in the middle of my chest namely. And unfortunately, the darn things are still going down. Why can't they go like Superman: Up, up and away from the pancake chest? When I'll be old (meaning 35 because in boob years that's 107) I probably won't need my dog anymore since I'll have a Cocker Spaniel permanently attached to my torso with his floppy ears fluttering from my ribcage. Can't wait. But before that, I still have plenty of things to look forward to and plenty of moments of my boob youth to enjoy, like for example wearing two sports bras when I go running (that's why I started swimming instead, it all stays neatly afloat), getting a yeast infection when the weather's too frigging hot for words and the meat bulges rub against one another creating a perfect habitat for the lovely fungi (that's why I'm always reaching down my bra during summer and pushing the fat sacks apart - I even have a catch phrase for this: divide and conquer) and plenty other unpleasantries which were pointed out by Mélo in one of her posts when she decided to talk boobs.
To conclude the today's post, I'd like to mention my boyfriend again because boobs and my boyfriend go hand in hand. Or hand in boob rather. Before we started dating, he didn't even know my name or anything else of mine for that matter. He just saw me walking into a bar one day with a yellow shirt on and ample bosom and that's how I became "the girl with huge boobs in a yellow shirt". Back then I was a bit heavier and thus a bit boobier so he was positively smitten with all three of us. I used to think that he must have really liked me for me since he fell in love and wanted to be with me when I was at my heaviest, but thinking about it now, he wasn't liking me for me, he was liking me for my large fun bags. So I guess he's actually being romantical now for staying with me even though they got a tad smaller...
|Leggings - eBay, shirt - NewYorker, blazer - eBay, heels - eBay, clutch - NewYorker|
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