Disturbance In Hooterville!
So it happened again*– I was busted staring inappropriately at someone's breasts at the bus stop today.
Oops.
It wasn’t even one of those casual quick glances easily feigned by looking over her entire ensemble, when actually its only her hooters you’re actually interested in looking at, it was one of those fixated, pie-eyed stares directly into her heaving bosom with one of those amazed expressions of complete wonderment on my face, as if I had been staring into the Ark of the Covenant instead. All that was missing at the time was my tongue unrolled out in front of me like a red carpet and a chorus line of angels singing.
Boobs, boobies, boomers, bazooms, bazookas, gazongas, kazongas, ta-ta’s, hoo-ha’s, cha-cha’s, jugs, sweater monkeys, snuggle pups, chest muffins, fun bags, torpedo’s, shakers, woofers, knockers, grapefruits, love melons, Hindenburg’s, over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder’s - what have you; they’re all pretty freaking fantastic – but how embarrassing still to be found ogling, transfixed in such an obviously unflattering indulgence of uncontrollable petty maleness!
What can I say? Oink!
I am not normally such a slave to my primal male instincts. In fact, %99 per cent of the time, I am completely able to keep my hormones in check; but this time I happened to slip in moment of weakness. So sue me.
I couldn’t help it; there they were in all their fleshy magnificence, cheekily peeking out from over top the low-cut neckline like the two bright suns of Tatooine rising along the horizon. They were beautiful! There must be statues in the British Museum weeping over the sheer perfection of this girl’s breasts.
Men are inherently obsessed with breasts, and considering the considerable lengths that women go through in order to get us to notice them, why should I feel so ashamed at having been discovered scooping out this particular woman’s breasts?
I’m not a pervert - HONEST!
Men are attracted to women’s breasts, I imagine, just as women are drawn to Tom Jones and a six-figure paycheck. So all this really means is that I’m just “normal”, right?
It could be raining rodents from the sky, and every man on the planet would still notice a nice pair of luscious orbs bouncing around inside a tight pink halter top like a neutron in a reactor. It’s just part of what makes us men, along with ripping farts, air-guitaring to power ballads, and Monday Night Football.
As it is also with women’s panties, we men are simply attracted to female cleavage like a moth to blue light.
I don’t think it should be such a taboo thing to just look at a woman’s breasts. It should be flattering to them instead! I know I’d feel pretty flattered in I ever found some girl staring google-eyed at my crotch. In fact, I think I’d probably feel pretty fucking fantastic actually!
Don’t get me wrong, I can totally see why some women would be offended, since in the back of their heads they are probably assuming that all men are fantasizing dirty thoughts about planting their beefsticks between their exposed womanly mounds like a breakfast sausage between two loaves of warm, freshly-baked French bread. C'mon, I know they've seen enough magazine layouts to know!
But it's not true! Some of us think of other things as well!
We men are not all like Bonobos monkeys, unashamedly wacking off with reckless abandon, and growing a third arm out of our chests for the sheer necessity of coping with all the fervent masturbating we’re doing over the breasts of all the women we see.
Well, okay, any man OVER the age of, say, 18.
Sometimes, we’re just actually reveling in, and enjoying all the delicious feminine splendors afforded by what revealing outfit the woman in question had chosen to display herself in – is that so bad?
Why is there such an instant negative connotation associated with looking at a woman’s breasts? They’re wonderful! Why shouldn’t we look at them? And yet, its considered as something almost sinful, lecherous, or even perverted, to simply gaze upon, no matter how briefly or innocently, those two bodacious mams.
That makes about as much sense as penis reduction surgery!
This ill-regarded societal trapping is the reason why we fella’s normally have to go fulfill our natural quota for breast admiring as well as satisfying our basic instincts at the type of seedy establishment in the middle of nowhere that would inevitably have a neon sign in the front of the window flickering as if it was fighting for its very life.
How dignified is that?
Why should I have to secretly congregate at some shack in a back alley somewhere on the outskirts of town like a shunned leper just to sip at extortionately-priced glasses of warm draught beer and ogle over bored-looking female zombies with bushes that you could hide mountain gorillas in, mindlessly strutting their pock-marked wares on a flat top stage in a pair off ridiculously-sized stiletto boots; particularly when the girl at the bus stop is practically showing it off for free?
So much the better!
Take it as a compliment! I say, we men are deserving to be released from instant pervert-status purgatory every time we fall victim to our basic natural sexual impulses.
Likewise, gentlemen’s nudie bars should be grandiose theaters; a haloed sanctuary of Mammarydom. A place free from persecution from pretentious cockteases; where we can go to openly worship the objects of our affections without all the shame or disapproving looks.
I envision a magnificent palace, complete with works of stained glass representations of famous Playboy spreads, crystal chandeliers for naked swinging, and a brass pole so shiny that you can see the future in it - somewhere worthy of such positive female beauty!
Is that so much to ask?
That girl should be proud of the fact that I scoped out her twins as I did. Surely, this was the reaction she was looking for when she decided this morning to wear that tight low-cut blouse that clung to her boobs like a frightened child.
She should be sending me a “Thank You” Hallmark card for the positive flattery I tossed her way instead of just continuing to leer at me so accusingly.
* By "again", I simply mean the being caught staring mindlessly at someone, not necessarily at someone's muchachas like a starving calf. I'm a victim of circumstance here, not a suspected neighborhood peeper.
Oops.
It wasn’t even one of those casual quick glances easily feigned by looking over her entire ensemble, when actually its only her hooters you’re actually interested in looking at, it was one of those fixated, pie-eyed stares directly into her heaving bosom with one of those amazed expressions of complete wonderment on my face, as if I had been staring into the Ark of the Covenant instead. All that was missing at the time was my tongue unrolled out in front of me like a red carpet and a chorus line of angels singing.
Boobs, boobies, boomers, bazooms, bazookas, gazongas, kazongas, ta-ta’s, hoo-ha’s, cha-cha’s, jugs, sweater monkeys, snuggle pups, chest muffins, fun bags, torpedo’s, shakers, woofers, knockers, grapefruits, love melons, Hindenburg’s, over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder’s - what have you; they’re all pretty freaking fantastic – but how embarrassing still to be found ogling, transfixed in such an obviously unflattering indulgence of uncontrollable petty maleness!
What can I say? Oink!
I am not normally such a slave to my primal male instincts. In fact, %99 per cent of the time, I am completely able to keep my hormones in check; but this time I happened to slip in moment of weakness. So sue me.
I couldn’t help it; there they were in all their fleshy magnificence, cheekily peeking out from over top the low-cut neckline like the two bright suns of Tatooine rising along the horizon. They were beautiful! There must be statues in the British Museum weeping over the sheer perfection of this girl’s breasts.
Men are inherently obsessed with breasts, and considering the considerable lengths that women go through in order to get us to notice them, why should I feel so ashamed at having been discovered scooping out this particular woman’s breasts?
I’m not a pervert - HONEST!
Men are attracted to women’s breasts, I imagine, just as women are drawn to Tom Jones and a six-figure paycheck. So all this really means is that I’m just “normal”, right?
It could be raining rodents from the sky, and every man on the planet would still notice a nice pair of luscious orbs bouncing around inside a tight pink halter top like a neutron in a reactor. It’s just part of what makes us men, along with ripping farts, air-guitaring to power ballads, and Monday Night Football.
As it is also with women’s panties, we men are simply attracted to female cleavage like a moth to blue light.
I don’t think it should be such a taboo thing to just look at a woman’s breasts. It should be flattering to them instead! I know I’d feel pretty flattered in I ever found some girl staring google-eyed at my crotch. In fact, I think I’d probably feel pretty fucking fantastic actually!
Don’t get me wrong, I can totally see why some women would be offended, since in the back of their heads they are probably assuming that all men are fantasizing dirty thoughts about planting their beefsticks between their exposed womanly mounds like a breakfast sausage between two loaves of warm, freshly-baked French bread. C'mon, I know they've seen enough magazine layouts to know!
But it's not true! Some of us think of other things as well!
We men are not all like Bonobos monkeys, unashamedly wacking off with reckless abandon, and growing a third arm out of our chests for the sheer necessity of coping with all the fervent masturbating we’re doing over the breasts of all the women we see.
Well, okay, any man OVER the age of, say, 18.
Sometimes, we’re just actually reveling in, and enjoying all the delicious feminine splendors afforded by what revealing outfit the woman in question had chosen to display herself in – is that so bad?
Why is there such an instant negative connotation associated with looking at a woman’s breasts? They’re wonderful! Why shouldn’t we look at them? And yet, its considered as something almost sinful, lecherous, or even perverted, to simply gaze upon, no matter how briefly or innocently, those two bodacious mams.
That makes about as much sense as penis reduction surgery!
This ill-regarded societal trapping is the reason why we fella’s normally have to go fulfill our natural quota for breast admiring as well as satisfying our basic instincts at the type of seedy establishment in the middle of nowhere that would inevitably have a neon sign in the front of the window flickering as if it was fighting for its very life.
How dignified is that?
Why should I have to secretly congregate at some shack in a back alley somewhere on the outskirts of town like a shunned leper just to sip at extortionately-priced glasses of warm draught beer and ogle over bored-looking female zombies with bushes that you could hide mountain gorillas in, mindlessly strutting their pock-marked wares on a flat top stage in a pair off ridiculously-sized stiletto boots; particularly when the girl at the bus stop is practically showing it off for free?
So much the better!
Take it as a compliment! I say, we men are deserving to be released from instant pervert-status purgatory every time we fall victim to our basic natural sexual impulses.
Likewise, gentlemen’s nudie bars should be grandiose theaters; a haloed sanctuary of Mammarydom. A place free from persecution from pretentious cockteases; where we can go to openly worship the objects of our affections without all the shame or disapproving looks.
I envision a magnificent palace, complete with works of stained glass representations of famous Playboy spreads, crystal chandeliers for naked swinging, and a brass pole so shiny that you can see the future in it - somewhere worthy of such positive female beauty!
Is that so much to ask?
That girl should be proud of the fact that I scoped out her twins as I did. Surely, this was the reaction she was looking for when she decided this morning to wear that tight low-cut blouse that clung to her boobs like a frightened child.
She should be sending me a “Thank You” Hallmark card for the positive flattery I tossed her way instead of just continuing to leer at me so accusingly.
* By "again", I simply mean the being caught staring mindlessly at someone, not necessarily at someone's muchachas like a starving calf. I'm a victim of circumstance here, not a suspected neighborhood peeper.
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