I love boobies. I am a boob man. I also like legs, asses, stomachs, collar bones, and lips, but I'm a boob man first and foremost.
I love all boobies, except those saggy ones in National Geographic that have never seen a bra. And Granny boobies. I don't love Granny boobies either. Or developing ones. That's just wrong, and besides, puffy nipples on otherwise flat chests remind me of when I was fat. In fact, for the record, I only like boobies that are over the age of 18, as required by law in my state.
Boobies are wonderful. I love how women like to show us parts of them (some more than others) in otherwise non-sexual settings. Side-boob is the best, but only because it's so rare - you usually only see it on celebrities on the red carpet or at cocktail parties (not that I've ever been to a cocktail party, but I imagine that if I did go I'd see at least one side boob every time).
In seventh grade art class there was this super-hot eigth grade girl who sat diagonally across from me. We sat in a square, all facing the middle of the room. She used to love wearing this grey sweatshirt that she had cut the sleeves off of. She never wore a bra. When she leaned forward to draw, the front of the shirt would billow out and I could see her right tit in its entirety. She had the most wonderfully firm B-cup boobies and beautiful little half-erect pink nipples. I don't know if she even had a left tit, I only ever saw the right one because of where I sat. Whenever she showed me her boobie (and I think she knew I could see it, because she wore that damn shirt every Thursday when we had art class) I'd immediately pop wood and forget what I was drawing. I'm pretty sure I also got red in the face. My circulation definitely increased, there's no doubt about that. Maybe that's why I have high blood pressure now. From boobies. Those were the first boobies I saw in person, and I will never ever forget them as long as I live, even though I have since forgotten her name and what her face looked like. I do remember she had sun-colored feathered hair, but only because it framed her boobie when she drew. I also remember that she was an "Eastie", which means she hung out with the potheads in the East parking lot between classes and smoked.
Boobies make me sleepy. Maybe it's all the blood suddenly rushing to various parts of my body, but when I see too much cleavage on a woman, my eyes start drooping and I will invariably yawn, a Pavlovian response to my deep desire to nestle my head between those soft and / or firm mammaries and take a little nap, drooling ever so slightly while the owner of the boobies strokes my head gently.
There's no such thing as boobies that are too small (except for ones that have not yet fully developed to their full potential, but as previously stated for the record I have no interest in those). There's no need to get your boobies enlarged, ladies, but if you do, I also fully support that decision. Not too much enlargement, however, because there IS such a thing as boobies that are too big. Big boobies are silly, and have as much place on the chest of a woman as balloon animals do. Go ahead and get those reduced, thankyouverymuch.
I prefer real boobies, but fake ones are nice too. But if you are gonna get fake boobies, do it so there's no scar. A scar on an otherwise perfect set of boobies takes you out of boob-trance as fast as bad acting or special effects takes you out of a movie. It's not neccessary, and kinda gross. And sad. And even if it's dark and we can't see the scar, we can still feel it. And it feels like a smushed caterpillar that was crawling under your tit and then got smothered. Please don't underestimate how much we men love your boobies, even if they are small / slightly mis-shapen / uneven. Don't risk the caterpillar effect for unneccessary alterations.
When radio personalities Opie and Anthony (now on XM radio) had an afternoon radio show in Boston, they started a thing called "Whip 'em Out Wednesday", in which men would write "WOW" in the dirt on their car and when a female listener saw this they were obliged to flash their boobies at the driver of the car, who was then obliged to call the radio station and report a boobie sighting. This was a wonderful thing that eventually led to Opie and Anthony getting kicked off the radio when it came to the attention of the Governor. I was commuting in and out of Boston at the time but unfortunately never saw any boobies, even though I would religiously follow cars with "WOW" written on them in hopes of a glimpse.
What is this power that boobies have over men like me? I have speculated that my love for boobies comes from not ever having been breast-fed as a baby. This might be true, but it doesn't explain ass-men.
In conclusion, I would like to state, also for the record, that if I was a woman I would never stop touching my boobies. EVER.
