CRS
Chandler, Arizona, United States

There's an old saying. If you don't want someone to join a crowd, you ask them, "If everyone were jumping off of a cliff, would you?" Well, I have. So my answer would be "Yes". True story.
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What Is It About Breasts?

Saturday, July 08, 2006

this entry brought to you by portishead, "cowboys"




There is a false stereotype that men are, across-the-board, obsessed with breasts, when this is in fact not true. Increasingly, American culture-- and when I say that, I mean just this last generation-- has been obsessed with the butt. There are a couple culprits for this. One is the rise of hip-hop culture, where dancing and "shaking that thing" are very prominent; the generation that's grown up listening to music about the ass, both lyrically and song-structurally, is going to naturally dig the booty more than before. Another reason, I believe, is the proliferation of fake boobs since the 80's. Two generations ago you knew for a fact that Jayne Mansfield's bosom was natural, and it was fantastic; you knew this because fake breasts didn't exist. Nowadays the girl sitting in the cubicle next to you might have saved up for a couple of years and gotten them, or perhaps they were an anniversary present from an ex-husband, or hell, it might just be the push-up bra; you'll never know for sure. Since literally anyone can get a decent pair for a decent price, they became less special, hence, again, the gravitation to the butt, which, not too long ago, was a forbidden sexual place. But even as a sex thing the butt has gotten so mainstream you can't watch a rated R comedy without some mention of anal sex. So although the breast lover-- and we're talking about the true breast lover, the elusive male who loves breasts of all sizes, complexions, nipples of all colors, not just the frat brother who hoots and hollers at a girl so fake she looks like you could pop her when she takes off her top-- the true breast connoisseur, who wonders as much about what the perky B cup looks like as much as a voluptuous double D, is a dying breed, and it's amazing how many women with wonderful breasts haven't actually experienced one.

Women ask, what is it about breasts that men obsess over? Is it just because women have them and men don't? No, it is not. If we were to grow a marvelous pair of perfect C's overnight, it wouldn't be the same. The definition of womanhood is the vagina; it's what makes a woman what she is-- a uterus, a womb. But in terms of a man exploring a woman's body, the breasts are the perfect analogy for womanhood. Women are soft, supple, curvaceous; the breast is nothing but these qualities. If you were blind and were to explore both the bodies of a man and a woman without knowing which was which, there would be times when you were almost sure of which was which, but once you reached the breasts you wouldn't have any doubt. It's not just the fact that women have breasts that is fascinating. Men already have nipples, and any man is only some hormone pills or a surgery away from having breasts. But being a man, it would be different-- hairier for one, but also missing that elusive supple quality that most women have all over their body, yet it's the breasts where there is nothing but this quality. Even a nice, generous buttock isn't quite the same because there is muscle beneath the soft, lovely flesh-- the breast is just flesh.

None of this is to say that breast lovers don't also love a good booty; they often go hand in hand, hence the term T and A. And it's difficult to resist the soft, gentle sway of a woman's bottom as she walks. Nevertheless, the swish of a bottom takes a far second place to the jiggle. The jiggle rules above all. The jiggle is the reason we know that God is male, and if She is a woman, then She invented the jiggle to keep us hypnotized and complacent-- and there's nothing wrong with that.

The amazing thing about breasts is that no matter what a woman does, unless she is absolutely flat-chested, if she has even the slightest mass of flesh, her breasts jiggle; ever-go-gently for subtle movements like writing in a notebook, and in wonderful, rhythmic undulations when doing anything major, like rushing to catch a closing elevator. Even the mighty sports bra can do nothing to stop the jiggle-- in constraining the breast from its delicious bounce, it instead creates a sway that both breasts do in tandem, and it stuffs the top of the breast upward, creating a delightful jiggle like the top of Jello. The wonder of women is that the jiggle is not exclusive to the lovely busty woman, but also in delicate, small-chested women-- you just have to pay closer attention to the latter. Yes, ass-men may declare the hypnotizing gyration of a woman, lost in the music, shaking her butt to the rhythm, is the sexiest thing in the world, but to a dedicated breast man, the ass is best when it is used on purpose. The delight of the bust is in the simple things that she can't help-- even something as natural and simple as sighing wistfully produces a lovely heave of the bosom. When a girl near my cubicle at work runs past me and quickly logs in just in time, and inhales and exhales with relief and her chest undulates in and out until she calms down saying, "Whew, that was close", I wonder about all the men I've ever talked to that have told me that boobs don't do much for them, and I wonder, as a man, how this could ever be possible.
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on this day last year did you ever notice that your computer doesn't know how to count from 1 to 100? the next iteration of windows fixes all that! note: i'm really proud of my "wincount" logo, because i think that's how it would actually look.
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with love from CRS @ 3:47 PM 

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