Random Raging Horny Thoughts
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Random Thoughts On Tits free porn video
Random Thoughts on Tits
By Cal Y. Pygia
Tits. You have to love them! They bounce. They hang. They jiggle.
They sway. They tremble. They wiggle. If you're a man (or a lesbian
with a strap-on strapped on), you can even fuck them. They can be bound
with cords so that, the blood flow to and from them restricted, they turn
purple. Clothespins can be attached to them, and they can be pierced
with pins and needles. They're all-purpose sexual accoutrements. Should
a guy get his chick pregnant, she can even use her tits to feed the brat.
Women have them--well, most do--and shemales have them, too. Even a few
men have them--a condition known as gynecomastia. On a dare, one dude
(Canadian Brian Zembick) had a pair of tit implants installed and liked
them so much he decided to keep them! Except for the cunt itself,
there's no greater indicator of femininity and womanhood, even on a
shemale or a crazy dude like Zembick, than a pair of pert and pretties.
Tits come in a variety of colors, shapes, and sizes, and every man and
woman has his or her own preference when it comes to which type of tits
they consider appealing or appalling. Some like small, teen-size tits;
others enjoy more bang for their fuck. Normally, I myself would rather
feast my eyes (if not my mouth) on the teeny-tiny variety, with one
exception: I love to see a pair of boobs hanging down, free and easy,
under milady's chest, swinging back and forth or just simply hanging.
They're not round in this position; they're more udder-like appendages,
elongated but plump. A woman who calls another female a "cow" probably
has an image like this in mind; with her breasts suspended beneath her,
hanging free and clear, there's certainly something bovine about a big-
breasted woman.
As they change angle with respect to the voyeur--I mean, viewer--tits
look different. Straight-on, on a young woman, they're high, round,
full, firm, and sleek. Seen from the side, in profile, the same set of
tits resembles ski slopes with rounded undersides. Seen from behind and
below, with their nipples invisible to the view, they resemble twin
moons. Seen from the front, hanging down, they look, as mentioned
before, like the udders of a cow (or the way a cow's udders might look if
the bovine beast were a woman instead of a bovine beast). Rather like
women themselves, tits are protean (that's "protean," not "protein").
They're shape-shifters, fluctuating and variable. Therein lies much of
the mystique and much of their appeal.
Tits can perform tricks, too. One tit can be lifted, nipple to mouth,
while the other is left in place. They can both be cupped in one's
hands, either by their owner or her lover and thus "juggled." They make
handy substitutes for purses, as anyone knows who's ever seen a lady
stuff a roll of dollar bills down her bra for safekeeping, and they can
be of assistance in the application of a woman's lipstick, as anyone
knows who's seen Molly Ringwald perform this trick in The Breakfast Club.
For the more imaginative and adventurous woman, a hand-held dildo can
become a tit-held playmate. Undeniably, tits have sex appeal. Even
their mere presence can enhance a woman's career, as Dolly Parton's
comment to Bill O'Reilly indicates: "Sometimes, I don't know whether I'm
supporting them or they're supporting me."
In fact, whole careers have been built on tits--just ask Pamela Anderson
or, for that matter, Hugh Hefner--or anyone in Hollywood. I mean, who'd
give Selma Blair a second look if it weren't for her tits? Even the
careers of women who have talent and glamour are enhanced by a flash of
their tits. We watch Linda Lovelace for the prodigious talent of her
esophagus, of course, but, if we're honest? Male or female, we check her
tits even while she's busy swallowing the best of Harry Reams. And, be
honest, when Swamp Thing mates with Adrienne Barbeau, are you watching
his thing or her boobs?
Maybe that's why Bob Hope used to sing "thanks for the mammaries" at the
conclusion of some of the shows he put on for overseas troops. He had a
captive audience in the military forces for whom he performed, but it
wasn't his comedy that interested them, it was the likes of Ann-Margaret
and other living, breathing hooters who kept the soldiers' attention,
whether in Korea, Vietnam, or some other hellhole. A whole "restaurant"
franchise, Hooters, is built upon tits' resemblance, real or imagined, to
owls' eyes. Unfortunately, even a decent pair of tits can't always save
the day. Dana Plato, of TV's Different Strokes, tried to make a career
comeback by exposing her tits in a few tawdry X-rated films, after
committing armed robbery in Las Vegas, but, somehow, for her, the magic
wasn't there, even though she did have some respectable hooters.
If you've been reading this essay closely (or at all), you've seen that
tits go by many names. We call them boobs (women's favorite term),
breasts (which medical doctors prefer), hooters, jugs, knockers, mammary
glands (or just plain "mammaries" among friends), melons, and probably a
score or more other euphemisms. A nicknames is supposed to be a sign of
affection on the part of the person who bestows it (although some argue
that it is actually an expression of condescension and contempt). If
such is the case, any anatomical part that's acquired as many nicknames
as tits has to be popular, without question.
In America (especially in Texas), nothing's ever big enough, especially
tits (unless you happen to prefer bee-sting and thimble-size tits, as
some do, since smaller tits are associated with youth, and young ladies
are hard to beat in terms of beauty and, well, youth). Consequently,
plastic surgeons make tons of money enlarging the size of female and
shemale tits, performing, in some cases, as many "breast-augmentation
procedures" on the same hard-to-please lady as the quack who continuously
remodeled Michael Jackson's face. Some women and male-to-female
transsexuals have been known to change tit size as often as they change
their hair color. Most men, presumably even Zembick, tend to be content
with breasts of any size, "A" through double" E," although Marilyn Monroe
popularized 36-inch, "C"-cup hooters, and, for many, men and women alike,
her example sets the standard.
There's a lot more I could (and should) say about tits. For example,
some have argued that their very existence demonstrates the existence of
God (see my essay, "Do Boobs Prove Intelligent Design?"), and I haven't
even broached the subject of areolas and nipples or clothing that's
designed exclusively for the support, enhancement, and exhibition of
tits--bras and the like. I could go on, sharing random thoughts on tits
forever and never tire of the subject, but you might, if you're less a
tit lover than I am, and, besides, I have other pressing matters (such as
a job) to which to tend, so, reluctantly, I must conclude my thoughts
with a joke:
Wanting to marry, a rich old codger gave each of three beautiful young
women a million dollars to invest on his behalf. A year later, he met
with them to advise them as to how fruitful their investments had been.
One woman had earned five million dollars on her million-dollar
investment, he said; the second woman had earned ten million; and the
third woman had earned twenty million dollars. Which one did he marry?
The one with the biggest tits!
Note: In case you were wondering, Andy Rooney did not write this essay.
(He may have wanted to write it, but he didn't.) Also, just to be clear,
no tits were hurt in the writing of this essay.
Pansy
- 07.09.2020
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