After my recent...ah, hmmm, instructional post this morning describing, in some detail, the wonders of the female form and the appropriate clothing decisions that should accompany various mammotypes, I received from a friend a request to print, what she loosely termed, her "more lady-centric view" regarding the topic of breasts and bras and nakedness and the summer breeze and, uh...Lord...oh my, let me just cross my legs here for a second, ahem, yes, that'll do. Ok, so the following are not my words but rather the words of a friend and reader who would like to dazzle the AM-reading few with this totally estrogenic addendum to my earlier post. Keep in mind that this is not going to become a habit, me posting others' words, but when a hot chick writes "for many of us, the single most pleasurable event during foreplay is the removal of this hated, singularly feminine device," I have no option but to post those words to my blog for all to see. Cause that's how I do. Read on:
Although I am not, unfortunately, the small-breasted girl to whom the American Mastodon so lovingly directed his last post, I am in possession of a rather gorgeous set of full, perfectly-shaped 32Bs, and I do also enjoy the state AM calls "au natural," or what us more plainspoken folks refer to as going braless (particularly in the short and sticky summer months unique to parts of Indiana and neighboring states).
At any rate, having read AM's elegantly crafted plea – I think we can all agree that it approached the sublime – I thought it would behoove our tusked friend to learn a bit from the female persuasion. In short, I thought I would share a secret: small-breasted women love going braless – we just don't know it yet.
To explain, I could describe for you my first forays into bra-shopping (humiliating), the daily sting of an elastic band snapping against one’s birdlike shoulder-bones in eighth grade (a pain felt, of course, most deeply in a figurative sense), the stone in my eleven-year-old stomach upon hearing my mother utter, somewhat dourly: "you’re going to have to start wearing a bra."
And I thought I was fully clothed, in a stylish and sensible cotton pink top.
I won't bore you, friends, with such painful memories. It suffices to say that underwire bras are just as comfortable as they look – that is to say, not comfortable at all – and the constant slippage of a silky strap (first one shoulder, than the other) is just as annoying as you might imagine, and we know, just as you do, how ridiculous those foam cups from Victoria’s Secret look and feel.
In fact, for many of us, the single most pleasurable event during foreplay is the removal of this hated, singularly feminine device. But I must emphasize that – listen closely, Mastodons and related species – to get close to a sweetly small-breasted woman, one should refrain from using certain euphemisms, freely applied in an otherwise illuminating post (funbags, boobies, and the plainly odd "Russel Stovers," of course one can think of others, but you get the idea).
At other times, sure. While walking the dog, tossing a frisbee, eating duck pate at Le Sardine with your coworkers – why not. But it isn’t difficult, for this reader, anyway, to imagine that during the most exquisite, purgatorial state – neither in, nor out, but somewhere between – having one’s breasts referred to as "funbags" might result in a rather reflexive knee to the groin area of one's supposed lover. Having spent some time this afternoon examining my own sexual history (admittedly, rather exotic and varied) I was relieved, albeit somewhat surprised, that I have yet to enjoy the company of one who would employ such banal witticisms during the Act of Love.
I certainly am not interested in denigrating what is, once again, a particularly effective call-to-arms by our friend the American Mastodon. I merely wish to add my own two cents, as little, and perfectly shaped, as they are, in the hopes that other members of the fairer sex – members who are also frequent readers of AM's site, and there must be at least two of you now – will join AM's fine and commendable crusade.
Huzzah!! Huzzah to the perfect little braless funbags revolution!! Viva la Russell Stovers!!