A few years back
I was sat with a mate in my living room waiting for the then Mrs. to get her shit together prior to going out for an evening of fun, frivolity and alcohol abuse round Camden Town.

This mate of mine was someone I’d met from work, a lad named Matt who – dispite being a bit of a wine bar poncer was pretty much ok – we’re supping at a couple of cans of warm-up beer when the Mrs walks in on the look out for earings, a bracelet, or some other weird feminine accompliment.

Matt and I stop dead in our tracks, beer cans held part way to our lips.

As the Mrs. walked into the room she was just pulling her top down over her fully exposed fleshy funbags. Just a glimpse of her googly-eyed, dark-nippled, nubile jubblies. It was like a subliminal cut in a film, and I think both Matt and I felt the sudden urge to go out and buy a pair of breasts after seeing it, I mean them.

Matt looked at me. I looked at Matt. Then the Mrs, seeing our look of complete and utter bemusement, pipes up: “Oh, don’t mind those.” She collects her tat and fucks off back to the bathroom to finish putting her face together.

Matt and I drank our beer in silence, feeling uncomfortable. Then we go out.

Later after a few drinkies the Mrs turns to me while Matt’s at the bar and says: “Nice fella, that Matt.” I wondered where the fuck this was leading. Did she want to fuck him? Did she want to watch me fuck him? Did my Mrs. fancy a spot of DP after her bacardi breezers, JD and cokes, and kebab on the way home? She follows this up with: “He should’ve brought his boyfriend out too.”

“Boyfriend?” I’m confused as hell now.

“Yeah – I’d love to meet him.”

“Errr, Matt’s straight.”

The Mrs. face falls. “YOU TOLD ME HE WAS GAY!!!”

I think about this for a good long while, then something sparks in the deepest recesses of my booze-addled brain. I say: “That’s a different Matt.”

And this was followed by quite an uncomfortable evening for the three of us.
( SpankyHanky, Tue 11 May 2010, 15:55, 7 replies)

Army Tits
My favourite tit tale is when Sgt Major Wobbly-Gob came to attend a "Camouflage and Concealment" session to a group of new recruits. So, the recruits have buddied up, applied the camouflage cream, and done their best to break up shape and outline as best they could. They were preparing to start there first exercise in woodland and meadow.

Sgt Maj Wobbly-God was doing the bit were you emphasise noise, and that anything excessive in your pockets was to be removed. Wobbly (for that is what we called him) was very assertively going down the line and getting them to jump so he could hear noise.

When he gets to this recruit who a had very lumpy combat jacket indeed, in such a way that something was sticking the breast pockets way out in front of the rest of the recruit.

Wobbly was incensed! "What the fuck are those?" he shouts as he outstretches both palms of his hands and gives the breast pockets a very firm squeeze.

And the recruit, in her best I'm-a-girl-trying-to-sound-like-a-soldier voice shouted back "Tits Sir".

Wobbly went redder than a red thing and soon had something more urgent to attend to, and the rest of the training staff took some time to calm down.

In retrospect, I'd have groped them too. I love tits me.
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Sun 9 May 2010, 6:30, 3 replies)

Sort of on subject
A few years back I was a despatch rider in london, so was my friend Mel,a blue eyed blonde with largish breasts,owner of some very tight leathers and not much in the way of underwear.
One day Mel is speeding down Millbank and is pulled over by a bike cop.
Mel went in to her keeping her licence clean routine, bike on the stand helmet off shake blonde hair free, drop zip two or three inches and position said largish breasts on display.
"Hello officer can I help you?"
"Sorry love you're nicked I'm gay"

How we all laughed when she told us!
(johnners hitting things with hammers until they work, Tue 11 May 2010, 22:13, 1 reply)

Cat
My wife convinced me to get a kitten, so we did, a very cute black one. I'd asked for a male, as boys are best and once they're neutered they're no trouble. Within days of having the kitten at home, and stroking his lovely fluffy tummy, I noticed that 'he' had nipples, and not just two. So I called the vet to warn him.
Me: My male cat's got nipples so I'm worried he's actually female
Vet: Is that Mr Smale I'm talking to?
Me: Yes
Vet: I bet you've got nipples too.
Me: **embarassed that I could be so dim**
(Smale is stuffed, Thu 6 May 2010, 15:05, Reply)

I dated a girl with eczema...
Nice breasts, cracking nipples.
(bekowsquap Was raptured on, Thu 6 May 2010, 16:56, Reply)

How not to get laid.
When you wake up hungover and still a bit drunk from the night before, no matter how funny you think it is, do not, while a woman is straddling you and hanging her breasts down above your face, start singing the Rocky theme and mime using one of those high speed punchball thingy's.

You won't have sex again for days.

Scarpe: Making the mistakes so you don't have to.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Mon 10 May 2010, 9:48, 5 replies)

Gravity and Time
There was a woman I used to work with who got a tattoo on one of her voluminous breasts. It was positioned so that a small bit of it could be seen poking out from her habitual low cut tops. You know, really classy.

Anyway, a few of us were having an after work drink when the new artwork was mentioned, and she pulled aside her top to show the tattoo. “it’s a Bird of Paradise innit” she said.

Most people made faux appreciative noises, while I had one of those direct link from brain to mouth moments and heard myself saying “Of course, give it a few years and it’s going to look like a fucking Ostrich”. That’s when she punched me.
.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Mon 10 May 2010, 11:09, Reply)

TITS SELL
I am not a regular poster on QOTW, but, when the subject matter is one off fascination for ½ the planet (I have not taken account of gay ambivalence in this figure) I though I’d better investigate and deal with it.


In order to first understand the male predilection with “mammalian protuberances” I decided to research what was considered the Determinants on Female Attractiveness and found quite an unusual comparison between the number off factors between males and females.

These were listed as below:
1 Determinants of male physical attractiveness
1.1 Build
1.2 Height
1.3 Variability in preferences

2 Determinants of female physical attractiveness
2.1 Signals of youth
2.2 Breast size
2.3 Proportion of body mass to body structure
2.4 Waist-hip ratio
2.5 Height
2.6 Prototypicality as beauty
2.7 Skin tone


I always knew that women were far more complex than males, but I had never seen the definitive list of physical measurements before. Interestingly, to get back on topic “breasts” were the second most important factor.

To further research, I took it upon myself to check out Desmond Morris, the author of “The Naked Ape” for a bit off “history” on the subject. Desmond obviously has run a check on the whole affair and came up with this.

"Other anatomical features also evolved to entice mates, they all appear on the front of the body--as if to encourage frontal copulation. Fleshy earlobes, protruding noses, red lips (which Morris says were designed to mimic the genitals), and swelling breasts evolved as sexual signals to invite copulation from the front."

"These have no physiological use whatsoever and biologists agree that their original function was sexual invitation. These sensitive, fleshy, delicate areas expand by one-third during intercourse. The nipples harden at the slightest touch, and for most women fondling of their breasts stimulates their desire for intercourse."

Perhaps the breasts mimic the fleshy, rounded buttocks that attracted males during rear-entry intercourse. Whatever the case, protohominid males liked them in yesteryear. Those with larger breasts had more young than those less endowed.

So, our reason for this fascination came from our hairy arsed ancestors who based a woman’s shaggability and thus the survival off the species by the size of her breast’s …Coool!

However, thanks to evolution and science, this need not necessarily be the case anymore and, to be honest, I am surprised that South east Asia became the most populous area in the world as the Asian boobage factor is not necessarily the highest in the world.

The Asian physique, generally petite does not happily accommodate significant “breastal regions” and off late, there has been in increase in the “Augmentation Industry” targeted at the South East Asian market in both the surgical and enhancement product area’s.

My particular favourite is the Yokoyama Corporation’s F-Cup Pudding snacks.



These products, widely sold in Japan have e magic ingredient called pueraria mirifica, a plant containing phytoestrogens that is being marketed as a natural breast enhancer. The mango-flavoured pudding snacks also contain soy protein and red clover, other products with phytoestrogens that, it should be noted, are used for treating menopause.

Moving along, here in Indonesia the whole subject is a bit risqué, especially with the possible implementation of the new “Pornography Bill” which has been much discussed in other parts of the blogosphere,

This bill will however probably not stop Djarum, one of the countries largest tobacco giants working on the principle that “Tits Sell”

Djarum had discovered that there was a potential market in Hungary for their clove flavoured cigarettes and embarked on a marketing campaign to break into the product within the country. Problem was, how to market the trade mark smell of Indonesia within Eastern Europe using traditional Indonesian values and advertising skills.




In Indonesian campaigns, the Djarum marketing executives have traditionally used hostesses who display a wholesome image, slightly taller than the norm, more décolletage than the lady next door and, if possible, fairer of face.

The Kretek, or clove flavoured cigarette is almost an Indonesian Trademark and Djarum sought to export this unique cancer stick. For Hungary, it was clear that the "girl next door approach would not work so, screw the traditional values, bare breasts and body paint were the order of the day. Want to make your average Boris start smoking kretek, easy, get him fair and square between the sights of two larger than normal breasts and he will succumb. And those wacky Hungarians went for it...Big Time.



So, there it is. Tits sell!

I must however admit that my personal preference is for the more delicate design in this department and, I will prove this by posting a picture of (in my opinion) the nicest pair of tits I have ever seen.

Great Tits
( fagilliD Fuck I'm good!, Sat 8 May 2010, 6:38, 14 replies)

First
. . Itty bitty titties
()() Little breasts
(.)(.) Nice breasts
(o)(o) Perfect breasts
(D)(D) Bullets
(O)(O) Handful breasts
(~0~)(~0~) Stretch mark breasts
\o/.\o/ Grandma's breasts
[o][o] Breasts during a mammogram
* ^ * Flat chest
(+0(+0) Fake silicone breasts
(*)(*) High nipple breasts
(@)(@) Big nipple breasts
oo A cups
{O}{O} D cups
(^)(^) Cold breasts
(justin(e), Thu 6 May 2010, 13:22, 6 replies)

From the mouths of babes....
Some moons ago, I was bathing my firstborn who was around 2 1/2 years old (secondborn hadn't even been a glint in my eye at this point) when she glanced down at her chest, look up at mine quizzically and said:

"Daddy, when I'm older....will I get boobs like you and mummy?"

I nearly gave up drinking and signed up at the gym. Nearly.
(dchurch bah, Mon 10 May 2010, 17:06, 1 reply)

Memory is a wonderful thing....


When I was at the tender of 15 I used to go swimming a lot, in one of those old style pools where the deep end was properly deep, not just up to your knees like ones these days.

Anyway a couple of girls I went to school with also used to go at pretty much the same time on a Saturday as I did, one of them (lets call her Ethel to save her blushes, just in case) was stunning, and I mean truly truly STUNNING. Tall, slim, long auburn hair, slighty olive skinned and with a just perfect in everyway set of sweater puppies. There wasn't a boy in school who didn't drop about 60 IQ points and loose the ability to coordinate when she walked past, and I considered her a friend, cos I knew I'd never get any further than that.

So the three of us were horsing about in the pool and I was doing my usual thing (at the time) of sitting on the bottom at the deep end for no other reason than because I could. It was at this point that Ethel decided to take a run up and dive in. Unfortunately I think her costume (a one-piece) was slightly too big for her and as she entered the water it peeled neatly down to her knees. As the bubbles cleared there she floated a few feet away from me, almost completely naked, hair floating out around her head in a halo, and those perfect breasts just swaying slowly in the water, once it dawned on her what had happened she naturally struggled to correct the situation.

I pretty much gasped on the bottom of the pool, and therefore nearly fucking drowned before I made it back to the surface. She knew I'd seen but never said anything and neither did I, and I never have until now.

Apologies for length?...none, it's been over 20 years since that happened and I can still see her as clearly as if it was yesterday.
(repooc, Sun 9 May 2010, 14:23, 4 replies)

one of my colleagues
was telling me about the perils of internet dating. now, lucie is either blessed or cursed in the breast department, depending on your interpretation of being a 32H. she joined mysinglefriend and after exchanging a few emails with a singlefriend they went on a date.

if i tell you that the date lasted about an hour, that should tell you how good it was. she said he was too short, too weird, and may have been a real life asperger. at the end of the date he insisted on walking her to victoria station, even though she would have felt safer without him. as the train came in, he leaned over, and she thought he was going for a goodbye kiss. but he wasn't. not at all. instead, he made a grab for both her boobs and copped a quick but thorough feel. then let go, looking very pleased with himself, stepped back and said:

"and i'm not even sorry."

then he just walked off. oddly enough, there has been no second date. mind you, a tiny part of me has to admire his blatant honesty...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 9 May 2010, 22:19, 5 replies)

Breasts can be very distrac

( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Sun 9 May 2010, 11:34, Reply)

What type of bees make milk?
Boobees


Sorry.
( Terry Oblong There's nobody here but us chickens on, Fri 7 May 2010, 21:44, 1 reply)

I've been sitting on this one for 6 years
Shortly after shitting for the first time in 2 weeks (Wrote a QOTW answer about that too) I was off on my 3 day booze cruise on Carnival's Ecstasy.

Our first and only point of call was Encanita. My friends and I disembarked and proceeded to Senior Frogs and got shitty. We left the girls to do their shopping and we found la pharmicia. I loaded up on Tramadol and Flexeril. The kid behind the counter sensing I was hip asked if I was interested in some Valium.

Does shit smell bad?

I popped one of each pill and we were on our way. I inquired what Koi and Macguyver bought (names changed to protect the guilty from the wrath of their now wives) They had each bought a pill of Viagra and were itching to try it out. They started walking into a strip cub and I said, "No no, that's not how you do it." They inquired how you did do it. I walked up to a taxi driver and asked.

"Um, Que hora es... um... Donde esta la penocia at?"

He says, "Jew wanna get some poosie?"

I say, "Yeah yeah!" and we were off.

We left the tourist district and were going through some local neighborhoods. We giggled like children after 4 cups of Sunny D knowing that this was really going to happen. I thought of all the downers I had swallowed and realized that there was no way in hell my dick had any chance of obtaining an 80 degree angle. Koi asks the cab driver, "are any of them dressed like school girls?"

The driver just chuckled as we stopped in front of a townhouse. It was an upper class neighborhood, I think. From the outside it looked like a nice place. Close to the beach, the kind I would like to own someday. The taxi driver lead us inside and assured us that he would be waiting outside.

When we walked inside It looked like a beauty salon on the first floor. There were about eight young girls dressed like Salor Moon (Koi was in heaven) milling about watching TV, doing each others hair, or working on homework. The madam (I'm guessing) clapped her hands twice and the girls lined up. She explained to us that there was a 30 dollar fee for the "massage" room. Koi chose first, he chose the cutest girl shorter than him (which is narrowed it down because he stands about 5'4".) Maguiver chose a butther face, but the body was worth it.

I had no intention of getting a girl, but what the fuck. If I was getting a massage I wanted a good one. I made my choice and the other girls and even my friends gasped.

I chose mamasita. She was 6'2" and built like a soccer player. Later my friends asked about my reasoning in this decision. I said, "Hey, I get plenty of little hot chicks, but when will my next chance be to get to bang a 6 foot light heavyweight?" And I figured it would be cheaper.

We went upstairs to the massage rooms. She instructed me to undress. I'm down to my chones and there's a knock at my door. Maguyver needed another 40 bucks for a "happy ending." Maguyver is a brother and glancing down I could understand why he was charged triple what Koi and I were charged. (He still hasn't payed me back.) I threw him the money and removed my Greatfull Dead boxers. She lathered me up in baby oil (eew) and massaged me for about a minute before asking.

"Jew only want massage?"

I inquired how much for more.

She glanced down at my shrived, Jewish, muscle relaxed member and held 4 fingers up.

I say, "4 pesos?"

She says, "No, 40 dollars."

It sounded like a bargain plus a great life experience. I could then say that I had been with a prostitute and had paid for sex. I managed to get a chubby that allowed me to get the 'Don Juan para poquito pene' condom on. I lasted for about 30 seconds before my manhood died. I shrugged my shoulders and for once had no remorse about not being able to perform. She flipped me over and finished the job.

I go downstairs to wait for my friends to finish up. I'm sitting on the couch watching some cartoon in Spanish trying to stay conscious so one of the whores doesn't steal my wallet. The girl I had just just shtupped sits down next to me. Then this toddler comes running up to her. "Mama! Mama!" She picks the kid up, whips out her tit and starts breast feeding him.

I think, "Damn, it's a good thing I'm so fucked up. Otherwise this could be traumatic."

My friends come down about 10 minutes later and the taxi is still waiting. Then I black out. I come to back on board the ship. I was passed out on a couch in a puddle of drool. In bags next to me lies 5 bottles of booze, 2 cartons of cigarettes and a dozen M-80's. I asked my friends how the hell I got passed customs with all of that shit. They said, "Oh, it was hilarious. Customs was busy with some other guy and you walked right past them. One of them grabbed your arm and you muttered 'Don't fucking touch me, I'll rip your nuts off and feed them to a chupocabra! I'm an Armenian!' and you were so fucked up they just let you on board."
(anotherlogan and the whit he shites, Fri 7 May 2010, 4:44, 5 replies)

Baby, it's cold outside...
My ex used to work at the local Health Authority with a very nice woman called Nicola.

Nicola was very pretty, slim, and not without an impressive pair of norks (not as nice as the now missus DG's, but nice all the same). Nicola also had a prediliction for wearing some figure hugging tops, which caused great distractions among the male members of the office.

The Health Authority HQ were, at the time, situated in the grounds of the local mental hospital (I'm not joking) and had some very nice grounds around which to walk. Nicola had decided to go for some fresh air at lunchtime.

It was, by all accounts, a fairly cool day. The combination of impressive norkage and tight top, together with the cold air outside, had combined to conspire against our heroine, for not long after she'd got back into the office, her colleague Ian went across to her to ask her something.

"Excuse me, Nippola..." he began, then realised just where he was looking and what he'd just said.

She turned red. He turned redder, and muttered something about "It doesn't matter, I'll ask 'X' instead", before fleeing the office in embarrassment.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Sat 8 May 2010, 13:44, 1 reply)

I had a friend once with the biggest boobs EVAH.
Jennifer was a fellow student at college. She almost instantly took to me, I think, because I paid little to no attention to her boobs.

That took effort.

She stood about 5'6" tall, I would guess, and outweighed me significantly. She had deep black skin, enormous hips and boobs that somehow balanced them out in that way that only black women seem to be able to pull off. She also had an improbably small waist, so the effect was rather disconcerting. She was outgoing, all bouncy and giggly most of the time, and definitely took over the room wherever she went. But underneath all of that was a remarkably sharp mind and a bawdy sense of humor that I really liked, so we hung out together a fair bit.

One day I told her of one of my favorite spots in a local park and she was interested, so we drove over there and started walking around. The place I had told her of was at the top of a hill, a little gazebo that always had a gentle breeze and a great view of the park. We hiked up and sat in the shade for a bit, then felt the need for a beer and some food so we started down the hill toward the car and a nearby restaurant.

The hill is a fairly steep one, and I trotted down it without difficulty. But as Jennifer tried to keep up harmonics set in until she was jiggling in ways she had probably never experienced. She was wearing a rather low cut top at the time and showing impressive cleavage, as was her habit.

Then one of her boobs popped out of her bra and out of the top, did an amazing bounce and caught her full in the face.

She lost her footing and tumbled down the hill, both boobs out now and flying around like a couple of enraged watermelons. She sat up, dazed and scratched in places that had seldom seen sunlight but otherwise unhurt, and saw me as I ran up next to her. She looked down at her chest, gasped as she tried to cover them, looked up at me-

-and we both cracked up.

That was the only time I ever really got to see them, which is probably for the best, but after that all I had to do was imitate a bounce to set her off giggling.
( Wanderer, Thu 6 May 2010, 18:09, Reply)

Jizz Hands
I was on holiday in France a number of years ago, sharing a small rental property with some girl friends. We smoked weed, lazed by the pool and drank wine in the sun all day. It was rather splendid.

I was tanning my front, with my bikini top off. And I was really very stoned. It was getting to the middle of the day, I *should have* gone inside, but there was a great song on the stereo and I was realy very, very, stoned. I could, however, sense that my nipples more sensitive to the scorching rays and were in danger of getting burnt. I cupped my hands over my nipples to protect them until the end of the song... and then I fell asleep.

The lobster red sunburn was exactly what I deserved for displaying such a reckless, teenage disregard for sun safety. The BRIGHT WHITE HANDPRINTS which extended, fingers splayed, up over my cleavage were something truly special though. They took nearly a year to totally disappear and could only be concealed by tops with a matronly neckline.

My girlfriends named them The Jizz Hands.
(HaHa!Snakes! was last seen on, Wed 12 May 2010, 22:39, 1 reply)

I used to work in a bar
It was sort of a glorified whetherspoons, provided pretty much the same drinks and service but costing a bit more to keep the riff raff out. This did of course mean you'd still get some proper scummy people who, because they had a bit more money than the 'spooners, were still right up their own arses.

Anyway there were a fair amount of boob jobs floating around each weekend. Really obvious, badly done boob jobs - the sort that look like they're going to pop.

So it was about 1:30am on a Sunday night. I was tired, I had been there since 11am with only one hour break, and I had finished at 1am the night before (it took me about an hour to get from work to home and vice versa. I did a 16 hour Sunday shift with only 5 hours sleep every fucking week) Anyway I had this one lady approach the bar - she had the most ridiculous boob job I'd seen so far. They were enourmous and stuck out like she had a conjoined twin growing on her chest. With her she had two friends - one fat munter with a gob on her and the other one who kept her mouth shut.

So this girl leans at the bar and starts looking through the cocktail menu, specifically trying to find the list of pitchers. So she calls me over and asks "how much are the jugs?"

I give her a glance and say "I'd say about 3 grand, love."

"What?" She says?

"I said about 7 pound."

"Oh. Can I have a Sex on the Beach then please?"

'... too easy.'

So I make her pitcher, all the while fat munter friend has piped up and has got her camera out. She takes a couple of shots of the three of them as I mix her beverage. Then when I'm finished, fat munter holds out the camera to me and screams "Can you take are pikshar??" I'm tired, I want to go home, but ever passionate about the customer experience and service satisfaction, I take the camera, half heartedly point and shoot, and then hand it back. And then as I clean up the bar, she taps boob job on the shoulder and starts going mad. Screaming at her. Pointing at the camera and going mental.

'Oh god...' thought I. She shoves the camera back in my face and screams "What's the focus on in this picture??" Her boob job friend, like the tart that she was, had stuck her chest out and pouted her lips to pose for the photo. So all it was, was their three heads, correctly positioned in the top half of the frame... and a massive, bulging pair of Double Fs in the bottom half. I protested that I didn't mean to do that, she just pulled a pose, but she was having none of it. She went mental at me. She kept asking, "What's the focus on here? Are you trying to take a picture of her tits?" She didn't see the sheer non-logic of it, surely if I wanted to perv over her, I wouldn't do it by taking the picture on HER camera?...

I protested some more, that I was tired and I didn't concentrate properly, and then she asked me: "Do you LIKE her or something? Do you LIKE her?!?"

"No!!" I declared, trying to ease this situation.

"Oh my God!" she screamed as she turned to her friend "he DOESN'T LIKE YOU!"

'What??' I thought, 'So you're angry that I'm supposedly perving over your friend, now you're insulted that I'm not? How do I win this?' All sorts of obscenities came from the fat munter's lips, and I eventually figured out the solution - I leant in, and declared
"Ladies! Ladies... I'm gay."

"What?"

"I'm gay."

"... You're not gay."

"Yes, I am. I am gay." (I'm not gay.)

"Oh... my... God... you are aren't you! Awww do you have a boyfriend?"

(Shit, might have to prove it...) "No, I've just come out of long term relationship."

"Aww it's such a shame, all the good looking ones are... I have a friend you might be interested in. He's just looking for some fun."

"Uhm... ahem, well, it's okay, I'm not looking for anything at the moment..."

From that moment on, fat munter, boob job, and the silent one were enamoured with me. They came back twice in the night, gave me a big smile, wanted to be my breast, uh, best friend (okay cheap shot, sorry). They said goodbye and declared they'd be back, next weekend, to come see me.

I honestly considered quitting.

I'm not sure what's worse; that while working there, I had to use the 'I'm gay' line three times, or that each time, it didn't take much convincing...
(Dyslexic Pidgeon, Wed 12 May 2010, 12:02, 3 replies)

Big Boobies!
Wandering around Tesco a couple of months ago, I turned down an aisle in which a chap about my age was shopping with his son of maybe three or four, and a petite but generously endowed young lady was also browsing. As they approached each other the kid spotted the woman and his eyes widened - tugging on his father's hand he yelled "Daddy! Look! Big boobies!".

The poor man blushed and ignored the child, which was probably exactly the wrong response, as he just got louder - "DADDY! BIG BOOBIES! BIG BOOBIES!".

Whoever taught the kid to do that has my thanks - you made my evening.
(Photon wasting your time since, Sun 9 May 2010, 3:18, 1 reply)

An Open Letter To The Women Of B3ta
Please stop telling stories that demystify or humanise the having of breasts.

They are quite clearly magical and extraordinary things, and we all know it, so don’t think you can pull the wool by making up stories about backache and £40 brassieres to make them appear mundane and ordinary.

In fact, you should probably all write illustrated stories about how only this morning your boobies jiggled about a bit and then fell in your weetabix.
( Dervel OTBC, Fri 7 May 2010, 15:30, 2 replies)

I like breasts (a poe-wim by Pooflake aged 30 and a bit)…

I like Breasts - I think they are the best
I don’t know what it is about those lumps on Ladies’ chests

On girlies all around the world...The North, South, East or West.
If they’ve got jugs they’re fine with me ‘cos…i.like.breasts

The merest whiff of ladybump will spark my interest
If they are far away, or up against me they are pressed
I love to touch and squeeze them, or just watch them be caressed
I think you’ve got the message now…i.like.breasts

The kind of tits that I desire don’t live in some tree nest
I like to see them naked...and I like them if they’re dressed
I’ll even take the slapper-hounds like Jordan and Jo Guest
(I’d scrub my cock raw afterwards, of course) but…I.like.breasts

I couldn’t give a fuck if you approve or you protest
Just ‘cos I think they’re awesome doesn’t make me some 'sex-pest'
Let's throw a topless party and we’ll call it ‘Jubbly-fest’
If you’ve got baps then come along! ‘cos…i.like.breasts

I sometimes wonder if I'm just a little bit obsessed…?
'Cos getting 'sneaky cleavage views’ has been my lifelong quest
I’d even look at Thatcher if she hitched up her string vest*!
There’s really no denying it…i.like.breasts

Just thinking of sweet boobage and my pants will soon be messed
12 seconds after seeing norks…my right wrist needs a rest
But if you think I’m bullshitting then put me to the test!
I’ll say once more then I'll go…

I


Like



BREASTS!


*(Possible exaggeration - God help me!)
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 7 May 2010, 12:48, 3 replies)

It's only in recent months that I have discovered the full joy of breasts
Before having a baby, they were just big lumps of flesh on my chest, of no use to anyone (although mr vitamin c was rather fond of them). Since baby was born, they make milk. And if I aim right, I can spray it across the room, hitting mr vitamin c when he's rude about (for example) my cooking abilities. Which is far more socially acceptable than his attempts to spray me in the face with his milky fluids.
( ascorbate, Thu 6 May 2010, 16:22, 6 replies)

I have a tendency to impale large-chested women with pickaxes and try to climb up their still twitching bodies.
It's just I get so easily confused if they're not small and humble.
( Edd: The Unfunny Try-Hard Edgelord, Thu 6 May 2010, 13:50, 1 reply)

Let´s see
My breasts are not very big, but they call attention anyway, as my nipples are always very hard. Here is not too much of a problem, because it's always cold, and I wear a lot of layers of cloths; however, do you remember that "terribly" hot summer (more like a nice spring), 4 or 5 years ago?

Well, I went with my friends to the pub. I love cask ale. My friends can't understand that, but we go to the pub anyway, they have some of their silly wine and I enjoy my beer. It was a hot day, so I was wearing a very thin green shirt that I have. You could see my nipples through it. Not that I feel proud of it, but what can I do?

So we get in the pub and sit next to a table full of geeky guys. I love geeky guys. The geeky guys were talking about SciFi, and I wished I could seat with them. One of them was particularly sexy. He looked so shy and innocent I was melting just by looking at him. The problem with geeky guys, specially the innocent ones, is that they are not very brave, so I knew I'd have to do the hard work. I waited until it was his turn to go to the bar and I went after him.

-I heard you talking about SciFi - I said. He was paralyzed. He kept looking at my nipples and didn't say a word. I put my hand under his chin and push it up until his eyes were looking at mine. -How would you like coming to my home now? - I asked. He looked at me in disbelief, laughed and went back to his mates.

I'm not easily defeated, and the way he looked at my breasts made me so wet I couldn't just let him go. I approached his table, where his mates were making fun of him for talking with a girl, and leaned over just enough for them to be able to see the top of my boobs, just above the aureole.

-You didn't replay to my question.
-Were you serious?
-Why wouldn't I?

He grumbled something to the guys about them finishing his drink and run after me to the street. I teased him all the way to my home. I hold his hand and kept his arm between my breasts, squeezing them with mine, making him struggle to talk. By the time we got to my home, he was sweating and didn't know what to do. He looked at my, questioning with his eyes, what the next step was.

I took my shirt of and hold his hands, then pressed them against my breasts, making sure my nipples were between his fingers and playing with them.

That unleashed the beast. He got crazy and pushed me down to the floor. I could feel all the passion and the fury while he squeezed, and licked, and bit, and pressed and griped me. I was unable to move, he was so strong and ardent, until finally, he lost it and bit me too hard. I immediately reacted and recovered the control. Pushed him back and ordered to undress while I got rid of my skirt and my tiny underwear.

I made him lay on the floor and climbed on to him, with my pussy right in his mouth, and started to suck him. Years of repressed hormones and fantasies took control over him and made him mad. He licked me with such fervour I had to stop myself shouting by keeping his cock tight in my mouth. He made me come again and again, until he could hold it no longer and shouted:

-I'm coming! I'm coming!

I dutifully helped him all the way through and swallow. Then, I sat on the floor, looking at him. He was spent, but the look of happiness on his eyes is something I will never forget.

Right, I thought, when he recovers, I'm going to give him a proper, good, old fuck. Then, my job for the day will be done. One virgin less in the city.
(Aberracion Life's getting very complicated, but a lot of fun., Tue 11 May 2010, 19:52, 32 replies)

I see boobies everyday! *pop*
I work in a lingerie shop/ naughty fun shop which rhymes with hand bummers. We do bra measuring, and as I’m one of two girls there that know how to do it, I see a lot of boobs. But since working there I’ve got a few gripes I must impart to the ladies (and gents) of the land about boobs.

Ladies, if your bra digs in, marks your breasts, doesn't support them or is generally uncomfortable IT IS THE WRONG SIZE!!! seriously, the amount of times I’m told, "well, I normally wear a 34b" only to watch a woman reveal said bra to see flesh spilling out over cups and angry red marks around her back. I proceed to measure and inform said lady, "your actually a 36D" to get a look somewhere between me telling them I’ve shot a puppy and I'm about to fly to the moon, A blend of disgust and confusion. Get over your sodding pride, stop fucking complaining about bras hurting and wear the correct size, your body will thank you when you’re 50 and your tits aren’t hanging around your knees!

Also, try your bras on! Certain breasticles simply don't look good in say a plunge or balconette (I'm an F cup so plunge bras are out of bounds for me) that and the fact that bras from different shops, fit differently.

And men, do not, I repeat DO NOT go into a shop with the intention of buying lingerie for a partner and when asked her size reply with "Uhhh...I dunno, she wears a size 10 but she’s got big boobs" or " "about your size" that does not help, that annoys us greatly, that makes us want to put your eyes out. If you’re going shopping for presents, have a look at the label of your significant others favourite bra, the size will be there. A little preplanning saves a lot of tears, confusion and us having to put through sodding exchanges.

On a lighter note, boobs are indeed fun. Please be gentle, it’s my first time
Length? About 7.5 inches is the longest we sell.
(Saffronkitten, Sun 9 May 2010, 18:20, 4 replies)

A Three-Year Old's View
Conversation between my three-year-old niece and my colleague:

Niece: Ladies have boobies.
Colleague (embarrassed): Erm, yes, that's right.
Niece: Why haven't YOU got any boobies?
Colleague: I have.
Niece: Well, where ARE they then?
( Norbert Lightowler, Sun 9 May 2010, 16:57, 5 replies)

... so anyway - I went into this pub with my mate, and the barmaid there had MASSIVE norks.
We're both ale drinkers.

"Yes, darlin' - what can I get you?" she asks.

"Two pints of Bristols, please ... two pints of BITTER! Please ... " I splutter, going absolutely fucking crimson as I take a scowl that would curdle Simon Cowell's own porridge.

I go to the table with our pints, and reiterate the event to my mate.

Kindly, he reassures me it's fine - "It's perfectly innocent" he says, "It's known as a 'Freudian slip' - it's when you accidentally say what you're thinking about instead of what you meant to say. I do it all the time. For example this morning at brreakfast, I meant to say to my wife 'Could you pass me the TOAST please', and instead I accidentally said 'Thanks for fucking up my entire bloody life you fucking bitch.'"
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Sat 8 May 2010, 15:44, 2 replies)

A story that takes place in a gay bar which is vaguely about breasts. It's as good as you imagine.
Back in February Ms Foxtrot and I made one of our annual pilgrimmages (can that be a word? You very rarely hear of anyone making more than one pilgrimmage, so it sounds weird) to Blackpool, for the dancin'. On this occasion we went with the University DanceSport team so there was much drinkin' to be had after the sequins, fake tan, ludicrously tight trousers and wiggly hip action had faded been forever seared into memory.

Several of us decided that in keeping with the day's events we should go to the Flying Handbag. Now you may be thinking that this is the most flamboyantly gay name for a drinking pit in existence, well, you'd be wrong; right next door is a club called the Flamingo - the letters are lit up in sizzling neon, and the "O" is a different colour to the other letters. Think about it.

The Flying Handbag is basically a very camp hole (accusations of innocuous sexual innuendo will be met with the internet equivalent of a pitying look) of a pub whose principle redeeming feature is that it makes absolutely no secret of its preposterous levels of gayness. The DJ is a very loud-mouthed transvestite, and most of its patrons are to heterosexuality as Michael McIntyre is to comedy. What has all this got to do with breasts, I hear you cry? Well allow me, with enormous relish, to tell you!

One of my best friends amongst the dancey bunch is Nicola. She hot. Tall, slim, pretty, filthy mind. Recently (at this point) single and we'd forever joked about her being a secret lesbian. So, amidst many, many drinks, I decided to cheer her up. With the help of Chloe. She also hot. Stunningly pretty, breasts (there you go) that could block out the sun. Often found, whilst drunk, to be dubious of morals and sexual persuasion. I decided to take advantage of this.

Beckoning Chloe to me, I whispered (OK, shouted - we were in a gay bar, which stereotypically tend to be every bit as loud and disorientating as the Electric Six song of the same name. SO I'M TOLD) "Fancy a game of chicken?"

Chloe was up for this. I knew she would be.

"Let's see who can get closer to kissing Nicola before she pulls away and laughs it off", said I.

Chloe accepted. Chloe grabbed Nicola around the waist, leaned forwards and kissed her full on the lips. Nicola clearly enjoyed the attention. Tongues were visibly entwined. Whether by choice, encouragement or sheer gravitational pull, Nicola's right hand was all over Chloe's boobs. This lasted a good 30-45 seconds (please forgive me for not running an exact chronometer). Meanwhile I was stood about two feet away, watching intently with a whisky and a grin.

Eventually, the kiss ended and Chloe turned to me, looking triumphant, and declaring "I win!"

I simply replied, "Oh no honey, I think you'll find I win"

I never had the slightest intention of kissing Nicola. Ms Foxtrot would have broken all three of my legs.

See above for length. Best Only thing ever to happen to me in a gay bar
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Fri 7 May 2010, 13:43, 8 replies)