Nuff said
Oh little Mo , I love you so. 'specially in your nightie.
When the moonlight flits, accross your tits,
Oh Jesus Christ almighty !

RIP Pete and Dud
(marcooosa has no idea what a board sig is, Fri 7 May 2010, 15:53, 3 replies)

The direct approach
A good few years ago now, when the country was still red, the economic crisis was but a glint in Leaman Brother’s eye, and Legless still lived in the UK, me and the missus had taken one of our semi-regular jaunts to the coastal idyll that was Leggy’s abode. Well, weekend abode, as during the week he spent time living and working in Redcar and offering the locals geek skills in return for not being beaten to a bloody pulp…

That night was particularly raucous, and much ale was consumed. We laughed and joked and lit up fag after fag INDOORS. Oh, the carefree life we once had. And then the missus noticed one of the regulars at the bar, staring intently in the direction of her chest, and reacted as only she could under the circumstances.

“STOP STARING AT MY TITS, YOU FUCKING PERVERT!” she bellowed. She's never been particularly subtle and the poor bastard was mortified; the rest of the bar collapsed in fits of hysterical laughter (and very nearly a collective puddle of urine).

I love my missus.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 7 May 2010, 15:52, 1 reply)

B
is for Breasts Of which ladies have two; Once prized for the function, Now for the view.



author rps
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Fri 7 May 2010, 15:49, Reply)

B3ta error to report
Dear IT support,

When I am lurking it up checking out people's profiles there is a great deal of information available re posts, QOTW, etc, etc, which is all very good, but there does not appear to be a tab entitled "SHOW ME THIS USER'S NORKS".

Surely this oversight will soon be corrected. Everyone likes norks.

Kind regards,

El Norkmeister
(impossibly witty twat No, YOUR Mum etc etc, Fri 7 May 2010, 15:46, Reply)

Norks of Doom
I went out with a girl... I may have mentioned her breasts before in sex related QOTWs.

She was a petite girl, I'd guess at a 32 A/B, but my god she had nipples like I'd never seen before, literally prominent enough to hang your coat on, maybe even two coats!

I'm not exaggerating when I say they were longer than they were wide, imagine if you will a cocktail sausage, if you just chopped off one of the rounded ends leaving a good 80% of the sausage. In fact sod it, go into the cupboard now and see if you have any, do the surgical procedure and stick them to your chest. Now sit back and admire your gigantipples.

Giving them a cheeky bite turned into a full on chew like a dog with a toy. I love unusual breasts... except those ones with areola that take up almost the entire breast, they scare me.
( JebediahSpringfield, Fri 7 May 2010, 15:46, 1 reply)

I know it's probably just from a position of male privilege...
I do understand that a lot of leering men can be vile, pushy and harrassing and that a lot of you poor ladies do have to endure insufferable creeps more frequently than I'd probably like to comprehend, but I do think that since all men basically do check out women all the time, the whole huffy outrage thing upon discovery of the slightest lingering glance seems, I don't know, not a very pragmatic reaction for either party to what is a fairly unavoidable human impulse. I wish we were better, but I'm afraid we just aren't. And I know it's not all of you.

What specifically inspired this little plea? This whole Boobquake thing. The idea, ostensibly, was to take the piss out of some mullah who claimed that immodest dressing turned men into wild beasts and that women should cover up to prevent the world going completely out of control.

Now, we all know that as fun as the exercise was, there were bound to be a few lecherous creeps out there who got a bit too excited by the whole thing and made arses out of themselves. Human nature. It's sad but there's always someone who can spoil the most innocently raunchy fun with their greasy horribleness.

But, what disturbed me was there was a reaction from some of the more anti-sex, killjoy feminist types (and I am pro-feminist as per its basic definition) who claimed that a mass display of cleavage would simply result in further objectification of women by men unable to control their innate objectifying impulses.

In other words: immodest dressing turned men into wild beasts and that women should cover up to prevent the world going completely out of control.

Go figure.

In short: Dear ladies, I am genuinely sorry that I stare without thinking at your lovely bosoms as you pass me by, but can we reach an understanding about it so that my feeble attempts at subtlety are read as my cackhanded sign of respect for your feelings? I really can't not look. They are fabulous things. If it helps you're welcome to check out my bits. You can even give a thumbs up if you approve.
(Ladyfingers is in your wardrobe,, Fri 7 May 2010, 15:32, 4 replies)

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)

Magic disappearing breasts
As might be fairly clear, given the choice, physically I like a woman with a nice big wobbly pair of breasts :). Porn wise I tend to watch well endowed women in a variety of suitably athletic acts, especially a decent tit wank.

You'd therefore expect my first girlfriend to have norks reaching into space. Nope - almost flat chested. I had a lot of fun, but not much of it was breast related.

Following girlfriend 1, was a very nice fling. She was great and had huge breasts. At this stage I must have lost my tit wank virginity surely? Alas, circumstances were not smiling on me and that did not happen.

On to girlfriend 2 and the Magic Disappearing Breasts(TM). I'd known her for a while and enjoyed chatting. As anyone keen on breasts is wont to, there were some subtle glances down her (quite open) top when she wasn't looking. It was like looking into an empty black chasm rather than fleshy Elysium fields of breast pleasure.

I wasn't sure if she fancied me, but this was rapidly corrected after being encouraged into a very close hug and a snog. I could feel her warm chest pressing against me as we kissed, but resolved myself to future bedroom fun sans boobage.

Following some drinks with friends she retired to mine for more drinkies. Kissing started, and after a while my hands started to move round from her back to the front. At this point she unbuttoned her top, revealing not a bra, but a close cropped black top - this rapidly came off too.

Spoing! Instead of the flat chest I was expecting, a bouncy pair of 34Ds lay before me. Tight vest tops really are quite effective at squashing down even large breasts.

I was more than a little surprised, but it rapidly turned to more fun, ending in spaff travelling pleasurably down the cleavage canal.

Just like you can't accurately tell what a guy has in his pants, it's not always possible to judge a lady's shelf supply, either.
(EssY, Fri 7 May 2010, 15:22, 2 replies)

Come back Spanky...
All is forgiven!
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Fri 7 May 2010, 15:15, 6 replies)

I love breasts.
Love them. I like nothing better than a huge rack. I think about them all the time, honestly.

George Rekers.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 7 May 2010, 15:15, Reply)

My brother has bigger boobs than I do.

(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Fri 7 May 2010, 14:59, 3 replies)

Big boobs saved my life! (well, sort of...)
When I was six I my best friend Emma turning round to me on our walk to school and whispering conspiratorially "you know, your mum has big boobs so that means you'll get big boobs too" I remember turning round in horror to gaze upon my mum and her very buxom cleavage before bursting into tears. Poor mum had no idea why. Of course, that was when I was young, and had little idea that rather than being a big (36E cup) inconvenience, having curves could actually be a very good thing indeed!

However, it wasn't until last summer when I went to Cornwall that they really shone, so to speak... I went body boarding for the first time with some friends. I was a bit useless at it, but am a good swimmer and was generally enjoying the day. Then I caught a bad wave and managed to get myself and the board twisted up under water with the front of the board (which was made of thin wood) dug into the sand whilst the sea pushed me into the other end, completely winding me and leaving me sat in the shallows clutching my chest and wheezing like an asthmatic octogenarian.

It hurt. A lot. I whinged for a bit and the pain dulled, I rolled down the wetsuit and couldn't see any damage so decided all was OK. However, later the bruising started to come out and by the evening my whole chest had a giant purple stripe across it and I noticed a lump. Lumps are not the sort of thing you want to find of course, and I wasn't sure whether it was a result of the board or whether it had been there before and I had only just noticed it.

Went to NHS Direct clinic, doctor thought it was an 'abnormal growth', went to my GP, she found another two lumps (oh no) and felt that this couldn't have been because of the board. Not good...

Spent two weeks walking round worried before seeing a specialist who heard the story, took a look and declared I was very lucky to have big boobs (I'm pretty sure he used more technical wording, but I'm paraphrasing) as he was sure the lumps were a blood clots (they were, they checked with an ultrasound) and that had I not been so well endowed in chest department, I probably would have broken a couple of ribs and risked puncturing a lung - hurrah boobs!
( hanabanana, Fri 7 May 2010, 14:39, 2 replies)

The Sexy Heather Voice.
I am a male. Just thought I'd clear that up right away. I have this bizarro medical condition that has all sorts of interesting symptoms that pop up here and there. One thing that has degenerated a great deal the last year or so is my power of speech, in that for most of the day I can't really talk at all. Anyway, recently I got an iPhone app that is like Stephen Hawking's voice machine only it's on an iPhone and not some wheelchair-mounted mainframe, and it's exceedingly good.

There are lots of icons and categories and so on, and of course you can type stuff straight in. Yes, it speaks swears very well. My fingers aren't so nimble anymore either, so if I know I'm going to visit, say, the doctor's soon, I'll type in a bunch of sentences I know I'll use, starting with "Hi, Doctor Stephanie." And so on.

The app was made by some Dutchy fellows, and uses proprietary voices. There's a USA suite and a UK suite. Sorry, the UK ones just sound rude and peremptory to my Australian ear, and there really is nothing more likely to get on your tits than being an anally retentive, passive-aggressive Englishman by proxy. Tits, yes. We're getting there. So there are children's voices in the US suite, and this will be good for a laugh the next time I'm pulled over by Plod wanting a random breath test and so on. Each voice has a name. Ryan is the 'mid-east coast generic American male'. He's a dick, sort of half wise-guy and half boring college professor. And then, well, there's Heather.

If I was speaking to her on the phone (if I could still do that, that is) I would *so* be wondering what she looked like. Probably also what she might be wearing. And what order she might slowly remove.....anyway, it's a very, very sexy voice. It's the one I mostly use, because of the disarmament factor - people are delightfully thrown off cue by me speaking through my iPhone as a sultry Merkin lady. I deliberately left Heather as the default voice for my appointment with Doctor Stephanie recently, where the second thing I had programmed in to say was

"I have a lump in my left breast"

True, my left nipple and some surrounding flesh had been a little tender for some weeks, but suddenly flared up into a raised arc and got a bit red. I am 6 foot and only 53-odd kilos, so I noticed. As I said, I get weird symptoms, but I also know we fellas can get breast cancer, so I thought it time to get checked. Antibiotics for suspected mastitis, and an ultrasound arranged, just in case. Ultrasound showed nothing more interesting than some normal-looking, wel, breast tissue.

Yes, I am the proud new owner of one baby little breast. A side-effect of one of my medications has given me (and Heather, by extension) the beginnings of a secret bit of girly anatomy. And I fucking love it. Gynecomastia they call it, technically. Some of you very beery men may have it from the oestrogenic effect of hops. Not jumping on one leg, tools, hops is the herb that gives your tasty lager its flavour.

Seriously though, there is some ineffable sense of being closer to my 'feminine side' (or call it what you will) and far from it being yet another weird-arse thing to go wrong with my body I find it sweetly charming, like a little gift. Even if it does hurt a bit.

Ladies, was it a bit sore when you grew your first budding beauties?
(dadadali has hybrid vigour, Fri 7 May 2010, 14:26, 3 replies)

Okay my perspective
All the woman in my family on my mother's side have massive boobs which stay pretty much the same size no matter how much weight is gained/lost. For example, when due to illness/IV drip I went down to about a size 6/8 I still had DD breasts (no it was not attractive in the least, I looked like an emaciated skeleton who'd had plastic surgery,) but most of the time I hover at size 12 and 32H or 34G depending on minor weight fluctuation. My mother calls it the Russian peasant look (charming) big breasts, fairly wide shoulders, and a sturdy frame.

That's all just scene-setting drivel for the various odd ways men act around them: It's pretty true, that big breasts seem to remove the brain/mouth filter. I've had things said and done to me that were utterly unacceptable but that were not reacted to in that way by the people around me, because it was all just a big joke.

Transsexuals especially FTM are fascinated by them. I've been asked several times if they are allowed to bury their face in my cleavage, jiggle them etc.
Last week I was in a club, and with a friend of a friend at the bar. We joked that pretty girls got served first, he decided I wasn't pretty enough to get the barmaid's attention, and yanked down the top of my dress to expose more cleavage.

My room-mate got a phone call from a drunk friend, who slurringly asked down the phone 'Is it true Amberl has 32H breasts?' This same friend cannot keep his eyes focused on my face. I'm not exactly dressed immodestly, but even if I'm wearing a high necked jumper he'll still stare at them. People think it's acceptable male and female both, to touch and comment upon them. The number of times I've had women tell me 'oh they'll be saggy in ten years anyway' or men assume that I'm going to sleep with them because I'm obviously 'up for it,' is rather insulting.

It's not just me either in case you're thinking 'maybe she just actually is a slut, and gives off signals that she doesn't mind these things happening,' they happen to every big breasted woman I know. I'm not even really pretty. I'm all right, but nothing special, but for some men the boobs seem to cancel that out entirely. I've had to grow accustomed to not really having many dates, because about 80% of people who express interest are more interested in my breasts than they are in me, while a lot of men I really like are scared off by them- for exactly the reasons given above- they're associated with sluttish, stupid, bingedrinking girls in the popular imagination, so they don't actually see what is attached.

They're masses of fat people! They're not attractive or interesting. They won't talk to you about politics, films, make you laugh, tell you bad jokes, listen to you or care. I promise you I can do all those things. I can, not my breasts. Fixate on them and you've missed the most interesting parts. This definitely turned into ranting and in conclusion there is nothing I would rather be than a 32C. If I could pay for a reduction (and guarantee minimal scarring) I would do it in a heartbeat.

I promise I do have some funny stories about breasts in various contexts, but I think this needed to be said
( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Fri 7 May 2010, 14:19, 28 replies)

Until a few years ago I hated my boobs.
They're large but in proportion to my large frame and I loathed them. I never used to show cleavage and tried to squash them down with minimiser bras. If I had had the spare cash I would have had them reduced years ago but never had the chance. I guess I'm in a position now to afford a loan to get them done but the hatred has mostly melted away and I get to spend my cash on holidays.

I guess now I'm middle-aged I'm past caring and have just learnt to live with them. They could be more pert but I've never had complaints and if I'm with someone I trust then it's not really an issue in bed.

I just wish I'd grown to accept them a lot sooner is all.

BOOBS!
( girlinthehole, Fri 7 May 2010, 13:52, 7 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)

Breasts are awesome
I've had partners with breasts ranging from A through G cup - not one has had a bad pair, and larger sizes haven't made them any better in bed (although some activities are a bit more fun with a big pair of breasts).

The first moment when the clothes come off and you get to kiss and have a bit of a hold is probably the best, closely followed by all the nice places they can be pressed.

I'm definitely a fan of a sizeable pair, but that differs based on how interesting the woman is - I'm not so shallow I'd go with someone where their breasts were their only redeeming factor. C cup is big enough, and although I've had fun with much larger ones, I find the breast fetishists who concentrate on breasts to the exclusion of everything else a bit odd.

Big breasts usually mean more weight elsewhere - which is ok, but I don't understand why you'd choose someone especially large just so you can play with an immense pair of breasts. By the time they're getting to a D to E cup, it's easy to bury your face in them and engage in a healthy STW - what else do you do with really large ones?!

Personally I think a lot of it is mental - it's not always how big the breasts are, it's how big you can make them seem..

Volunteers in the North West to show me how awesome their boobs are will definitely be appreciated ;)
(EssY, Fri 7 May 2010, 13:31, 7 replies)

Breasts and not-quite-so-innocent children
For those of you who don't know me, I'm rather well endowed in the general lady-chest area. 34G in fact (more on why that's such a pain later so put your tongues away gentleman!) 5'6" and a size 12. And before you all think I'm trying to attract attention to myself this is all relevant to the story I'm about to tell (honest).

I help out at a kid's club for 5-11 year olds for an hour and a half a week, I got into it in the second year of my degree just to do something (anything!) away from uni. We have a really nice group of kids but there's one 11 year old boy who just isn't quite as innocent as the younger ones. He's never really said or done anything, you just get that feeling, I'm sure those of you who have worked with children that age will know what I mean (and no, not that!).

Last week the main leader was away at a funeral leaving me with the unenviable position of being the main person in charge of 15 5-11 year olds, all set on playing up as much as possible while they could. For some reason, and why we decided it would be a good idea I DO NOT know, we were making chocolate crispy cakes with them. I'm sure you know the drill, melt the chocolate, pour it over the rice crispies, simple. Or slightly less simple with 15 hyperactive children. Aha, I hear you say, melted chocolate over boobies time! Well I'm afraid not, that would be far too predictable and may just give some of the "more mature" male b3tans a stroke the way this QOTW is going and I wouldn't want to be responsible for the hospitalisation of anyone due to over-excitement from mental pictures of chocolate covered jubblies. Anyway, I digress. I was going around the table pouring out the chocolate and having to bend down slightly to do so. At my height most of the children are safely well below me even when I'm bending over so this normally isn't a problem. Until I reached the not-quite-as-innocent-as-he-should-be 11 year old. Who is also somewhat taller than the rest of them. Bending forward to pour some chocolate into his groups bowl I straightened up to see him giving me a small self-satisfied smile and realised that as I'd bent down I'd managed to dangle my cleavage right in front of his just hitting puberty and desperate for breasts face. I straightened up very quickly at that point and made a point of not bending over the table near that group again, embarrassed in the knowledge that my boobies are probably going to be one of his first memories of breasts and probably posted on a site like this in about 10 years time. *Sigh*

I've laid out all my high-necked tops for further kid's club meetings.
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Fri 7 May 2010, 13:29, 10 replies)

34GG
Me. That is all.
(Nunnerfly, Fri 7 May 2010, 13:28, 8 replies)

Have an incredibly tenuous pea:
My first weekend to spend consisting of just me and a proper girl - who had fantastic breasts, and was really up for it, and who's parents were away for the weekend and had left her the house to herself.

It was the early 1990s. I was 17, she was 18. It was Saturday morning. I was getting ready for an hour's train journey through the West Country summertime countryside, to explode out into a world constructed only of the stuff porn and poetry is made of.

Naturally to preclude all this, I listened to a steady diet of heavy metal and old school punk at top volume, while I laid out my finest, blackest band t-shirts, and made sure my dishevelled look was just so.

One particularly riotous, rebellious song came on, and I moshed around my room gleefully, tripping on a fix of caffeine, nicotine, and the sheer, magnificent joy of the teenage horn.

I BELTED my head against my wardrobe, causing it to fall half-into me. In my stunned haste, I spun 'round, smashing my face against my shelf full of books, tipping several of the heavier volumes on top of myself, and one particular tome landing cornerside into my crown, causing me to sit down heavily on my bed, to be pelted by the rest of my books, my cassettes and CDs, the speaker of my stereo and all the other various pariphinalia and shelf crap of a teenage punk's life.

As I sat there, surrounded by the debris, I realised that in all the excitement my cigarette had dropped onto my bed and was burning a sizable hole in my duvet and it's cover.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 7 May 2010, 13:01, Reply)

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)

Ode to my wifes's tits...
Devil's Pillows?

Piss Off!

My wife's tits are Heaven sent;

They provided me with endless fun during courtship: teasing, tweaking, barely contained within tight jumpers, nipples erect through flimsy cotton blouses. The spluff. Oh God, the litres of spluff spilt upon those firm, supple milky-white tits.

And yet, within a few short years, they sustained my 3 beautiful kids from birth. These stoic tits were bleeding, chafed, but determined to feed and provide goodness.

And now, years after the kids have finished with 'em? I think they are fuckng brilliant. They still give me serious wood.

Fabulous tits will always be admired.
( Ken Oath, Fri 7 May 2010, 12:48, 2 replies)

Its a wonder I'm still sane.
Following on from the "rat" story below, I just remembered another breast related incident. This one was slightly more distasteful. I cant decide at what point a breast related tale slips from "a bit of a laugh" to "sick", but this one is on the spectrum to the lower end.

I used to attend to the dogs of a lady who was forever announcing that she was "at deaths door and "wouldn't be here next week". This went on for some time and she never seemed to change to me. Anyhow; she was an older lady (mid sixties I guess) and definitely from the less-well-off area of town.

I can clearly remember her bringing one of her papillon dogs (very small - look it up if you like), with a sebaceous cyst on its back. I felt quite pleased to be able to announce that this had a good prognosis and I duly expressed a good deal of cheesy pus from the cyst. A very satisfying moment. I cleaned up the area around the cyst and did the usual job of prescribing medication.

As I was attending to the cyst (squeezing and expressing pus), she piped up "I've a couple of lumps just here (points to chest) which could do with that kind of attention too...".

The conclusion of the consultation was quite rapid, as I felt a touch nauseous.

And I've just thought of another one (have I really been THAT unlucky...?).
(gearanach #wankwankwank, Fri 7 May 2010, 12:43, Reply)

Shakira
Apparently her breasts are small and humble in order to prevent there being any confusion between them and any nearby mountains.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 7 May 2010, 12:42, Reply)

Bitty
I remember vividly just after spawning my son when my milk came in. Overnight I went from a rather nice set of perky C cups to something that wouldn't have looked out of place on Jordan. Seriously, every time I looked down I expected to see Peter Andre.... they were MASSIVE. And rock hard.

I found feeding pretty easy. However as soon as I whipped one out to feed the littlun my milk would 'let down' with such force that it would squirt across the room. Got him right in the eyes a few times. And I could feel it let down too. It was a real rush, like having a mini orgasm in my chest. I suppose because oxytocin, the milky let down hormone, is also released during sex.

Needless to say, I lurved breastfeeding.
( Sallyrsm, Fri 7 May 2010, 12:30, 10 replies)

Follicle of Shame
Lying beside a woman I had quite recently met (reference that godawful Craig David song if you want a rough idea of the relationship's pattern and duration), I was lazily toying with one of her breasts - I forget which - when my wandering fingers encountered a stray head-hair.

I pulled at it and it uncoiled to an impressive length before suddenly refusing to budge. I tugged at it and tugged again. Strange. Suddenly it dawned on me: "Oh my holy Christ - that's no head-hair!" It was in fact attached to a small mole on the outer orbit of one of her aureole.

TOTAL passion killer. How could she not have known it was there? Why hadn't she removed it or at the very least cut it down to a minimal length? WHAT THE HELL WAS SHE THINKING?! Alas these were questions I lacked the courage to put directly to her and instead I made my excuses and left.

Thing is, she was gorgeous and delightful. We missed out on something beautiful and all because she insisted on cultivating a solitary booby hair.

Assuming she's left it untrimmed it's probably long enough now for her to bind the loose-end around her clitoris and bring herself to orgasm by gently massaging her tit... Hmmm, perhaps I should have stayed with her after all!
(Happybara The jungle came alive and took him, Fri 7 May 2010, 12:22, 11 replies)

my ex...
...had lovely breasts, a nice handful each, firm, round, perky and fantastic nipples. I reckon a nice C-Cup.

We broke up and saw other people for a while, after a few months we both happened to be single again and decided on some "mutual satisfaction" to entertain us.

I was mildly surprised to see she had lost some weight and her already pleasing figure was slightly more svelte and fun to play with... until I reached her boobs - which were horrible! Saggy skin, droopy and hollow! They felt like lumpy underfilled water balloons - rock hard nipples sitting on half empty bean-bags which hung limply and moved around faaaaaar too much in my face.

Suffice to say, I found other means of entertainment until I could find another set of lady norks to play with.
( Mister B is eating an icanhazcheezburger with lmaonaise, Fri 7 May 2010, 12:11, Reply)

Apparently standing behind one's Mrs and jiggling her boobies up and down while she's at the cooker
DOESN'T help with the dinner.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 7 May 2010, 11:58, 11 replies)

Jamie Lee Curtis
Trading Places......That is all!
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Fri 7 May 2010, 11:53, 4 replies)