Most men talk with their hands....
....it is a well known fact that us men can not just rely on the power of speech, we have you use our hands and bodies to illustrate what it is we are actually saying. For example, "I'll call you" is usually accompanied by raising ones hand, with the thumb and forefinger representing the phone, "It was massive" is always accompanied by outstretches arms.. you get the idea.

So, when saying "Can I help you with the drinks" to the Girlfriend's mother,it seemed perfectly acceptable for me to outstretch both my hands as if I was holding 2 pints. What I did not expect was for her to turn around and step toward me, not realising how close I was.

Yes, in full view of over 20 members of my girlfriend's family, I appeared to be copping a feel of both of my future mother in law's breasts.

I am now referred to as 'the perv'.

*cries*
(Roddimus_Prime Should be revising, Mon 10 May 2010, 10:28, 3 replies)

A common misconception
It's not the size that really matters, it's the nipple thats the true secret. Have good nipples and your laughing. Big breasts, small breasts..it doesn't matter.. You could have tiny breasts but fantastic erect nipples, and you will get the fella's harder than a 2 by 4.

Erect nipples are ALWAYS a good thing! If they show through your tops..then that's super sexy.. Don't go hiding them with nipple plasters!

Yes yes..it looks like you're smuggling peanuts..but believe me.. if there was a choice between a woman with big breasts and a woman with smaller breasts - but with erect nipples.. I'd go for the erect nipples everytime.
(TheRiddler Hmmmmm... I concur., Mon 10 May 2010, 9:50, 4 replies)

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)

Over the last year, I went from a 36D to a 34B.
Anorexia sucks. No. Wait.I'm not actually anorexic, but it's what my doctor said.
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Mon 10 May 2010, 7:30, 6 replies)

my sheep's tits are so big
she needs a braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 10 May 2010, 7:19, Reply)

I love my Mum's bra nicknames
such as "Upper-Decker-Flopper-Stoppers" or the all time classic "Over-Shoulder-Boulder-Holder"
(pinkpunkpython is skinning up, Mon 10 May 2010, 1:05, 2 replies)

Reading this QOTW...
...fondling my girlfriend's perfect 36C boobs. Natural, not too big, not too small, perfect pink hard nipples, and it makes her horny.

/luckybastard
(quantum raspberry quizzically quashing Quebecans, Mon 10 May 2010, 0:57, 1 reply)

gravity gets us all in the end
you know you're getting older when your tits migrate to your armpits at night.
fuck, it's depressing to watch your cleavage vanish as soon as you lay down.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Mon 10 May 2010, 0:35, Reply)

"On the breasts of a barmaid from Sale,
Were tattooed all the prices of ale.
And on her behind
(For the sake of the blind)
Were those very same prices -




In braille".
( joefish It's hard for thee to kick against the pricks, Sun 9 May 2010, 23:51, 1 reply)

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)

I'm sorry, but I've watched The Warriors one too many times
to allow women's breasts (or women's seductive charms generally) to have some sort of mind control over me. There have been a variety of phases in my life to date, none of which have seen me much of a slave to tits.

1. The starting point: One time, when I was fifteen, a girl in my drama class came up to me, asked me a question or two, and went away again. Amongst the gossiping whispers that followed it was revealed that I glanced at girl's breasts when I talk to them.

As a fifteen year-old boy.

And this was apparently gossip-worthy.

I realise now this was far more their problem than it was mine, but that was the moment I started to train myself to only ever maintain eye contact with a woman, unless invited explicitly to do otherwise. This was also the beginning of...

2. Paranoia: The girls in said drama class had a vendetta against me for a time after I went out with one of their number (you know how teenage girls are). Any overtures of kindness by any of them were to be met with nothing but suspicion and an immediate and thorough mental analysis of what their real motives were. This was not insanity, this was necessary. Unfortunately, these methods infiltrated the rest of my social interactions. I was fully aware of how much a girl could destroy my reputation by flirting mildly with me, then running off to tell her friends I was a perv if I so much as acknowledged it. Thus, eye contact at all times was the necessity.

3. What my brother termed an "internal fidelity monitor cranked up to 11": Once I went to University, and gained some confidence as girls stopped being pointlessly bitchy, I found my old paranoia (mostly) melting away. However, by this time I had got firmly into the habit of consciously not looking below the chin and it was hard to break. I had a girlfriend at this time and explained my behaviour by saying that "looking at another girl's chest feels like cheating". This eventually prompted a friend to advance the theory that I had a...

4. Fear of breasts: It was a source of infinite amusement among those close to me to claim that I was scared of breasts. I did nothing to dispel this when I conspicuously looked away when one or two of the girls I lived with pulled down their tops to reveal cleavage, and managed to be the only guy at a party who dodged the flashing of the slag who was showing EVERYONE her new nipple piercing.

5. Plain ol' being a bastard: This phase is actually a footnote, intermingled alongside 3 and 4. I've always been annoyed at the power ladies hold over us gentlemen. It's getting better now, but if a girl flirted with me while I had a girlfriend, I'd let her get as far as was reasonable before dropping my attached status into conversation, and watching her face redden with embarrassment and shame. If I wasn't especially attracted to her, I'd just say something confidence shattering e.g. "well...you're not overly fat", "I'm sorry, your ass is too high" or, in answer to whether I wanted to hang out some time "mm. Maybe". This isn't to say I'm some stud who can afford to casually disregard interested parties, just that I got a bit too much satisfaction from emotionally manipulating girls, who I saw as being able to dish out plenty emotional pain themselves and needing taken down a peg or two. I'm a lot less sexist now.

Anyway. The high point of my career as a breast-disregarder came when my flatmate and her friend, both of whom I'd fancied at different times in my life, confronted me about being scared of breasts and dared me to put my hand down their tops and give them a good groping, as I had claimed rashly that I had more nerve than them and one of them was extremely competetive. Pretending to be all "ooh, this is terrible", I carried out my "dare", all the while thinking "HAHAHA! You fools! You blind fools! Of course I'm not scared of breasts! I'M A HETEROSEXUAL MALE!!!"

Years of preparation, helped out by all the unwitting accomplices who bigged up my aversion of boobs, all went into that one glorious moment that no other man that I know of could have engineered (not with those girls in particular anyway).

Length? It is a very long passage I have just written.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Sun 9 May 2010, 21:01, 4 replies)

Norbert Lightowler's just reminded me of one:
Then-girlfriend's 10-year-old daughter: "Kenny, why do men like boobs?"
Me: "Err... hmm, umm..."

I really couldn't think what to say, whereupon she got really grumpy and exclaimed "You DO know, you're just not telling me!"
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Sun 9 May 2010, 18:22, 3 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)

I couldn't think of a good pun about the French port of Brest
so just pretend that I did and that we all had a good old chuckle about it.
(Vlad the Inhaler forgot his password, Sun 9 May 2010, 15:50, 3 replies)

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)

a mate of mine
went to a stag do years ago, and one of the party was a drunk Australian fella. They all took their seats for the stripper and at the point when she teased her bra off the Aussie adopted an expression of utter childish delight, jabbed his forefinger in her direction and at the top of his voiced shouted something that has been noisily quoted thousands of times since by me and my mates for the last 20 odd years;

"TITS! I LOVE 'EM!.

Got to love the Aussies.
( BobbyParadise, Sun 9 May 2010, 11:44, 1 reply)

Breasts can be very distrac

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

I used to sell bras
but I went bust.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 9 May 2010, 11:27, Reply)

toss your cookies
I said there was a third.

This one is also distasteful. The rat was between a nice pair of young ones and the Papillon story was just a bit nasty and quite scary. This one is just laughable so I'll keep it brief:

It, once again, features an older woman (this time well into her dotage). She had brought a King Charles Spaniel in for examination and on close inspection there was a high degree of suspicion that this dog was suffering with a form of parasitic mange. As this can be zoonotic (transmissible to humans), I duly asked if she (the owner) had any suspicious symptoms of little red itchy spots. The answer was verbal and visual: She lifted up her blouse and said "Oh yes dear, right here, have a look". Fortunately this was a brief encounter, and I could then get on with the more useful job of making sure she took her ailment to her GP.

Thats about it; three tales, and hopefully never to be repeated.
(gearanach #wankwankwank, Sun 9 May 2010, 10:26, Reply)

( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Sun 9 May 2010, 6:31, 1 reply)

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)

First grope
In my first year of secondary school the boys and girls were still happy to play with each other in a sweet, innocent way. We would rush around the playground playing British Bulldog or Nakey Nakey 123, or Stuck In The Mud. On one particularly vigorous game of bulldog I put out my hand to grab Rachel Cooper and realised I had a handful of something soft and squidgy. Only afterwards did I realise I'd groped her. She scowled at me, I scowled at her, and that was it. The innocence of youth. She got me back after the school disco though, when she snogged me in some trees just outside school and squeezed my nuts.
(Smale is stuffed, Sun 9 May 2010, 5:23, Reply)

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)

If breasts are so great
why are me and my 34 Gs still fucking single?!

at least other girlies appreciate them
(Abel wants to see if that new thing works, Sat 8 May 2010, 22:31, 28 replies)

I spent two hours today...
... with a sleeping four year olds head between my breasts, so I guess they're good for something.
(Melody was not PMSing on, Sat 8 May 2010, 22:04, 6 replies)

Oh yeah...
topless chicks.


(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 8 May 2010, 20:45, 1 reply)

Barmaids Boobs
In my early years as a barman I was amarously connected with a buxom barmaid working in the same club as myself. The before mentioned object of my desire was well known for exposing said jubblies for all to see.

During one memorable break in the staff room, there was the shout of "Wendy's got her tits out again!". Everybody just tutted and raised their eyes to the ceiling, apart from the new boy, who had not heard about the habits of longer serving staff. Upon hearing the battle cry, 'new boy' decided that he had to see what all the fuss was about. With a cry of "phwoarrrr", he jumped out of his seat with gusto - promptly splitting his head open on a wall mounted light.

Three stitches and a concussion later, he finally saw the funny side.

Oh, how we chuckled.
(roadieflip Who nicked the jokes from my lolly sticks?, Sat 8 May 2010, 19:03, 3 replies)