Cultural sexual hegemony and me, #1 – Big breasts

This is the first in a series of posts about ways that I’m a little different from what I understand to be the sexual “norm” (to the extent there is one).

I like breasts. A lot. I like them big and small, almost equally.

I hate fake breasts.

Small to medium is ideal for me, but I’m not choosy. I don’t remember ever seeing a pair of unenhanced breasts and thinking, “Oh, no; those are not for me.” No, when I see a pair of unenhanced breasts, I generally am a happy guy.

But I’m mystified, baffled, by the dominance of big breasts in our sexual culture. If I go to a strip club (and I don’t that often any more), I have to work to find a dancer whose breasts move when she dances, whose breasts I’m not eager to avoid touching. Occasionally, over the years, a woman (in a massage parlor, or strip club, or some other part of my journey down the rabbit hole) would ask me: “Do you think I should get a boob job?”

“No!” was always, always, always my answer. Most recently, my trainer did it. She didn’t ask me whether she should; she simply told me she was doing it. She got a good one. Her breasts look about as good as DDs can on a 5’3” woman with a tiny waist and a big, muscular ass. But I’ll be damned if I ever touch them. (And boy, did I used to want to touch her breasts.) Sometimes my feet or legs brush against them when she’s stretching me after a workout, and I just don’t like it.

So please, a plea: ladies, don’t enhance. Think of it as a personal favor for me. I love your breasts the way they are.

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