I Am Man; Hear Me Oink!

I’ve become obsessed lately with a particular girl’s breasts. I just can’t help myself. I’d say that it was like staring at a train wreck and not being able to tear my eyes away, except that no train wreck ever looked this delicious and inviting. Call me a pervert, call me a typical male chauvinist pig, whatever; just don’t block my direct view of those sweet jiggly hills of Shangri-la.

Surely, at my age, I could have expected to have grown out of this pubescent fascination with women’s jubblies by now; but, apparently not. Here I am everyday drawn to those two luscious mammaries that peek out from her usual selection of low-cut tops like two loaves of freshly baked bread cooling on a shelf at a bakery. I couldn't be happier that exposed cleavage is finally coming back into style if pubic hair topiaries were also to become fashionable.

At this point, I think that my eyeballs are more drawn towards her chest due to the immense gravitational pull that must emanate from these two planetary-sized hooters than from either their bountiful femininity or elegance.

I could try and defend my lack of self-control, but why bother? Who would believe me? Rest assured, she can similarly feel free to stare at my crotch in retaliation if that pleases her to do so. No worries. Fair is fair. I am an equal-rights pervert if ever there was one.

What can I say? Oink!