Tits!

byBOSTONFICTIONWRITER©

"Tits!"

I have always been attracted to breasts, tits, boobs, jugs, hooters, knockers, melons, cantaloupes, coconuts, boulders, puppies, tatas, pair, hands, bosom, yahoos, Dolly Partons, grapefruits, hummers, woofers, tweeters, twins, norks, headlights, fun cushions, love muffins, donuts, chesticles, chest pillows, droppers, chubbies, chi-chi, blouse bunnies, champagne glass, beer glass, berthas, big berthas, big McDuffs, bee bites, bubbies, dumplings, droppers, fun bags, globes, torpedoes, balloons, bazookas, and hangers. (Please feel free to add any synonyms for tits that I have not mentioned.)

After all this time, all these years, and all these women that I have yearned and lusted over wishing, hoping, and wanting to see them topless and to see their tits, all that I had to do was to hold up a 2' x 3' cardboard sign that read:

"Show me your tits!"

Where is my big, red Staples button to depress? Ah, there it is.

"That was easy!"

What is it with large crowds consuming great amounts of alcohol? It is customary and expected for women, women who are mothers, grandmothers, sisters, daughters, and aunts to raise their blouses, pull up their bras (if they are wearing one), and display their tits to the cheering and drunken crowd. Women who would never under any circumstance show their tits in public are suddenly flashing everyone their tits multiple times. It is a tit phenomenon. I like it.

"Show me your tits!"

Generally, it happens at car racing events, outdoor concerts, Mardi gras, and/or at Spring Break. Even Jerry Springer has gotten into the act by doling out Jerry beads to any female who flashes her tits to the crowd.

When I was growing up, I remember, the only place that I could see tits was in the art books at the Public Library, in the National Geographic magazine or if one of us were lucky and found one of our father's old discarded Playboy magazines. Today, thanks to PG and R rated movies that were once X and XXX rated, tits are everywhere.

The Internet is the place to see anyone's tits. If their tits were photographed anywhere, their tits are now on the Internet.

"Hey, Joey, I just saw your mother's tits on the Internet."

"No way! Where? Let me see. Yep, that's my mom and her tits, alright. My Dad must have posted them after they divorced."

It used to be that it was a big deal to get to second base. Now, you do not have to marry her, give her a baby, and pay alimony and child support for decades. You do not have to buy her a ring. You do not have to profess your love for her. You do not have to buy her dinner. You do not have to ply her with drinks. You do not even have to introduce yourself. You just have to hold up that lousy, handmade, cardboard sign written with black, magic marker.

"Show me your tits!"

That sign works much like a secret, hypnotic, suggestive device for females.

"Hey, Jen, did you see that creep in the bar? He asked me to show him my tits. Can you imagine the balls on him asking me that? What a weirdo?"

"Are you serious? I can't believe some guys. He is such a degenerate. You didn't show him your tits, did you?"

"Are you kidding? No way. I have more class than that than to just lift up my blouse and bra and show some stranger my tits. I'm not trailer trash. I'm nobody's slut."

"Oh, wait, Betty, there's a guy on the street corner holding up the "official sign".

"Show me your tits!"

Suddenly, these modest and offended women, who when asked to flash their tits in the privacy of a bar are now lifting their shirts and bras and displaying their tits in the openness of the street for all to see because some guy, a stranger, is holding up a sign. If only I knew then, what I know now. I just need a sign.

"Show me your tits!"

Allow me to take this one step further. Let us pay homage to the age of technology and to the generation of the Internet with a moment of cyber silence, please. As a public service, as a way for women everywhere to help men who are in desperate need to see tits, I want every female over the age of 18-years-old and under 118, (I do not discriminate against age) who reads this story to e-mail me a photo of their tits. I, uhm, just wanna see somethin'.

Please do not be shy about e-mailing me your photos of your tits. Your photos will only be shared with tit needy men, men who are not only stuck within the confines of miserable marriages but, also, who, admirably, must remain faithful to their controlling, dragon wives for religious or financial reasons. Please show your compassion and do your part to help by sharing your photos with me to distribute to tit needy men.

Fine print: If you are considering e-mailing me a photo of your tits, please do not read this part of the story; it is just legal mumbo jumbo that I am legally required to print. Just skip this paragraph and continue to the next paragraph. The photos of your tits will only be shared with tit needy men after I view them, sort them, categorize them, and save them to my hard drive for later use when one of you becomes rich and/or famous. Then, at my discretion, I can extort large sums of money from you by threatening to post the photos of your breasts in the tabloids.

Wait let me make my plea for tit needy men everywhere official by writing the four, one syllable words.

"Show me your tits!"

It is only fair that I write for tits, after all. Think of me as a tit beggar.

"Tits! Tits! I'll write you a story, if you show me your tits." I proudly hold up my sign, Show Me Your Tits, as a couple approaches me.

"Here's $20.00, Buddy. Go buy yourself a decent meal."

"Thank you, no. I need to see tits. Maybe, your Mrs. can show me her tits."

"Go ahead, Honey. It's okay. He's a common street beggar in need of seeing tits. It's for a good cause to help the tit needy."

"Well, okay." His wife puts down her purse, lifts up her shirt and bra, jumps up and down, and dances side to side revealing a nice set of B cup tits.

"Thank you and God bless you," I say and wave after them as they leave.

Breasts hold a special, sexual fascination with men that some women will never understand. Some women get it, flaunt it, and use their tits to their advantage, while other women, wrap their arms tightly around their turtleneck covered tits and won't even allow their husband to see them undressing in the privacy of their bedroom. For men, there is nothing like watching a woman with a nice rack walking by while wearing your Ray Ban mirrored sunglasses like those that the Line Boss wore in Cool Hand Luke.

Cleavage is the thing that drives me wild. Only, to me, it is more exciting to speculate what lies beneath that low cut top and sexy bra than to suddenly see the entire tit on display. It is more fun when you have to work to see them. Sure, plenty of women have and show cleavage, especially with the advent of the Wonder bra and the pushup bra but few women have great cleavage. You guys know what I am talking about, the cleavage that foretells that this woman has great tits. That is the cleavage that I am talking about.

Loni Anderson has that kind of cleavage, as well as, Sophia Loren, Liz Taylor, Elizabeth Hurley, Denise Richards, Angie Dickerson, Mimi Rogers, Sharon Stone, and Carmen Elektra all have the cleavage that clearly confesses that their tits are wondrous, pendulous globes. Back then, before breast implants, the only aids that women had to help their tits from sagging were under wire bras and corsets. Today, too many celebrities rush out to get breast implants. I prefer the natural look. No one is perfect and neither should tits be perfectly formed with the helping hand of plastic surgery. Sure, those women who feel the need because they are flat chested or deformed will benefit from the confidence that they receive from implants. Yet, now, parents are giving their daughters implants as a high school graduation gift. Give me a break.

"Tits! Oh, Mom, Dad, how thoughtful of you for giving me this prepaid plastic surgery card. Thank you for my tits. I cannot wait to have them done, now that I am 18-years-old."

My imagination is kinder to the imagined image than to the reality of the view of naked breasts. Usually, we guys are disappointed when we finally see the tits of our wives, mistresses, and/or girlfriends because we are unconsciously comparing them to the Hollywood image of great tits, probably surgically enhanced tits, at that. And, unless your woman has perfect, natural tits, they will never measure up to the standard image of perfection, the perfect tits that peg our tit meter.

Yeah, all of us guys have built-in tit meters. We inherit them from our fathers. Some guys' tit meters are more sensitive than others. I customized my tit meter with all the movies that I have watched over the decades and by all the topless celebrities that I have seen over and again. My tit meter is very sensitive. I can see, actually feel, great tits even when they are behind me. I just know when there is a woman behind me with great tits and I turn, just in time to don my mirrored sunglasses and to stare, er gawk, er ogle, er see her walk by me.

"Pervert!"

I remember when I was an eternally horny teenager full of testosterone and always had a raging hard on. Back then, a bra strap would be enough to excite me, and now, that I am more mature and have a bit less testosterone, it takes a bit more, two bra straps. I don't know what it is about tits but there is something magically about a nice pair of knockers jiggling up and down and side to side as she walks towards me, especially if they are covered in an Angora or a jersey knit sweater. That just drives me wild. For some reason, Angora and jersey knit just hugs jugs like hands.

Then, if tits are not enough, there are nipples, pink puffy nipples or big brown erect nipples with huge areolas, it does not matter which. Oh, yeah, the nipples are the frosting on the tit cake. There is nothing like seeing bright headlights coming your way.

"Geez, does she love me or is she just cold?"

I don't think that I have a favorite cup and chest size but, if I had to pick a size, I would pick 36C, then 34B. It's funny how certain chest sizes go with certain breast sizes, like 32A, 34B, 36C, 38D, and 40DD, all of which are more symmetrical than if your chest was smaller or larger. You would look a little weird if you had a 32D as you would if your had a 40A, you know.

There is nothing like the sensation of feeling a woman's tit through her clothes, through the softness of her cotton blouse, and the satin of her bra. That is my favorite feeling. Then, once you have her topless, always, I take a moment to admire her tits. Nothing on this Earth feels the same as a tit. You can blindfold me and put any kind of chemical substance formulated by man to deceive me and I can tell if it is real tit or not. My tit meter lights up big time.

It is a total turns on when, while my girlfriend is sucking me off, I feel her naked tits in the palm of my hands, caressing her nipples, and feeling the firm, supple softness of her tits. I love her tits. I love tits.

Where's my sign?

"Show me your tits!"

"Freddie, why do you have cardboard on both sides of your car windows?"

"Oh, uhm, I put the cardboard there to block out the sun. Yeah, that's it, to block the sun."

"The cardboard reads show me your tits? Your have show me your tit signs in your car windows."

"I do? Really? I never noticed. Wait a second, baby, I can explain. I bought that cardboard at the Dollar Store. I didn't know they were used cardboard signs. Baby? Sweetie? No, wait, don't throw the ring away."

I need to come up with a new sign, a sign better than the show me your tits sign. I need something more and a sign that will take this new, tit phenomenon to the next level. I know, "Let me feel your naked tits," or "Can I feel your tits?"

"Oh, hi officer, yes, of course, I can explain. What's that? You just wanted to show me your tits? Geez, nice tits, Honey, but won't you get in trouble for being out of uniform?"

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byBOSTONFICTIONWRITER© 8 comments/ 31268 views/ 1 favorites

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