The relationship between gay men and boobs is a complicated one indeed.
Why, for example, have I seen, felt, adjusted, and become overall more acquainted with better boobs than the average heterosexual male whom I can only assume would be much more appreciative of the opportunity? What makes it okay for girls to regularly encourage me to give their girls an Alley Hobo Mammogram for no particular reason?
(Note: I most certainly cannot provide any sort of medical conclusions past how many buttons can be undone on your blouse before you’re considered a trollop.)
I mean, I’m pretty sure that if given the chance I would trade my Free Boob Honk Pass for a Free Crotch Grab Pass. It’s not like I can just walk up to any dude, grab his downtown, call him my new best friend and go grab nonfat Gingerbread lattés. If only…I’d need to take some serious vacation to make up for lost time if that ever became the case.
But yet, that’s exactly what I’m able to do with the ladies. I slap on a nice pair of shoes, head downtown, one thing leads to another, and before I know it I’m giving them the homo version of ‘Nice tits. Wanna screw?’. Here’s how it works:
“Your boobs look fantaaaaaaaastic.”*
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Instant best friends with random hot girl
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One-hand cup. Minimum.
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Bra-flashage.
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Discussion of how equipped her boyfriend is over nonfat Gingerbread lattés.**
(*Note: the extended syllable is very important and often the difference between getting arrested and being asked your opinion on the inner workings of her lingerie.)
(**Note: Gingerbread latt̩s Рmy ultimate end result of all social transactions between November and February.)
Listen boys, I don’t make the rules. I just go with the flow, check out your girl’s guns, talk about your junk, and sip on holiday drink heaven. That’s just the way it is.
If it helps, I almost always advocate more sex…
You’re welcome.