Boys like boobies.
It’s true! They do!
Remember overhearing them at high school, snickering at the back of the class?
“I got topsies last night.”
“Under or over?”
“Over... she said she might let me go further next time.” Then, a reverential silence would fall over them all as they contemplated the true ramifications of that promise. Under the cardigan? Under the blouse? Under the bra? They probably all got stiff just thinking about it.
You, on the other hand.... you would be torn between dismissing their whispers as another sign of the immaturity that is the natural state of the teenage male; wondering who the slattern was who had uttered such a wanton promise; and, maybe, wistfully wishing.....
Topsies are good. It is true that early on in one’s explorations, the boy probably gets more of a thrill from them than the girl, because it can take a while to sufficiently fine-tune our emotions to ensure that a clumsy grope feels like heaven on earth.
However, of all the little rituals that precede the obvious next step (bottomsies!), the hand on your breast, the thumb on your nipple, the first cautious tweak, the first sloppy kiss, the first accidental nip, the first full blown suck... each is one more step towards finally doing it, and that’s worth any amount of awkwardness and discomfort. Plus, it can also help reduce a few of the barriers that stand between you and some form of reciprocation.
Now, jump forward a little further.
The first time a male puts his eyes on your bare breasts, what is going through his mind? He might say they are perfect. He might even say that they are the most beautiful orbs in creation. He might, at that moment, even mean it. However, somewhere at the back of his mind, unless the objects of his attentions are especially well rounded, he will also be thinking... “I wish they were bigger.”
You know, bigger... like the girl in the drugstore down the road. Big like the woman in the jelly commercial. Big like the pneumatic nymph he saw on the web last night.
Now, this is not a criticism. Most of us have taken a first look at his bits, and we possibly thought the same thing ourselves. The difference is....
The difference is, we keep those thoughts to ourselves.
Walking down the street with your man, and bumping into a friend. A buxom friend. You make the introductions and are mortified to notice... “her face is up there, asshole.”
Walking down another street, a big breasted beauty comes bouncing along towards you. “That was lucky, you nearly missed your bust.”
Then, lying in bed, sweaty, wet, and up for anything... and he’s trying to trap his erection in the less than Happy Valley contours of your cleavage, apparently in the belief that if he pushes them together firmly enough, he’ll suddenly have the makings of a tit fuck.
“Oh babe,” he’ll murmur, “I wish your tits were bigger.” You’re expected to purr in lustful agreement, even though it would never cross your mind, in a thousand years of love making, to say anything even remotely similar to him.
Tit fucks are fun. Mammary intercourse, as it is more politely termed. The French Fuck, as the English apparently call it. Whatever. They’re fun.
Maybe not as much fun as they look in the porn flicks, but there again, what really is? (Don’t answer that.) And, maybe they're not as much fun as most guys seem to think they are, because ultimately he’s just masturbating between two pieces of flesh, albeit with a somewhat more powerful visual punch than, say, knees or elbows.
In fact, I’ve read some remarkably negative takes on the experience, from both men and women - everything from him grazing her ribs with his testicles (wow, heavy testicles!), to the standard, “well, there’s no nerve endings or pleasure points there, so what does she get out of it?”
A visual thrill? That little head poking up then retreating back... peek a boo! If you’ve ever sung the praises of an uncut guy, a pair of breasts give him a turtleneck like you’d never believe.
A sense of daring, a sense of togetherness, and all the 1,001 other un-quantifiable thrills that are associated with any sexual act that doesn’t directly stimulate the clitoris? Handjobs aren’t exactly an orgasm-a-minute either, after all.
The chance of a nice pearl necklace?
And, of course, the fact that sometimes, giving pleasure is a pleasure itself... whereas not being able to give pleasure is a pain in the ass. Speaking as someone who was very close to the back of the line when they were handling out the cup sizes, there is a part of me that would gladly forgo the infinite advantages of floating two eggs-over-easy on my chest, for the satisfaction of, just once, being able to wrap a pair of monster boobs around a dick, and jiggle away until he could take no more.
Instead...
Instead, I learned to improvise. Climbing on top and embracing him that way, with gravity adding those extra few inches. Fashioning a harness, if you both enjoy some ouchies, and binding him into a tightly cradled cleavage. Holding him close and simply moving your bodies, which may not have the visual impact, and forgets the softness, but has a range of sensations that are all its own. Or, and this probably doesn’t count but is as effective as any, using your nipples as extra points of contact while your mouth or hand is doing the work.
All of these things have jumped some way ahead of where we started this article. In my case at least, a few years had passed before topsies and bottomsies became so intimately intertwined, and my teenage dry-cleaning bill is probably still thanking me for that. New bras are expensive enough when normal wear and tear demands their replacement; stubborn off-white stains are the last thing you want to add to your clothing bill. Although, going back to the aforementioned harnesses, an old bikini top works wonders if you can’t find any rope.
The reason I raised those high school whispers, however, is this. Young lovers tend to have a very one-dimensional view of things. This is what you’re supposed to, and this is how you’re supposed to do it. Improvisation only comes when you start to realize that what you want to do, and what you’re able to do are not necessarily going to run hand in hand.
Take the blowjob techniques that a previous article suggested for girls who don’t think they’re physically capable of blowing, even the most apparently intractable problem has a solution if only you’re willing to forget all the things that you’re conditioned to believe are required, and make the most of what you have. It's a bit like cooking when you’ve not got the right ingredients. It's also a bit like driving and suddenly discovering that you took the wrong turn twenty miles back. Yeah, you might be late for wherever you’re going. You might find your omelette tastes more like lamb curry. However, you learn from experience, and, if you keep your mind open, you might well discover something you’d never otherwise have found.
I have still never been able to give my significant other a tit fuck. At least not one like the ones he sees in movies, and not (I’m guessing here) like the ones he imagines certain other girls can offer.
What I can give him, however, is the benefit of our mutual willingness to improvise. In this case, I’m pleased to say he seems happy, which is the only thing that really matters.
It’s true! They do!
Remember overhearing them at high school, snickering at the back of the class?
“I got topsies last night.”
“Under or over?”
“Over... she said she might let me go further next time.” Then, a reverential silence would fall over them all as they contemplated the true ramifications of that promise. Under the cardigan? Under the blouse? Under the bra? They probably all got stiff just thinking about it.
You, on the other hand.... you would be torn between dismissing their whispers as another sign of the immaturity that is the natural state of the teenage male; wondering who the slattern was who had uttered such a wanton promise; and, maybe, wistfully wishing.....
Topsies are good. It is true that early on in one’s explorations, the boy probably gets more of a thrill from them than the girl, because it can take a while to sufficiently fine-tune our emotions to ensure that a clumsy grope feels like heaven on earth.
However, of all the little rituals that precede the obvious next step (bottomsies!), the hand on your breast, the thumb on your nipple, the first cautious tweak, the first sloppy kiss, the first accidental nip, the first full blown suck... each is one more step towards finally doing it, and that’s worth any amount of awkwardness and discomfort. Plus, it can also help reduce a few of the barriers that stand between you and some form of reciprocation.
Now, jump forward a little further.
The first time a male puts his eyes on your bare breasts, what is going through his mind? He might say they are perfect. He might even say that they are the most beautiful orbs in creation. He might, at that moment, even mean it. However, somewhere at the back of his mind, unless the objects of his attentions are especially well rounded, he will also be thinking... “I wish they were bigger.”
You know, bigger... like the girl in the drugstore down the road. Big like the woman in the jelly commercial. Big like the pneumatic nymph he saw on the web last night.
Now, this is not a criticism. Most of us have taken a first look at his bits, and we possibly thought the same thing ourselves. The difference is....
The difference is, we keep those thoughts to ourselves.
Walking down the street with your man, and bumping into a friend. A buxom friend. You make the introductions and are mortified to notice... “her face is up there, asshole.”
Walking down another street, a big breasted beauty comes bouncing along towards you. “That was lucky, you nearly missed your bust.”
Then, lying in bed, sweaty, wet, and up for anything... and he’s trying to trap his erection in the less than Happy Valley contours of your cleavage, apparently in the belief that if he pushes them together firmly enough, he’ll suddenly have the makings of a tit fuck.
“Oh babe,” he’ll murmur, “I wish your tits were bigger.” You’re expected to purr in lustful agreement, even though it would never cross your mind, in a thousand years of love making, to say anything even remotely similar to him.
Tit fucks are fun. Mammary intercourse, as it is more politely termed. The French Fuck, as the English apparently call it. Whatever. They’re fun.
Maybe not as much fun as they look in the porn flicks, but there again, what really is? (Don’t answer that.) And, maybe they're not as much fun as most guys seem to think they are, because ultimately he’s just masturbating between two pieces of flesh, albeit with a somewhat more powerful visual punch than, say, knees or elbows.
In fact, I’ve read some remarkably negative takes on the experience, from both men and women - everything from him grazing her ribs with his testicles (wow, heavy testicles!), to the standard, “well, there’s no nerve endings or pleasure points there, so what does she get out of it?”
A visual thrill? That little head poking up then retreating back... peek a boo! If you’ve ever sung the praises of an uncut guy, a pair of breasts give him a turtleneck like you’d never believe.
A sense of daring, a sense of togetherness, and all the 1,001 other un-quantifiable thrills that are associated with any sexual act that doesn’t directly stimulate the clitoris? Handjobs aren’t exactly an orgasm-a-minute either, after all.
The chance of a nice pearl necklace?
And, of course, the fact that sometimes, giving pleasure is a pleasure itself... whereas not being able to give pleasure is a pain in the ass. Speaking as someone who was very close to the back of the line when they were handling out the cup sizes, there is a part of me that would gladly forgo the infinite advantages of floating two eggs-over-easy on my chest, for the satisfaction of, just once, being able to wrap a pair of monster boobs around a dick, and jiggle away until he could take no more.
Instead...
Instead, I learned to improvise. Climbing on top and embracing him that way, with gravity adding those extra few inches. Fashioning a harness, if you both enjoy some ouchies, and binding him into a tightly cradled cleavage. Holding him close and simply moving your bodies, which may not have the visual impact, and forgets the softness, but has a range of sensations that are all its own. Or, and this probably doesn’t count but is as effective as any, using your nipples as extra points of contact while your mouth or hand is doing the work.
All of these things have jumped some way ahead of where we started this article. In my case at least, a few years had passed before topsies and bottomsies became so intimately intertwined, and my teenage dry-cleaning bill is probably still thanking me for that. New bras are expensive enough when normal wear and tear demands their replacement; stubborn off-white stains are the last thing you want to add to your clothing bill. Although, going back to the aforementioned harnesses, an old bikini top works wonders if you can’t find any rope.
The reason I raised those high school whispers, however, is this. Young lovers tend to have a very one-dimensional view of things. This is what you’re supposed to, and this is how you’re supposed to do it. Improvisation only comes when you start to realize that what you want to do, and what you’re able to do are not necessarily going to run hand in hand.
Take the blowjob techniques that a previous article suggested for girls who don’t think they’re physically capable of blowing, even the most apparently intractable problem has a solution if only you’re willing to forget all the things that you’re conditioned to believe are required, and make the most of what you have. It's a bit like cooking when you’ve not got the right ingredients. It's also a bit like driving and suddenly discovering that you took the wrong turn twenty miles back. Yeah, you might be late for wherever you’re going. You might find your omelette tastes more like lamb curry. However, you learn from experience, and, if you keep your mind open, you might well discover something you’d never otherwise have found.
I have still never been able to give my significant other a tit fuck. At least not one like the ones he sees in movies, and not (I’m guessing here) like the ones he imagines certain other girls can offer.
What I can give him, however, is the benefit of our mutual willingness to improvise. In this case, I’m pleased to say he seems happy, which is the only thing that really matters.
Love this article . Thank you very much for sharing this humorous view on "mammary intercourse" with us.