There ain’t nothing like a boob …
I was at work today and found myself, fingers poised above the keyboard, staring through the monitor. I’d drifted off and was imagining myself elsewhere. Luckily my daydreaming was probably misread by my colleagues as deep concentration, so no problem there.
What I was thinking about was breasts. Specifically the sensations I associate with them. The feel of them, the smell, the texture and the taste of them. Anatomically they are uniquely inviting, their attributes conspiring to draw a man’s eye and lure him in. I pride myself on appreciating “the whole package” when it comes to a woman, from the gentle dance of her hair as she walks through her waist and shapely hips and down to the very tips of her toes, not mentioning her calves, I like a nice calf.
Boobs are just one of those elements of a female’s attractiveness, so I’m sure I’ll cover the rest at some point, how they make me feel, how I like to touch them, hold them … but for today it’s just boobs.
The outline of a woman’s breasts, in full light or silhouette is enough to make take notice. It’s a reflex action, a man thing, hard-wired
The weight of a breast in the hand is in itself an appealing thought. The way it feels, soft pliable, yielding. To squeeze a breast in your hand is to experience something that adolescent boys dream about, their first handful of womanly flesh is the first step on their journey towards the ultimate goal. It’s a right of passage, that first fumbling grope, often hurried, always furtive. Yes they want to get into a girl’s pants, but breasts are second base, an experience for the guy and the girl. He is allowed to touch an intimate, delicate part of her and in giving her assent for this to happen confirms her interest. Even if their encounter goes no further a line has been crossed and can at a later date perhaps lead to … Well who knows.
The skin of a breast is so soft and smooth, it begs to be touched, cries out to be licked. That’s my preferred method of sampling the sensory delights of a woman’s breasts. With my tongue. I think women enjoy it too from the feedback I get 😉 After all a hand is fine for holding her breast, affirming your possession of it, your dominion over her bosom, but a tongue is so much more sensuous for both of those involved. The most agile muscle in the human body can perform such gymnastics in its exploration of the geography of a woman’s boobs.
My favourite piece of skin on the breast is underneath, on the outside. Soft and smooth, a tongue can press into the underlying tissue and feel the weight of the breast. Inward toward the centre of the chest the skin changes texture as I circle round and over the top of the nipple in ever decreasing circles until I arrive at the areola and its central peak, a firm, sensitive nipple.
Using the tongue to traverse a breast means that I can both smell and taste a woman’s body too, my nose and taste buds in intimate contact with her epidermis. I’m not talking about the smell of perfume, but the smell of a woman. It’s subtle and more potent than any manmade concoction. It’s unique to the individual and as variable a woman’s mood. That’s not to say there’s anything wrong with perfume, it’s just that a woman’s scent, uncamouflaged by chemicals is very arousing if you take the time to savour it.
Taking a nipple into your mouth, feeling its firmness, sucking, caressing with your tongue, that’s a sensation that you take time to do way after second base, maybe after you made a home run. In the rush towards your first copulation you miss the sensory pleasures that can make the ultimate act so much more enjoyable. That is youth, impatient and impulsive. That’s its strength and weakness.
Where as experience means you know how to relish the pleasures of a woman’s body. Unfortunately it means you occasionally drift of into a daydream at work.