Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
The Saugeen Stripper was good for me. Was she good for you, too?
The sight of double-vision Elmos bouncing off the Saugeen Stripper’s breasts sent my blog counter through the roof this last weekend. I must have tapped into something special: that quintessential sadness of innocence encountering carnality, or perhaps the joy of using nubile breasts as trampolines. Or maybe there really are that many horny guys out there hoping I would provide a link to the video.
Breasts, though: are they ever mesmerizing. My regulars have already read The Sociobiology of Boobage, but you trespassers would do well to follow that link. (Fine cleavage there. You won’t be disappointed, and you might even learn something.)
I saw my first up-close-and-personal, bare nekkid boobies at Yellowstone National Park, at the concession stand near Old Faithful. A girl in line to buy hot dogs wore something that sort of fell open at the sides. Honestly, I have no idea what she had on. I wasn’t looking at what she wore, for heaven’s sake.
Sure, I’d seen ’em in the movies, and I’d glimpsed a few Playboys over the years. I’d even copped more than a few feels. At recess and lunch in 5th and 6th grade, we played co-ed touch football, and I’m afraid I took the touch part literally. Nowadays, when kindergarteners are counseled on sexual harassment, I suspect I’d be locked up. Back then, I escaped with an angry, “Hoffman, you pervert!”
Back to the Saugeen Stripper. If you haven’t seen the photos, the most remarkable thing is the blasé expression on the guys’ faces. This young, beautiful woman is giving them lap dances, and they look like they’re posing for high school football pictures. Unbelievable.
But, back to me.
I’m not a kiss-and-tell kinda guy, so let’s skip over high school. The nicest-looking breasts I saw in college were in my Psych 101 textbook, a black-and-white photo of a woman nursing her infant. I don’t think I ever made it past that chapter.
Close runner-up for best collegiate boobage: my pack of Asian Beauty playing cards, purchased at a schlocky Chinatown gift shop.
And what do I get nowadays?
Patient (typically a woman in her sixties or older, someone who has for many decades baked herself medium-well in the Southern California sun — remember Magda in There’s Something About Mary?) : Dr. Hoffman, I have this rash.
Then, so fast I have no chance to object, she lifts her sweater and gloop, there they are.
I’m an ENT. Ear, nose, and throat. If I was breast, ear, nose, and throat, I’d be BENT. And you all know I’m not BENT.
D.
Welcome the professor of BOOBOLOGY and a boob critic
I consider myself an authority on the female breast, but like all true experts, I never stop studying.
Breasts are just… cool. Way, way cool.
Then, so fast I have no chance to object, she lifts her sweater and gloop, there they are.
Gloop. Hee Hee.
I haven’t pickled my skin in the sun, but breasfeeding three children? They are somewhat gloopy now. Ah, the wonders of foundation garments.
not that it has anything to do with boobs, but you’re a subject in my blog. heh. heh.
and in case you were wondering, I had really nice ones, before the three kids.
Kate – I was wondering about your pre-kid boobs, so thanks for posting that. It turns out I have a fond memory of Doug. So I hope you don’t mind if a stranger joins in your game.
Omigod, what’s going on over there?
Dean: here’s something I learned on my General Surgery rotations in internship:
Proper examination of the female breast requires the use of all five senses.
I love that line. It is just so evil.