What I’m Riding . . . Boobs

The power is in your hands

Yes, those boobs.  The things women compete with.  Why?  Oh, any number of reasons.  Money.  Men.  Status.  Yes, boobs translate into all those things, and the bigger the better.  When Arty and I lived in Las Vegas, she worked with a woman whose boyfriend summed up male competition as a game of cocks and wallets, meaning, the man with the biggest dick and most money wins.  Women like to play a similar game, tits and wallets, meaning, the woman with the biggest tits and the husband with the most money wins (sorry, girlfriends/babymamas/head booty callee, if there’s no marital contract, that money’s not yours).   So Arty and I began a discussion on our way home from Einstein bagels Sunday afternoon, debating when and why did boobs become such a symbol of female power.  Of course we then had to define and loosely translate the idea of power.  For women, unfortunately, power has always been about sex.  That’s what we bring to the table.  Pleasure for a man.  I know, don’t think about it too much, it’ll really piss you off (if you’re a woman.  If you’re a man, you’ll think this is exactly right and the way it should be.  You love that women marched with hats on their heads symbolizing the very thing that gives you such power and pleasure, oftentimes taking it away from them.  You laughed and smoked cigars the day of the women’s march).  So we had to modify our quest and change the debate to:  When and why did boobs become a symbol of sex?  We weren’t really sure of the when, but we came up with three possibilities for the why, and (surprise, surprise), they all have to do with men.

In the good old days, when this country was building itself on the backs of laborers out in the fields, out on the ships, out doing anything but sitting in a big house smoking cigars and deciding what task the laborers should do next, there was a color class distinction.  And no, I’m not talking about the obvious one.  I’m talking about tan versus pale.  Quite simply, if you were tan, it meant you were poor because you had to be out in the sun all day, working your ass off to feed your family.  If you were pale, it meant you were rich enough to sit in the shade all day sipping mint juleps with your big-breasted wife.  (Hilarious now that a tan means you can afford to jet to exotic locales and lie on the beach all day sipping umbrella cocktails while the pale people are stuck in windowless cubicles, toiling away at the office).  So, going with this theory that pale is rich, and rich is sexy, who wants a wife with tan boobs?  Cover up that cleavage, girl.  No man wants to get you in the boudoir and think he’s taking a roll in the hay with the village laundry-line hanger (unless there’s some serious role play going on).  And who wants to put his milky white chest against boobs that have been baked to leather in the hot sun?  It’s all about the smooth, supple, squish.  Keep in mind the one group of women who worked indoors and never saw the sun were pale as ghost whores working for Madame Puss-a-lot.  So covered boobs are sex boobs.

We’ve all heard of child-bearing hips; how about child-feeding boobs?  Yes, that’s their real purpose, to nourish babies.  Boobs fill with milk when a woman is pregnant so she can feed her baby.  So big boobs mean . . . yes, a woman is sexually active and ready to take it like a champ.  Let’s go back to the good old days before the good old days.  Like, caveman times, or maybe just a little bit after, when men visually selected their mates based on who would best further his line.  Wide hips meant she could carry his children, plenty of them, pop ’em out like an assembly line.  So perhaps big boobs meant she could feed them all, too.  How much milk could an A cup hold?  Not as much as those double D’s!  Big boobs mean you are ready to provide your man with children.  You and your man have children by having sex.  So big boobs are sex boobs.

Let’s revisit those feeding boobs once again, shall we?  When a man is a baby, he sucks on his mother’s breast for nourishment.  When he is sad or hurt as a little boy, he is drawn against his mother’s breast for comfort and reassurance.  As an adult, these behaviors are no longer acceptable.  (When he’s able to walk, that first one is no longer acceptable, sorry moms who breastfeed their children through high school graduation).  Mama is no longer available for suckling.  He has to replace her, which is why he has a wife.  But considering he is no longer a baby or little boy who gets his nourishment and comfort from breasts, he certainly still wants to rest his head against them, wrap his lips around those nipples, and this time the pleasure is of a sexual nature.  He gets aroused doing these things.  Boobs now give him an erection.  So boobs are sex boobs.

So ladies, take care of your boobs.  They’re very important in this world.  Strap them up so they don’t lose elasticity and scrape the ground.  Get them checked so they don’t get cancer and threaten your life.  They are nourishers.  Comforters.  Arousers.  First and foremost, they’re yours.  So I won’t tell you not to fill them with artificial shit if that’s what you want to do (although I don’t think you should.  They’re beautiful no matter what size, even though your paycheck may not agree with me).  My point is, if you want to decorate them with tinsel, blinking lights and Christmas balls, go right ahead; maybe someone will slap a few presents beneath them.



About whatimriding

Born and raised in Philly, I spent several years in Las Vegas, working at the House of Blues and writing about the city. I now reside in Tampa, where I continue to work on novels, scripts and short stories and tearfully await former Lightning forward Vincent Lecavalier's return to the bay area.
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