That Hooter Entry
Have you ever tried to talk to a woman and find yourself trying not to stare at her breasts? I do that shit all the time. It could be old chicks. It could be young ones. It doesn’t matter. I’ll still find myself in certain situations trying hard not to have my eyeballs drop below their necks, especially those specially well-endowed ones. Those chicks are especially hard to talk to.
And it doesn’t matter if they’re good-looking or not. I’ve had ug-mo chicks right up to my grill, chicks I wouldn’t even think about sexin’ down, old gray-haired elderly chicks, buck-toothed retarded lookin’ hoes, and I’ll still catch my eyeballs rolling downward. It’s crazy.
And it’s not like I’m a breast freak. I don’t go around just staring down chicks with big breasts. I’ve even dated women who were, sadly, on the small side, and they were still able to satisfy me. So, I’m not some big-sloppy breast slobs. I’ve been known to be fairly diplomatic when it comes to the hooties.
I mean, I like big breasts, but I can do without them. In fact, I’m not really into sloppy big-breasted women. It’s just too much all up in that neck area. And most women don’t know how to hold it right anyway. Too much fatback in the grill.
Instead, I think it’s rather safe to be born on the relative small side, that way you could use all the fake push-up mechanisms and bra pumps. Sadly, the only thing to help out a big girl is tape, to wrap those bad boys up nice and snug. Of course, a woman could also choose surgery, or some form of titty liposuction
I hear that all those choices hurt a lot. Although, if it should come to it, I’d hope a woman would choose pain over filthiness. I know my woman better.
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