You heard it here.
I'm saving myself for marriage. Or at least part of myself.
Make that two parts of myself.
And if I do say so myself, pretty big two parts of myself. I remember waking up in 7th grade and suddenly not being able to see my feet while standing.
And with a rather petite figure, having some large jumblies caused some major shenanigans in the boy arena. Some boys just wanted to "go out" with me because of my big ol' tattas and there were even rumors that I stuffed my bra. But once people realized my cantaloupes were real, I got a lot of attention. And I was officially boy crazy.
My friend Kim* even told me, "Clumsy, all you talk about is guys and boobs."
Wow, I'm shallow, I thought.
But after a while, I realized my triple D's did define part of me. I became really self-conscious of them and how they affected my relationships with other people. I don't think I've made out with any guy without them making a comment about how huge my tig ol bitties were. And my, my. Making eye contact with a man is hard enough to do when you've got two extruding parts staring right back at him.
So, I think my voluptuous fun bags are worth saving for marriage. I mean, I'm no virgin, but at least my breasts are holy jugs.
And I won't have sex up the wrong tube (if you catch my drift...and I mean NEVER EVER), so this is what I've got left.
My tits.
So there you have it, folks.
I'm saving my tits for marriage.
Call me Mother Teresa, call me Tits McGee, call me Crazy Clumsy. Call me whatever you like.
But call me a Booby Virgin. Because that's what I am until my wedding night. And I feel it's quite a lot to offer a man.
That and I'll let him motorboat me too.
Wow. I'm going to be quite a wife.
* I forgot Kim's birthday this week and want to officially blogogize. I really feel like a bad friend! Happy Birthday!
7 comments:
From one lady with giant (and real too) ta-ta's to another: You made me laugh so hard I snorted.
On that note, if we each got a nickle for every time we heard "wow, you have amazing boobs" I think we could afford to go on a European vacation!
A convo w/ me and Chard
Me: Dude... how can she not already!? Es!??!
Chard: HAHAHAHAHAHHAH
Me: Thats like the greatest chef in the world opening a mechanic garage
Chard: HAHAHA you're killing me
As a guy, here's what I don't understand: you are obviously proud of your funbags, presumably and in large part for their size. But in nearly the same breath, you sort of imply that men are simple tools for commenting on them.
So is it a good thing when guys stare/ogle/talk about them? Or is it a matter of being looked at ONLY because of them? Is that the difference in tolerating men's admiration?
I haven't had a proper titty-fuck, 69, or road head in centuries. I guess it's cause my relationships are so short lived.
I have a quasi-girlfriend now, so I'm going to have to change a few of those things. I pray to God she's not "saving" any of those things for marriage . . .
Oh girl, same size at a young age and I hear you!
arjewtino- you answered your own question, yes it's not about not appreciating them, it's about getting past them, the same way if I told you had nice eyes, after a moment I would still be expected to listen to the words coming out of your mouth.
Oh, and then there are all of the expectations of sexuality that go along with them. Voluptuos girls go hand in hand with redheads and Latin women when it comes to sexual stereotypes. Stand next to your best petite friend in the exact same (size appropriate) spaghetti strap tank top and take a wild guess who gets labeled sluttier?
motorboat? HAHAHAHAHA
LOL, I popped that cherry a while ago. Here's to fun bags!
Post a Comment