With thousands of names in hundreds of languages, the female, mammal breast has had a very large following. Those fleshy, folds of fabulous flab come in a multitude of sizes and shapes and similar to 2 hot fudge sundaes, they come equipped with cherries (nipples). These access ports are the starting meals for all mammalian life and their very presence is sometimes responsible for egg fertilization itself. The male is quick to notice those feed bags prominently placed on the chest, right out front, because he usually lacks these milk melons. Jealousy is jealousy, whether it be in the penis envy or breast envy form. If you don’t have it, you want it. The female is well aware of this “want” and goes to extremes to enhance the appearance of these vitamin D dispensers. She will spend a small fortune on push up and padded bras, along with lacey and shape shifting boulder holders to get the attention of the opposite sex. Cleavage exposure is a sure-fired way to get the man’s undivided attention as they push them up, squeeze them together and show off enough curved skin just shy of the defolicled areola. Many a conversation take place when a man thinks there’s a microphone in that chest crack and directs his vision and mouth towards that invisible voice recorder. Can a woman really say, “eyes upstairs”, when she went way out of her way to create this scenario? NO! She has to remember that these little boys, after fighting multiple, muscular contractions, expelled them from their mother’s body. They were then rewarded with a free meal at the breakfast boobs. Trauma, then rescue, is engrained in memory. The breasts have their own set of memories as they appeared on the body just as things were perking up. They got stuffed, pulled, and sucked on. If they’re too big, they disappear into the arm pits when lying down. And when the beaver tails get old, replace the bra with a set of ping pong paddles tucked under the arms. That keeps the sideways swinging to a minimum. 

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