I love my boobs. I spent much of my adolescence being dis-satisfied with them and wishing they were bigger (as a result I still can’t quite manage to remember to wear a bra regularly) they are beautiful however and they keep changing. Lately, they got a lot bigger (oh so that’s the advantage of getting fat?) and then alas gravity started acting upon them – le sigh but happens to everyone’s eventually. Now their texture has totally changed and far from being the hard lumps of flesh that used to wind FJ as soon as I hugged him they’re soft, the sort of soft I associate with a particular woman whose breasts were truly marvellous (but who wouldn’t thank me for announcing that to the world) – hope her boyfriend is appreciating their amazingness right now.
I love this getting older stuff, I think I suit it.
I find that my breasts getting bigger is a fairly sure sign I’m putting on weight. It’d be a truly wonderful thing if the weight stayed on them and purely on them. Sadly, it then tends to redistribute itself to my arse and waist.
Love how I comment on this and not on your oher posts about politics or depression. Probably says a lot about my psyche.
Tits.
Just lie back and appreciate the boobs!