In Defense of Small Boobs

In Defense of Small Boobs

By a noticeable majority, the women I’ve bedded have been big in the bust.

This isn’t me bragging.

Nor is it necessarily preference.

It has been the mysterious algorithm of anatomy that the women I’ve met who are into reading Robert Frost’s “Birches,” drinking at dive bars, and going to Boz Skaggs concerts have also had nice racks. Had the women I’ve invited over for bed sports been boy-chested or used those skyline deals to really pump up their kickers, well, I wouldn’t be here writing this right now.

But that hasn’t been the case. These women have had full, leaking-over-the-cup-sized bazoongas. And I’m not complaining, but I have a dilemma.

I’ve been caught up thinking “this is my type.” That, like, women with Heidi Klum cans are like, “my thing.”

But I’ve had an awakening.

I kinda like small boobs.

Now wait, I know what you’re thinking: Dunstan, you can’t have it all! You’re just expanding your criteria list like a desperate online dater opening up their profile to a “few extra pounds” in hopes of landing someone, anyone onto your futon for the Nasty Olympics.

This is not true. And I’m offended you’d say such a remark. Nasty Olympics? Plez.

No, I like small boobs because they’re maybe more fun to hold.

Big boobs are sorta laborious. They’re flopping in your face, the girls are working hard to “manage” them, and often they’re unshapely—sorta like an orange dropped into a sock.

But, you can grab onto small boobs. Get your hands around ‘em. Caress ‘em. Etc…Go crazy boys.

And I’m sorry but small boobs might be more aesthetically pleasing, as well. Big boobs often come with girls who know they have attention-grabbing cleavage, and they end up becoming a one-trick pony. Once the bra’s off, it’s like, anything more?

Thus the beauty of the soft, snow-cone breast. You don’t expect it coming. You’re having a wild time—spending time below the waist, maybe filling your hands with some ass, hair, etc, because she knows to compensate in other ways, and then, all of a sudden, when things really are getting hot, she removes her shirt, bra, and wow. She’s a woman. Like the twin peaks of some forgotten mountain range that stand sharply in relief to a long-weary traveler, you surge for the lofty summit.

So in this era that champions Kim Kardashian, Go Daddy, and women as shapely as VW Bugs, take heart oh you slender surf-boarders. Size matters in slurpies, tanks, and sumo wrestling. Everything else is in how you carry it.

~Dunstan McGill

Photo courtesy Casey David