Conversing With The Large-Breasted Female: A Primer

It’s actually a question I’ve gotten every now and then, and usually, it’s asked with an elevated level of cautious respect, and I appreciate that. 

Have you ever met a woman who is, well, pretty damned busty? I’m talking the last two percent on the bell curve — the kind of woman who flunks out of Victoria’s Secret. She’s her own group’s “You know, So-And-So... with the Boobs.” (A nickname that does lend itself to many a mediocre Instagram handle.)

Chances are pretty great that this woman has had those breasts for her entire life. They came along during puberty, and made her feel awkward as shit. If she wasn’t outrageously popular to begin with, girls made fun of her because they were jealous. Jealous, because the dudes were paying waaay more attention to her, all of a sudden, and because middle school is fucking stupid for EVERYONE, let alone someone who matures in a different way than most of the other kids are maturing, with their easy things like acne, weird sweating, and hair in some pretty fucked up places (for further reference, see random SexEd PSA, c. 1995 — it’s gotta be out there somewhere).

In my case, however, as I’ve mentioned, I didn’t even get jumblies-of-note until I was 30. (I'm 35 now, so #TooOldToUseHashtags? . So I never really got the chance to build those defenses that, to those women who have been busty for going-on two decades, come pretty naturally. Does this make me a unique refreshing voice in the fold of the busty? Does this make me an outlier? Am I just crrrr-aaaazy? I’m still not sure (Pro-tip: don’t ever try to think too hard about where you fall, boobs or no).

Anyway. The question is, at this advanced point in life… how do you approach, talk to, and even treat normally someone whose boobs pretty much dominate their entire presence? Or, as funny people say, walk through a door 4 seconds before they do?

The TL;DR (as the kids say)? I won’t go into the TL;DR. That’s just not my style. For as much as I suck at posting on a frequent basis, when I do post, I tend to ramble. So, here goes. 

How would you talk to… anybody?

Believe it or not, I am a human being with a really large pair of breasts. I am not, however, a very large pair of tits that just so happen to have a human being hitching third wheel so they can get that sweet, sweet life support. (I just thought of a horror movie about a marauding pair of breasts, wreaking havoc across the gently sloping English countryside, and know there has to be a market for that. Rule 34; there probably already is). 

That being said, I will not foul anybody for any awkwardness. I can tell the difference between standing next to someone in an elevator, and their elbow accidentally brushes my tit, and someone else who is actively trying to act clever and grope. In the long-overdue age of #MeToo, please take comfort in the fact that the vast majority of women (overall, boobed or no) can absolutely figure out when someone is actually being creepy, and conversely, when someone’s hand does the boob brush while they’re leaning in for an innocent “hey, how you doing” hug. 

As far as the awkwardness is concerned, that’s something I’ve had to get used to. People do approach me differently now than they did years ago, when I was rocking a pair of normal-people boobies. But frankly, I’m still me, with the same sense of humor, the same interests, the same preferences. 

If there was a TL;DR for this, I would put it like this. How would you talk to me if there was a wall between us that went up to shoulder-height? I’m kinda pretty, but not a complete knockout (confession: for every picture that makes it up on Patreon or IG, there are 100 that make me look like a wrinkly old hag — we get to be the version of ourselves we want to be in this Wild West of internet). You get the idea.

There are times when I wish that I could meet everyone in my live while carrying a big potted plant in front of me, and have that not be a weird thing. But such is life. Odds are, I might just be as scared of you as you are of me, like they say about bears, and sharks, and other critters for whom that saying fits. 

Man, I suck at TL;DRs. Just… be yourself.

That Fine Line: Eye Contact

I’ve found that there are two types of interactions that are awkward for everyone involved: the ones where the entire conversation is carried out with a pair of eyes focused squarely, unrelentingly, on my chest; and the ones where the other person’s eyes are locked solidly on mine for the duration. 

The first kind of speaks for itself. If you don’t have a filter installed, it’s pretty obvious. It happens frequently. Imagine that you were missing a front tooth. Maybe it got knocked out the day before and you haven't seen a dentist. Or like that scene in that one Austin Powers movie where they guy from “The Wonder Years” played a character who just had a big fucking mole on his face, and the joke is that he’s just a normal dude, doing his thing, but nobody can ignore that big fucking mole. 

(This is actually kind of hilarious… every few months, someone will be talking to me, and they’ll want to say something like the word “best” but instead they’ll say “breast.” And then, they’ll get really quiet, or laugh, but they usually turn red. This happened to Ellen Degeneres lately. She had Marie Kondo on her show (the Japanese home organizer with the Netflix show), and she asked her “why she was so tiny,” but she wanted to say “so tidy,” and she got embarrassed, and everyone laughed, and it was actually really adorable and relatable.)

The second kind of person is the one who maintains strict eye contact. I appreciate this, and it’s nice. But, imagine yourself, person reading this who probably just looks like a normal human being. What if you were talking to someone, and they just Maintained. Complete. Eye. Contact. With. You. For. The. Whole. Conversation. And. Didn’t. Look. Away. I get why people do it, but you know.. It still is kind of off-putting.

I don’t know the answer to this one. Maybe a mix where you manage to relay that you get it, but it’s not your main priority, knowing that I won’t foul anyone for taking a quick look when they think I don’t notice, and being familiar, without being too familiar?

Maybe this TL;DR is also… just be yourself. 

How do you Act?

Can’t help you with this one. I WILL say that some women dig men with strong arms, rippling back muscles, big dongs, money, thick hair, no hair, etc. (Personally, I prefer men who are a little soft and have good senses of humor. I also like the ladies; same qualities there). One quality that is a total turnoff for one person can be the epitome of attractiveness for another, as much as the fashion and cosmetics industries would like us to believe the contrary — it’s a fucking hard thing to sell, a diverse and textured concept of beauty. Better to just give Anne Hathaway a few million bucks, slap her on some posters at Macy’s and say, “Here! Her! Look like her everyone! We can help you do it!”

There is one thing, however, that I’m pretty sure the vast majority of women (and men) would agree on as being quote-sexy-enquote: self confidence. Hot damn, but there is not pair of pants that an individual’s genuine appreciation for their own self worth can’t flood. (Can’t sell that in a store, however, so we don’t talk about that very much). I’m not talking about cockiness, douchiness, or braggadocio. I’m talking about a person’s genuine understanding for who they are, and the level of comfort they have with their own identity. I don’t care if you own a Ferrari and a football team, or if you live with your mom and play D&D on the weekends. Self confidence is the bee’s fucking knees, and anyone who tells you otherwise is a shallow little dustball. 

TL;DR… again, be yourself. 

What if she shoots me down?

Hey, brother. You could be the chillest muthafucka in the whole world, and there’s still that possibility that she’s just not going to be that into you. It literally happens to the best of us, and when it does, that’s okay — at best, if you played every card perfectly right and managed to sweep her off her feet, there’s only too long before a lack of chemistry comes into play. 

If this happens, it’s not because a busty woman shot you down. It’s because a woman, who happened to be busty, just wasn’t that into you. Contrary to popular belief, we are not all members of a clandestine cabal who exchange messages about which guys are blacklisted. We’re just individuals, with our own preferences, interests, hopes and dreams. If no offense is intended, than none is perceived.

TL;DR… There’s a theme here, isn’t there…

So...

I don’t go into any of this because I’m trying to be cocky, or preachy, or anything. But again, it’s a genuine question I’ve been asked by a lot of people, and I kind of am a de-facto authority, and because it’s a genuine question, it’s worth an answer… Especially since (I assume) the majority of you have (very kindly and patiently, as of late, I might add) still decided to stick with me. I assume you’ve hung in there because you’re fans of women who are cute in a Tina Fey way, who dig nerdy shit, and also (let’s not fool ourselves, kiddos) have pretty substantial racks. It’s ok. I get it. I know where my strengths and weaknesses lie. 

And to tell the truth, if I do end up with someone in the future, I would love the hell out of it if they loved all of me. Not just the boobs, but everything and the boobs. They’re a part of me, they make life fucking difficult sometimes, they’re a cup or two short of qualifying me for some brand of disability (probs), but for now, they’re here to stay. I’m accepting that. I don’t want to be just a pair of tits, but I also think it would be kind of naive / not fun to end up with someone who frankly didn’t give a shit about them. That’s a big part of the saying “they’re a part of me.”

I wish I could write out a formula. Interactions with me should be 20% talking about / eating cheese; 15% freaking out over old books; 35% drinking; 20% binging old movies; 10% crazy ideas about how my tiddies should be painted like pumpkins for Halloween. But I can’t do that. Human interactions are different, depending on the people who are involved in those interactions. Just ask Tina Fey. 

Or, TL;DR, just be yourself. 

I feel like I've left some random stuff out in this post. If there's anything you'd like an embellishment on, then (to quote the youths) leave it in the comments below.