Of boobs and butts.
I love my post holiday leave day. Ostensibly taken because I need a day after a nice holiday to adapt and adjust my mindset back to the rigours of work. At least that's what I tell everyone. It's better than saying I'm lazy and want an extra day off to do anything but work. Which may include running my own personal errands I'd normally not get round to doing, more pampering, aimless slacking or other recreational activities like makan and movies. No contemplative meditation on the inescapable work that lies waiting, no zen like peace that wells up from within at the prospect of the week ahead. Definitely nothing work related. I'm almost religious in my observation of the post holiday leave day ritual.
It makes me feel good knowing I have an extra day to muck around and 'adapt', to do anything but work, while friends bemoan the drudgery of having to work the following day at the end of a holiday. I just beam and make all the right comforting sounds. Yes I'm a little bitch. But I honestly commiserate with them. That's why I take my post holiday leave cause I know exactly how it feels. Never mind that it costs me an extra day of leave or that more work may await or even that I do anything but 'acclimatise' myself for work. Balance is all important.
Today is one such day. Crammed pack with a plethora of activities since I'm not exactly in the nua at home mood and I needed to get out of the house anyway. Decided to go for my monthly grooming session at Browhaus even though my usual therapist was on leave. The brows were becoming a veritable mess of not quite Amazonian proportions but somewhat close. Some men may be proud of their bushy unkempt brows as a sign of their purported virility but really it's as sexy as that tuft of armpit hair you spotted in secondary (insert relevant educational institute) when mrs x raised her arm while scrawling equations on the board. If you like the caveman look, good for you.
I was hoping I would get a decent therapist. But thanks to my ever rotten luck, I was assigned tua neh bu. The same therapist who butchered my brows three months ago and left me with a lopsided brow landscape that had me weeping in front of the mirror for weeks. Alright I jest about the last. But tua neh bu butchered my brows. And here I was stuck with her. As you can guess, tua neh bu was more than amply endowed. She possesses an authoritative pair of gigantic boobs which seem to possess a life of their own. I use the term authoritative because her boobs have a commanding presence that demand your attention no matter how hard you try to ignore them. It's also a bit hard to ignore them since they are 1.) in your face and 2.) form 20% of the said individual.
Before I continue let me say I have nothing against our amply endowed friends of the fairer sex. Since you have been blessed with such gigantic jugs, don't be afraid to flaunt them. Lots of straight men will thank you for that. If not directly then perhaps warmly in their thoughts with some Kleenex. It's a tiny bit disconcerting though when you're trapped in a reclined seat and have nowhere to escape the presence of those ever commanding jugs. For me at least.
So it was that I was reclining in the seat when tua neh bu asked in Chinese how I wanted my brows to be done. She was beside my face, her jugs closer still. "You want it higher? Or just maintain the shape?" I couldn't tell who/what was speaking, the boobs or the bu( woman). The jugs quivering with a life of their own behind the barely restraining apron. Melons was all that came to mind. Recollecting with horror the last time I accepted her suggestion to 'improve the angle', I replied "Just 修理." in what I hoped was a firm voice, addressing the voice beyond the jugs while pointedly ignoring the mega mammaries. "You sure? I can improve it further though your natural shape is nice" the weapons of mass destruction jiggled, dangerously close. That childhood memory of reading about a man in US who sued Hooters for causing damage to his eyes after a waitress slammed her massive jugs into his face emerged unbidden from some forgotten recess of the mind where irrelevant facts are often stored. 'They felt like two slabs of concrete smashing into my face' I recalled the man recounting his harrowing experience with the WMDs.
"No need. Thanks." I replied. "Ok" came the answer. The mammaries quivered ominously and I hastily shut my eyes to escape further attention and commence the operation. Thankfully the touchup was fine, I guess the chance for butchered brows is greatly reduced when clearer parameters like " trim the grass at the edge and no do not make crop circles in the garden" is given. Funny how different parts of the anatomy and the size thereof can illicit such primal feelings and reactions. If gigantic mammaries can evoke such a response from a gay guy, you can only imagine the kind of impact they'd have on straight guys especially boob lovers. Of course the kind of reaction would be very different from quiet appreciation to unbridled lust.
Speaking of which I've never really understood the dual choice system imposed by straight guys. I'm talking about the often brandished ' Are you a boob or butt kind of guy?'. Surely in the simple male's world of attractive body parts, there's more choices to pick from than the elevated portions of a person's anatomy at different ends? How about I'm a face person? Personally I feel that's the most important part. Who cares if a person has a perky ass and gorgeous pecs if he has a mug that looks like a lorry reversed over a couple of times? From a purely superficial perspective of course. But we can argue about this till the cows come home and still not have a universally acceptable answer. To which I always say, whatever rocks your socks.
It makes me feel good knowing I have an extra day to muck around and 'adapt', to do anything but work, while friends bemoan the drudgery of having to work the following day at the end of a holiday. I just beam and make all the right comforting sounds. Yes I'm a little bitch. But I honestly commiserate with them. That's why I take my post holiday leave cause I know exactly how it feels. Never mind that it costs me an extra day of leave or that more work may await or even that I do anything but 'acclimatise' myself for work. Balance is all important.
Today is one such day. Crammed pack with a plethora of activities since I'm not exactly in the nua at home mood and I needed to get out of the house anyway. Decided to go for my monthly grooming session at Browhaus even though my usual therapist was on leave. The brows were becoming a veritable mess of not quite Amazonian proportions but somewhat close. Some men may be proud of their bushy unkempt brows as a sign of their purported virility but really it's as sexy as that tuft of armpit hair you spotted in secondary (insert relevant educational institute) when mrs x raised her arm while scrawling equations on the board. If you like the caveman look, good for you.
I was hoping I would get a decent therapist. But thanks to my ever rotten luck, I was assigned tua neh bu. The same therapist who butchered my brows three months ago and left me with a lopsided brow landscape that had me weeping in front of the mirror for weeks. Alright I jest about the last. But tua neh bu butchered my brows. And here I was stuck with her. As you can guess, tua neh bu was more than amply endowed. She possesses an authoritative pair of gigantic boobs which seem to possess a life of their own. I use the term authoritative because her boobs have a commanding presence that demand your attention no matter how hard you try to ignore them. It's also a bit hard to ignore them since they are 1.) in your face and 2.) form 20% of the said individual.
Before I continue let me say I have nothing against our amply endowed friends of the fairer sex. Since you have been blessed with such gigantic jugs, don't be afraid to flaunt them. Lots of straight men will thank you for that. If not directly then perhaps warmly in their thoughts with some Kleenex. It's a tiny bit disconcerting though when you're trapped in a reclined seat and have nowhere to escape the presence of those ever commanding jugs. For me at least.
So it was that I was reclining in the seat when tua neh bu asked in Chinese how I wanted my brows to be done. She was beside my face, her jugs closer still. "You want it higher? Or just maintain the shape?" I couldn't tell who/what was speaking, the boobs or the bu( woman). The jugs quivering with a life of their own behind the barely restraining apron. Melons was all that came to mind. Recollecting with horror the last time I accepted her suggestion to 'improve the angle', I replied "Just 修理." in what I hoped was a firm voice, addressing the voice beyond the jugs while pointedly ignoring the mega mammaries. "You sure? I can improve it further though your natural shape is nice" the weapons of mass destruction jiggled, dangerously close. That childhood memory of reading about a man in US who sued Hooters for causing damage to his eyes after a waitress slammed her massive jugs into his face emerged unbidden from some forgotten recess of the mind where irrelevant facts are often stored. 'They felt like two slabs of concrete smashing into my face' I recalled the man recounting his harrowing experience with the WMDs.
"No need. Thanks." I replied. "Ok" came the answer. The mammaries quivered ominously and I hastily shut my eyes to escape further attention and commence the operation. Thankfully the touchup was fine, I guess the chance for butchered brows is greatly reduced when clearer parameters like " trim the grass at the edge and no do not make crop circles in the garden" is given. Funny how different parts of the anatomy and the size thereof can illicit such primal feelings and reactions. If gigantic mammaries can evoke such a response from a gay guy, you can only imagine the kind of impact they'd have on straight guys especially boob lovers. Of course the kind of reaction would be very different from quiet appreciation to unbridled lust.
Speaking of which I've never really understood the dual choice system imposed by straight guys. I'm talking about the often brandished ' Are you a boob or butt kind of guy?'. Surely in the simple male's world of attractive body parts, there's more choices to pick from than the elevated portions of a person's anatomy at different ends? How about I'm a face person? Personally I feel that's the most important part. Who cares if a person has a perky ass and gorgeous pecs if he has a mug that looks like a lorry reversed over a couple of times? From a purely superficial perspective of course. But we can argue about this till the cows come home and still not have a universally acceptable answer. To which I always say, whatever rocks your socks.
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