The older I get the more I crave tits. I need to see them live at parties bouncing around the dance floor, in men's magazines strewn in wet attire, leaning over at the grocery store picking out the sales item. Hell, I'm not even opposed to purchasing videotapes of girls flashing during Mardi Gras if it means I get my fill of tits (can you say 'tits' in Nightspots?).
But perhaps the most exciting place to see 'titage '—a word I'll be using often in this column so get used to it—is in a movie when you least expect it.
Okay folks, I'm not talking Finding Nemo because I saw that and there weren't any tits just a lot of fish (no jokes here). However, last weekend I pop in what I thought was an artsy film about a tortured artist and surprisingly enough I saw TITS! And to top it off, the movie starts with sex so I knew falling asleep was not an option. The movie was Frida and there they were … TITS … and sexy, ample, lovely Selma Hayek ones at that. I'm not a big fan of Selma, well I wasn't until now, but I have to admit I was straining my neck to catch a glimpse of her titage (I told you) while she fucked just about anything or anyone who moved.
Suddenly, the story line was secondary and every scene I longed for her to rip her shirt off or tear the clothes from Ashley Judd's sexy body, which I need to note revealed a sexy side view of her breasts … yum. But when one wishes for non-stop titage, they usually find themselves disappointed. Speaking of disappointing, shouldn't we have seen more tits, boobs, hooters, honkers, jugs, melons, love pillows—I could go on—in the BBC movie Tipping the Velvet?
That movie took us to the edge of seeing something, anything and then left us horny as hell with not one bit of tit. At least the final episode of Queer as Folk gave us a hot, elevated, back arched super up-close look at very hot tits before the scene was interrupted with dull lesbian chatter! WE WANT SEX!!!! Penetrating, Babylon back room, fuck me 'til I can't breathe SEX!!!
Okay, I'm outta control. In fact, it's not until I sit here at my desk at work and look around that I realize that this 'tit thing,' borderline obsession, may be a problem that I need to address. To my left is a HUGE calendar of nearly naked pictures of Pamela Anderson (the first girl on my 'list'—and we all know what list I'm talking about ladies). In front of me at eye level is a pin advertising the movie, 'Elvira's Haunted Hills' which is simply an extreme close-up shot of breasts and yet to the wall slightly diagonally to me is a
photo of singer Anastasia in a tight-ass shirt with LOTS of cleavage pouring out. And who said work can't be fun?
So until we meet again, I'll look into tit therapy, you go rent Frida and if you get a chance zap me an e-mail of your breasts … is that wrong? But baby, it's research for my column! Outlines3@aol.com
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