Gazonga Gal

DDDiary of a Loaded Pair

Today’s Topic: How to Make Love to a Big Boob

Breasts. Women have them. Men love them. Many women love them, too, and the women who love them (I suspect) have a definite advantage over men in making love to them because they have the original factory-issued owner’s manual.

Yes, technically, men have breasts as well. Vestigial, in terms of evolution, perhaps, but moobs and mips, also enjoy their share of stimulation as a prelude to the nasty. That said, according Masters and Johnson, men are heir to what the pioneering sexologists termed “ejaculatory inevitability”—meaning, once a guy gets his Mojo going, short of a fire, tsunami, Armegeddon—or an impromptu visit from Mom—he is likely going to climax no matter what. (Insert sports metaphor here).

Women on the other hand, have more complex plumbing…or wiring, depending on which mental picture you prefer. An inopportune caress, no matter how well intentioned, can turn the tap from hot to cold in seconds flat—or worse—blow the main circuit breaker, leaving you to fumble fruitlessly in the dark. (Insert banana joke here.) But since we live to enlighten, here a few facts you should know about breasts.

Scientific Tit Bits

Lesson #1: The bigger the boob, the less sensitive it’s likely to be. While it’s not a hard-and-fast rule and may not be applicable to surgically enhanced hooters, natural cups in the C, D, DD and larger range are often less receptive to the amorous advances of others. The explanation for this phenomenon is filed under “life’s great ironies.”

It seems that all breasts—no matter their size—are dealt the same hand of sensory neurons by Mother Nature. It’s a case of Naga Jolokia versus Poblano on the Scoville scale. Or, to put it in terms of geography: The sensory neurons in women with A/B cups are concentrated in an area analogous to Rhode Island, while the bigger gals’ are spread out over territory the size of Wyoming (insert Grand Tetons joke here).

As a result, many girls with petite melons can orgasm by dint of breast stimulation alone (lucky bitches!), while a devoted acolyte might worship at the temple mounts of a more amply endowed goddess from the opening credits of the six o’clock news to “your moment of Zen,” with nary a peep, and more likely a, “Will you please quit that, already?”

Lesson #2. “Trying harder” will not help. Believe me. A man who pays unwarranted attention to big boobage is the erotic equivalent of taking a three-mile hike in badly fitting boots. We won’t stop—because we don’t want to seem like spoiled sports—but you can be sure as hell we won’t be repeating that little escapade any time soon.

Lesson #3. This is not “Capture the Flag”. Grabbing our melons with undue haste will get you tagged out, and it’s doubtful we will let you play again.

Lesson #4. Don’t aim for the bull’s eye. Nipples and areolas may be your target of choice, but they are a lot less likely to set off a zaftig gal’s bells and whistles than the top and/or sides of her bigger breasts. Shift your focus up and over, and it will be a more pleasing party for all concerned. (We don’t have to mention the volume knob thing, now do we? Because if we do, we’ll have to hurt you.)

Lesson #5. This is not Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. Your impression of Jim Fowler feverishly sucking the venom out of a Black Mambo bite will not be appreciated. (Insert “pain in the asp” joke here.)

Lesson #6. You are not buying a chicken. You are making love to a whole woman. Parts is not just parts. (Insert drumstick/pullet/cock/ kosher joke here.) If you are a boob man, for God’s sake, curb your enthusiasm. No big-breasted woman likes to feel that she’s living in a weird psycho Freudian alternative Twilight Zone reality where the only part of her that can be seen or felt or save the universe from impending disaster are the sweater meat torpedoes pinioned to her ribcage.