I actually wrote this a little while ago just on my tumblr blog as a sort of exercise, but I like how it turned out as this little prose piece so I thought I’d put it up here as well.

Ok, so here’s the deal. I like breasts. No, I love breasts, and thighs, and bellies, and hips, and buttocks. I am addicted to the artwork of a woman’s body, I just am. I know there is vastly more to any individual than the accidents of their physical form, intellectually I know this. Yet still, when I see a woman, her curves whether subtle or overt, I find myself entranced. It is an entirely shallow obsesstion, and I must admit I feel guilty, a part of the problem, just one more greasy pig fumbling in my pants, panting and salivating. I can’t help myself though, as my eyes linger just a little too long on the bow of her lips, the column of her neck, perhaps the small of her back, any women, all women, describing beauty and grace. They’re everywhere too, just stealing every breath I have, all of them, all of the time. I don’t know what they’re doing with all of it, but I’d like to have at least some back because it’s hard to go through life drowning.
There’s never any thought of possession though, no covetous, greedy, grasping and clutching. I’m just happy that they’re there, out there, going to the shops, working, laughing, living, doing the things we all do but making this world just that much more lovely. So quietly, I look, maybe smile a bit, wonder to myself what it might be to run my fingers through her hair or what her skin might smell like after a day spent out in the rain. Any her, all of the hers out there, that are or were or will be, in all of the forms and hues. I can’t help it, for me the definition of beauty is and can only be her. I don’t know what that means, or what that makes of me and trust me, I have spent a great deal of time thinking about it, but in the end all I know is, well, that I love breasts…and bellies and thighs and curves and smiles and everything that forms the shape of her on this earth.


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