My Poor Brain

I go to community college currently, and it is a smaller community with not a whole lot going on. But around the beginning of this semester I have found a new activity to compensate for that: DRUGS. Just kidding mom.

When eating lunch in the atrium I usually sit in the same seat area, and I am always facing the winding staircase that comes down. I tend to pay attention to things that a guy would pay attention to when a young striking female is running down the stairs: her breasts, but I call them boobs (and you can borrow that term if you want). What I noticed is most of the girls just bounce down the stairs, and, holy shit, it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. My mind turns it into a slow motion scene from a movie and I drop my jaw and tuna sandwich (it’s never anything else for lunch).

From the first time this has happened I have made it a point, when girls are running down the staircase with their bouncing chests, to stare and examine. I believe I am gaining a new knowledge about boobs and how they are all unique. I am, after all, at school so what better thing to do then learn. If this activity implies that I am a loser and have not seen a fair share of boobs in my own personal encounters, then that is mostly correct. However, what better way to watch bouncing boobs then in their natural habitat that I call school.

Over the course of the past semester I analyzed each different set of boobs and their bouncing actions. There are the average size that have short, but higher rate, bounces. There are the large ones with a much more dramatic and slow-motion look to each bounce. There are the rare massive size that usually belong to a woman above 50 years old and they are mostly too heavy to move at all.

Just recently I had a new experience with boobs bouncing down the stairs. It was odd at first and I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was so different about these ones. Then I figured it out: no bra. I much more preferred the no-bra to anything else I had seen before them. The shirt was small enough to give great detail of what was pushing on the inside of the shirt and they moved not only up and down, but side to side. I was flabbergasted, and then she caught my eye. I decided that this was too good to pass up and just turn away like I wasn’t looking. So I just went from looking her straight in the eye to looking back at her moving boobs. I can’t say at all what her facial reaction was, but I bet she could tell what mine was.

That last experience was also probably my last time in that atrium for the semester, and ever. I want to thank that girl who decided not to wear a bra that day and who shared her gift with everybody, but mostly with me. If you are a girl and you run down the stairs on a daily basis, then please, for one day, forget the restricting bra and wear a (boob)tube top. Then trot down those stairs with pride.

I’m a fucking pig. (”fucking” is being used as a sentence enhancer in this case, so as to not be confused with a pig who fucks.)