My Breast Problem

I don't have a problem with actual breasts. I like them, I like them a lot. What's not to like?

My problem, in fact, isn't even really my problem. I don't think. See, what happens is, when I talk to women, they immediately either fold their arms over their breasts or they cinch up their sweater or jacket like they're in the frickin' Arctic. Either women get real cold around me, or they think I'm some kind of freak that can't help but stare at their rack.

But, here's the deal. I'm not looking! In fact, all of this cover-up makes me want to look. If in the minds of these women I'm already guilty of peeping, then I might as well get something out of it. It's like in basketball. If you're going to foul someone, foul them hard... it counts the same in the end.