At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Tuesday, June 03, 2014

QUOTING A MAN OF THE CLOTH

A reader takes me to task for mentioning a certain subject in a previous post, as it discomfitted him, or her, and he, or she, feels certain that his, or her, reaction cannot be unusual. Surely other readers will feel as disturbed by considering that subject as it does.

The subject was "cleavage".

About which he or she is ambivalent.

No offense, dear reader, but that's just nuts.


Cleavage, cleavages, breasts, mammary glands, and whatever else you call them, are just fine. Like the Dirty Vicar of St. Michael's in that Monty Python skit, I shall proudly proclaim "I like tits", and so should you.
They are fundamental and profound.

[Nipples, aureolas, lobules, fatty tissue, dermis; estrogen, progesterone and prolactin.]

Personally, this blogger thinks breasts are the greatest thing since sliced bread. Not to go into too much detail, but they are quite the double-most remarkable secondary sexual characteristic of which I totally approve.
A pair of them (or matched set), should be present in everyone's life.
And, just like more than two seems excessive -- unless you are lesbian, in which case four is probably the perfect number -- they should be of suitable size and dimension that their presence can be felt, but no so large as to excite comment. It's a question of sensible choices and moderation.

I myself do NOT have any breasts attached to my person.

Never the less, I flatter myself that I am a keen judge.

Should the chance occur, I would in great likelihood express calm and sober appreciation for their existence. I might even say positive things about texture, tensility, and temperature. Profounder insights, upon due examination, could also be forthcoming. Though many men have devoted their whole lives to investigating this fascinating subject (these fascinating subjects), I am not thus. I believe that exposure should be selective, and only after mature consideration. As in all things, temperance leads to greater enjoyment, and one should seek quality over mere quantity.


CLEAVAGE, CLEAVAGE, CLEAVAGE!

It's the same with briar pipes. While I do possess an inordinate number (over one hundred and sixty smoking tools as of this count), there are probably no more than forty that I truly treasure as regular companions, givers of joy, and magic touchy-feely objets de désir. Smooth surfaces, or the textural effects of sandblasted woodgrain, glowing warm patinas, evocative hues, and delightful fragrances even in repose. Curves, angles, roundnesses, and subtle proportion. Not big huge wonkers, nor tiny little froo-froos, but items of normal size, and consequently inherent appeal.
Those things of which we are fond, even when they aren't in focus.
What we fondly remember whenever we see someone else's.
Nobody should really aim for humongous exemplars.
They ought to be just large enough to enjoy.
And hold contemplatively for a while.
Wonderful to the touch.
Not excessive.
Subtle.

Another remarkable similarity is that pipes are also much nicer if kept clean and well-cared for. Never abused, never soggy, and never unpleasant or skanky smelling.

But unlike briar pipes, of which one must have sufficient number that they can rest between moments of pleasure, breasts are best if there are just two of them.
Or four.

[Bari, Barling's Make, BBB, Ben Wade, Benton, Big Ben, Butz-Choquin, Castello, ChaCom, Charatan, Custombuilt, Dunhill, Ehrlich, GBD, Hardcastle, Invicta, Ivarsson, J. Alan, James Upshall, Jobey, Loewe & Co., Mastro Beraldi, Mastro De Paja, Mastro Grandolfo, Nørding, Parker, Peterson, Redman, Ron Fairchild, S. Bang, Sasieni, Savinelli, Sommer, Stanwell, Tsuge, Vauen, Vuillard, W.Ø. Larsen, Willmer....]


However, cleavage (and its plural 'cleavages') is entirely the wrong word to my mind. It suggests craggy mountains and harsh granite vistas, deep declivities and dank ravines. Far more suitable imagery involves gentle dunes glowing in sunlight, or the soft-golden hills of California before the fire season, shimmering in the heat of summer.
Even metaphors of fruit.
Juicy and ripe.
Fresh.



NOTE: For the very best example of breast-appreciation, please reread the Song of Solomon (ha shir ha shirim, asher liShlomo). The ancient Hebrew bard expressed it best regarding breasts, in delightful innocent-knowing verse. Lovely lyrics that make you lick your lips.
Aesthetic depth beyond compare.
Perfumed poetry.
Foxes.



I was going to write about cigars today, specifically Perdomos and Oliva Series V (both among my favourites, along with Avo Uvezian, Fuente, and Padron), but I got sidetracked. Sorry. A long scholarly disquisition about such matters will be forthcoming, in the fulness of time.



Afterthought, as of 9:09 PM, on Wednesday June 4, 2014:
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