AVOID HUMPS IN THE ROAD

Beware the kavorka; it attracts the crazies. I've frequently seemed a bit magnetic to the loosely defined. In North Beach years ago that manifested itself by a regular flow of eccentrics and "creative" persons. Now, in middle-age, what has happened is that a few young ladies of the batshit variety at the cigar bar are calling me "professor". They are utterly fascinated.
I am quite certain that that doesn't work for me.

The kavorka, for those who have lived in a shell for the past decade, was the animal magnetism that made Kramer irresistible in the Latvian episode of Seinfeld.


"I got the Kavorka, Jerry. I'm dangerous, I'm very Dangerous!"


It's effect appears to be spotty. Rational women feel nothing. Several years ago a blonde cornered me in the front room of the Edinburgh Castle on Geary Street, and massaged a naked breast at me.
She was, of course, nowhere near sane.

"Are you threatened by my femininity?"

Nope. Rather appalled. Normal women do not do such things. Titty-showing requires much more familiarity and far greater privacy. This blogger is fond of titty, but not when it gets randomly shoved at me.

Oddly, though I can remember the incident, and her air of indignation once it became clear that the bait was not working, I cannot remember the breast at all. It must have been white, or whitish; she was clearly Caucasian, so that seems a safe bet. And I'm equally sure that it must have terminated in a nipple of indeterminate size.
But that's really it.
Sorry.


"Back off, miss, I've got a bra in my pocket that I will not hesitate to use!"


It's not that I fear for my safety, but I do not prize the company of floppy-breasted psychopaths.

Breasts by themselves are blameless, albeit often unremarkable.

I'd rather observe them pursuing others.

From a distance.


Unfamiliar naked breast is best observed from a long way off.
Or held at bay with a long-handled snake hook, if necessary.

Breast exposure has to be mutually agreeable.
What's key is the person in possession.
If she's nuts, nix that idea.



CONSIDERING BETTER BOSOM!

One naturally prefers familiar and beloved breasts, which are precious and praiseworthy, and ideally admired from close up, in a warm place safe from prying eyes, friends and family, and the winter chill. Indoors during a rainstorm, for instance, or at twilight while enjoying a nice hot cup of tea. The only witness might be a teddy bear -- who no doubt disapproves, and therefore risks being deposited in another room if he or she objects too strenuously -- but no other people. And I personally feel that a throw rug or down comforter is a necessary prop.

I have both a throw rug and a down comforter.

And more than one teddy bear.

But no breasts.

I should like to find the titty, of course, but I hesitate about titty that comes jumping up and flings itself at me in a well-lit public place when I am in the company of others. Especially if said titty calls me "professor" and vocally demonstrates A) that I am the bee's knees and the cat's miaow, and B) that they themselves are not the brightest star in the firmament.
Irrespective of whether or not they are fully covered.
As, so far, all five pairs have been.

I prefer quieter and better behaved titty. Titty that has an active brain, a subtle or sharp wit, and an educated sense of restraint.
Determined to always act civilized in public.
Not threatening sudden revelations.
Or embarrassing spectacles.

Fortunately, the kavorka appears to be less powerful during daylight, in areas where alcohol does not infect the fragile brain. So other than the young ladies who call me professor at the Oxxy, I have nothing to fear.
If any mammaries pop up, it will be a pair that is well-behaved, and supported by well-considered motivation.
Modest thoughtful breasts.

Not extroverts.

The only likely similarity between sane and balanced titty and totally crazy titty will be the briar pipe in my mouth or between my fingers.


The idea of good bosom is very appealing.

The reality could be delightful.




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