This is the story of the first time I remember seeing a bare pair of human female breasts!
(Spoiler alert: It was not in person.)
Ok, so I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell this story and I guess the best way is to start by saying this… this is not a sexy story.
I don’t really tell many stories about boobs so I’m not terribly sure about proper etiquette in doing so, but I suppose I’ll just follow my heart and start by telling you a little bit about my parents.
My father and I connect about sports, we talk about sports all the time when I see him, it’s basically our only common ground when it comes to interests. When he does watch movies they are basically limited to Spaghetti Westerns and WWII flicks.
I prefer robots and aliens *Kanye shrug*
My mom and I connect about nerdy shit like the X-files and conspiracy movies. My mom also is a huge nerd when it comes to sciency/nature stuff like the Discovery Channel and the like and since my dad is a big fan of “improving your mind” and using your brain their interests crossed over in a borderline unlimited supply of National Geographic Magazines in the house while I was growing up.
It just clicked with you guys, didn’t it?
Right. So, the first pair of human boobs I remember seeing was a picture of a topless African lady in the pages of National Geographic.
I was 9 years old and didn’t really “get” boobs.
But I was interested. I knew what they were. I knew what they were called. I also knew I probably shouldn’t be looking at them, so with great care and the skillful hands of a surgeon I tore that picture out of that months national geographic, folded it neatly into 1/4ths and tucked it in my back pocket.
Every morning I would put the picture in my back pocket and every night I would hide it in my room.
I didn’t even really look at it, just carried it around with me. For days, maybe even a week or two.
And so, like any story about boobs, this one reaches its climax where you expect… the Pine Wood Derby of Cub Scout Troop 1273.
The picture was burning a hole in my pocket (and my heart) and I had to show someone. I had to. So, I pulled a fellow cub scout, Brien, into the bathroom with me and showed him. ”Cool” he said, “yeah” I agreed, happily nodding. He stared at it for a second or two and then said he had to go race his car soon.
… Brien apparently didn’t “get” boobs, either. Whatever.
Anyways, after Brien left I quickly became paranoid that I let the cat out of the bag to the wrong person. He would tell someone. I was sure of it. In my panic I took the picture and wrapped it up with toilet paper. Tons of toilet paper. TONS of toilet paper. I then flushed it down the toilet, but it didn’t really go down all the way, just enough that you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t pay attention. I quickly left the scene of the crime and soon after another member of our troop, Michael, used the restroom and came running out a few minutes later because the toilet was overflowing.
Everyone thought Michael clogged the toilet. Parents. Scouts. Friends. Everyone.
But he didn’t.
My African lady’s boobs did.
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