Random post-coital thoughts: Viagra is the last of the miracle drugs... enabling the blind to walk, the lame to see, the limp to fuck all night long. I know I'll be spending all my Social Security check (should I live that long, with the Republicans pushing back the retirement age to like 85, or something) on Viagra...if I have to camp under a bridge and push a shopping cart around to afford the big V...I'll do it just for the wood....Over any appreciable length of time, things never get any better. Look at this year's summer movies so far: Pearl Harbor, Swordfish, Tomb Raider. Hell, an Ernest Goes to the Jack Shack would look good about now. And speaking of the above, Angelina Jolie's Tomb Raider breasts are accomplished via special effects, otherwise known as She's Stuffed, you moron. That is not a boob job. Which brings to mind: Didn't Demi Moore's career go tits-up after she carved herself up for her role in the abominable Striptease? You don't have to have big tits to succeed in Hollywood. Look at Audrey Hepburn at the height of the Jayne Mansfield/Marilyn Monroe breasts-as-torpedos era.

Which brings me to the subject matter at hand: boobs. If you're a leg man, as I am, you probably like them small, unobtrusive--i.e., more than a mouthful is wasted. But if you're a breast man, she could be in a wheelchair for all you care, as long as she's got fuckin' tits out to here. Personally, I think big boobs are for, well, big boobs. Cro-Magnon Man. It's like, you just got off the tit a couple days ago, left home, learned how to chew gum and now you want big breasts to remind you of the safety of mom. Let's face it, to an infant, any sized breast looks really big when it's being pressed against its tiny face. I think the natural evolution for men is: in high school, you start off with a fixation on breasts, because wow!, they're really cool. You can pinch 'em, tug 'em, suck 'em, slap' em, tweak 'em, slap yourself silly with 'em , fuck 'em, cum on 'em and marvel at how they get bigger before her "moon time" each month.

But as the male matures, I think it's rather stilted for him to remain focused on breasts--sort of like only eating chocolate ice cream or just jerking off with your dominant hand. Natural Selection urges man's anatomical attention to wander, move on to different body parts--perhaps in a descending order from the nipple on down. Let's take stomachs for example. How many of you men have truly admired the glory, vulnerability, softness and cum-collecting qualities of a taut, gently rounded tummy tucked in just-so at the navel? Or, restricted and defined that tummy with garter belts, waist cinchers and merry widows? Moving along, we all know there's something about a high and mighty, well-rounded posterior that makes our glans swell. But, the ass is really a place for endings, not beginnings and one should not get stuck there either...or they could have a Freudian slip and wind up renting smothering movies and backed into suppressed infantile rage over potty training.

Then there's the vagina. A good place to start or end with any objectification of female body parts, except that sometimes it just gets really whacked out down there--like once every goddamned month. And before you know it you're into drinking Kotex tea as well as her pee...and what about yeast infections and all those not-so-fresh days. Clearly, one eventually must move on. And there they are...the legs. Her lovely limbs take her everywhere--even to see you, when you're lucky. She crosses them, uncrosses them, spreads them wide for your happiness, shaves them, anoints them, tans them, sticks them in stockings and pantyhose, panties and short-shorts and dresses and skirts.

Ahhh, legs. They really do go on forever. Have you ever fucked a pair of well-developed, firm, smooth, curvaceous calves (the Calves of Doom are calling) and just cum all over her legs? Pulled her stockings on for her, taken them off, lotioned her limbs after shaving? I once jerked off and came all over my girlfriend's freshly shaved legs while she was sitting in a chair studying her Anthropology book. It was finals week. And, no, I did not feel like I was settling for less. T'was an honor. My duty to anoint her smooth white legs with my whiter offering, like a benediction.

Then there's the feet, which should really be considered a part of her legs. Because if you start fixating on her feet, then you're liable to slide into