Got Boobs?

From my very first pubescent moment, I truly believed there could never be a love for female breasts as strong as my sheer animal magnetism. Big or small, perky or droopy, I loved them all. Despite my passion, I’ve always remained a complete gentleman when it comes to the lovely chest pillows. When I converse with a lass, eye contact is always maintained, never straying south to the steep slopes of the milky mountains. Until the birth of my son, I thought my love for boobs could never be matched. Oh how I was wrong. When he is full of mother’s milk, my Jackson is a perfect gentleman. However, when the little man craves his sustenance, the story is quite different. If his leg was butchered to his hip in a meat grinder, I have no doubt that his blood curdling screams would be pacified instantly by the touch of an aureola to his upper lip.