Breasteses - Why Men Love Breasts , livre ebook

Andrews UK - Maximo Montoya

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42 pages

English

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Description

What exactly IS it about breasts that men find so fascinating? What do men talk about when women aren't around? What can both men and women learn about the opposite sex that will lead to stronger and more fulfilling relationships?All these questions and more are answered in this funny, honest and thought-provoking book by Maximo Montoya. With each chapter focused around a common theme in relationships, the author offers not only his thoughts and anecdotes, but also genuine advice from which we could all learn a great deal.Whether you're a woman who wants to understand men a little better, or a man who wants to learn what it is about us that women love and hate, this is the perfect book for you!

Sujets

Dating

Assertiveness

Humour

Informations

Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	15 février 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781789820508
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0150€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

BREASTESES: Why Men Love Breasts
...and other conversations about the male psyche
Maximo Montoya

Breasteses: Why Men Love Breasts
Published in 2019 by
AG Books
www.agbooks.co.uk
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2019 Maximo Montoya
The right of Maximo Montoya to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The views and opinions expressed herein belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect those of AG Books or Andrews UK Limited.

Introduction
‘I likes big breasteses!’
-Convictus, 1994 (from da hood)
An enlightened hoodrat from prison, named Convictus, once said that, “If a woman spends too much time tryin’ ta figure out mens, dey be thinkin’ too hard.”
Women the world over have sought verbal salves to sooth their broken hearts and begged for total and complete absolution from bad choices they have made and allowed to fester within themselves always seeking the cure-all from other females. In this pursuit, vast rivers of tears have been flowing for ages, cellphones have been blown up and batteries drained cutting women off in mid-sentence. Also, far too many brain freezes have occurred over sweet icy frappu ccinos, all pertaining to the all too common topic of men. Yes, those bastards you can’t seem to do without.
We are the living breathing by-products of our environment and our genetics. Our DNA is laced with less-than-perfect hereditary traits and characteristics. Men are not perfect, even though some of us think we are God’s gift to women. Like snowflakes, we are all uniquely different and each irregularly special - perhaps some much more ‘special’ than others. But, the one thing most of us have shared after leaving the cocoon of our mother’s womb is a soothing, nourishing, warm breast. We sucked down our fill and gained sustenance from momma, then fell asleep with our mouths agape, drool dribbling down our faces. Men have re-enacted this tableau time and time again with remotes, food, or even magazines dangling from our fingertips reclining in front of the flat screen.
Women have a lot going for them and always have. You ladies connect seamlessly with each other on a deep emotional level and seem to know minute details about the most obscure things that escape the attention of most men. We will never remember January 12 th 2014 as the first date we went on; nor can we remember what you were wearing. We, however, have absolutely no problem remembering what you looked like sans the clothes. There is an anniversary for everything: the first time we held hands, the first time we kissed and cupped your fun cans, and the first time we went down on you. We forget birthdays and anniversaries quite frequently and have to make amends for it. The cycle continues across the fruited plain.
Yet I believe men do have great memories; we have the ability to recall things, but only those that we prioritize in our heads as important. At times we appear to be hapless boobs that beg for forgiveness when important dates pass our radar. We feign ignorance because we were dropped on our heads way too many times and implore you to give us another chance to redeem our sorry selves. But let’s be honest, that is simply a sham and fails to point to the obvious . Look how easily we men bring up sports stats, or the horsepower of our favorite vehicles, and how quickly they accelerate from zero to sixty, and how quickly those awesome caring brakes can bring them to a halt. We can quote - and 100% verbatim no less - the long monologues orated by the hero or villain in our favorite action films, and we can recall anecdote after anecdote about the mundane subjects related to our particular vocations. A guy can rip an engine apart bolt to nut and reassemble it with his eyes closed. And yet... and yet he can’t remember what your favorite color is. He can remember the engineering schematics of the system he only recently devised, knowing every computation and angle involved, yet every time you eat out he seems to forget that you are allergic to shellfish, despise cauliflower, and hate eggs over easy. It’s all about what our minds naturally consider as a priority, whereas you ladies seem to remember everything like clockwork: nothing is insignificant or mundane in your minds!
***
I have a male buddy who can recall word for word most songs he hears on the radio or playing over a sound system at a bar, yet has never been able to memorize my cell or home number - even when the lack of built-in contact lists meant that most people kept a whole host of such digits in their heads. When he gets on my case about not knowing the band or artist behind a song and beating his small chest about my ignorance, I simply ask him, ‘When is my birthday,’ and follow up with, ‘and what’s my number?’ He shrugs and shuts his pie hole. End of story.
I remember years ago playing a board game, which involved knowing detailed questions about your teammate. I was paired up with my brother, whom I have known all my life (an obvious but necessary fact to mention). My sister was paired with an old college friend, and I thought to myself I’ve got this game in the bag, this is going to be easy-peasy . Wrong! I bombed miserably, and we were trounced handily. I was astounded because I thought I knew everything about this older brother whom I have always loved and respected more than anyone else I know. So how were we beaten? Guys rarely talk about their feelings, the weaknesses or their secret vulnerabilities - especially to those close to them. We’re more likely to be talking about the latest ballgame, our last round of golf, or - yes, I’ll admit it - our sexual conquests. If one of us does let down our guard, it’s either for such a brief moment that it is almost instantly forgotten, or it becomes a long, meandering testosterone-filled tirade. A girl will cry on another girl’s shoulder following a separation. Guys mask their hurt by claiming everything was the fault of the other party, and assuage their sorrow through the emphatic use of expletive-laced epithets. They’ll then clink glasses, down a couple of pints and change the subject to a more uplifting one. And in case anyone asks, that was definitely not a heart-to-heart discussion about relationships, OK? Most of all, even if we’re feeling down, we don’t want to be the one to bring down the mood in a group of our buddies. No-one wants to be known as the ‘whiner’! Whatever it is, we take it on the lip and press forward with the armor strapped on.
Women, on a whole, want to share more of themselves, be understood, and definitely want to be listened to. It’s not that guys are less deep or less in touch , it’s just that the manner in which most men were generally raised was to stoically bear the torch. We were taught (either consciously or subconsciously) to put out fires, to be the protector, to solve issues quickly and firmly... and to hurtle without thinking from A to B in an arrow-straight, testosterone-injected line - more often than not with full blinders on.
Most women would be horrified and shocked at the base conversation topics in which their refined, genteel partner partakes in as he congregates with old friends in private - and usually dark - settings. They huddle together with their wine and song... sans the women. Amidst the din of beating chests, war stories, grunting, farting, nose-picking, and the unhindered unlodging of undies from backside cracks, there are no walls of propriety. What you would deem as utterly disgusting, juvenile, and quite unseemly for some reason appears to strengthen the male bonding experience. If you were that proverbial fly on the wall, you’d probably drop off the damp, sticky surface and plummet wings-first into his highball.
***
At first I wanted to name this didactic, mini-diatribe Women are from Marsupials; Men are Just Penises but then my publisher started waving my contract dangerously near to the shredder. Even though I may well have been dropped on my head numerous times in my youth, I have observed a thing or two about us men which I have oh-so-thoughtfully condensed into this pithy, humorously-intended yet maybe-somehow-helpful handbook-of-sorts. It is said that life is primarily about the journey and not about the final destination. ‘Tis true indeed... but may I point out that along such a journey, you may well have to navigate your share of seemingly endless turns, constant pitfalls, deep potholes, cavernous sinkholes and treacherous mountains... and then on reaching the shithouse that you once thought of as your final destination spot, it turns out that the man you believed to prince charming is just a horny toad waiting for you behind some shuttered, creaking doors. At first you may well try to shape this toad into a prince, but at some point you’ll realize this is impossible and with a heavy heart you’ll then hop back into your weathered, dingy, dusty jalopy and start off on a near-identical journey. And that journey will end in a similar way, with you becoming trapped in an endless loop of despair.
***
There are no guarantees in life - even on The Bachelor and Bachelorette . Too many women get caught up in made-for-TV contrived fantasies, Cinderella-happy-endings