The Breast A Man Can Get

Okay:

A few years back I was working at this charter school. It was run by this nice, older brother. At the orientation he spoke to the hundred or so employees, new and returning, about his educational philosophy. It was really motivational, helped to revitalize my waning passion for teaching. But I couldn't help but notice something very disturbing.

Here he was, this educated, well-to-do philanthropist of sorts, pouring his heart out, and I couldn't take my eyes off his tits.

He was at least a B-cup.

Like Mona Lisa's eyes, his titties followed me around the room.

He wasn't grossly overweight or anything. He just had these titties that he couldn't hide no matter what kind of shirt he wore.

I went home and told my father. He said, "I've got some pretty big ones myself, son. It happens when you get older. Unless, of course, you're naturally thin or work out regularly. You're gonna get tits."

I vowed that I would never allow it to happen to me.

Then I was out having drinks with some friends a few days ago and this sister said to me, "Oh, look. You've got man-breasts."

I said something rude to her and tried to forget about it. But, of course, I couldn't.

That night I went home and took a look in the mirror. Yes, I already knew that things were a lot softer than they used to be but I hadn't quite noticed that I was growing tits.

But there they were.

I promised myself that I would go on a diet and start working out. It took a few days but last night I went for an evening run. I synced up my iPod with a high energy playlist, put on my running shoes and headed out the door. About half way up the block I noticed something.

Shit was flopping against other shit.

It wasn't painful, but certainly uncomfortable and, most of all, dismaying.

When did this happen? I used to be in such great shape. Hard as a rock. I shit you not. In fact, when I took off my clothes my lady friends would often comment on how nice my body was. It wasn't even really anything I thought about too much.

The logical part of my brain began thinking about ways to control the flopping. A sports bra maybe? Then my ego kicked in and said, "Claude, this is unacceptable."

My ego is a character in and of itself. It has my sister's voice, always tells the truth and speaks in dramatic monologues. Not to be confused with my conscience, which speaks in Malcolm X's voice but hasn't had a lot to say since 1998.

"Claude," it said, "You have got to get rid of these tits. Put that on your list of things to do, right up there with fixing your credit and throwing away your porn."

"What woman," it continued, "would be turned on when she rubs her hands across your chest and gets a handful of fat man-titty?"

So, ladies and gentleman. I will be keeping you posted on my new commitment to fitness. Although it is motivated solely by vanity and lust, I believe I will be successful in regaining the body of my youth. When there is significant change, I will post pictures.


Thanks for reading.

GOBAMA!

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Innocent Question: Ladies, does your man have tits? And does it bother/threaten you?