I understand we live in an ad-centric world and that most of us absorb a lot of unconscious notions as we navigate through the eddies and currents of a life designed to make us nothing more than containers into which corporations endlessly pour their products. But I still don’t really understand why so many otherwise normal people end up defining themselves by some body-part.
Years ago in a semi-pro gym after a long hard workout I came out of the showers to see a huge African-American guy pulling desperately on his gentleman’s sausage in at attempt to make it longer. Hey, I get it: there’s a stereotype out there and doubtless he felt he needed to live up to it. Thing was, his appendage was already the biggest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, far, far larger than even the most well-endowed porn actor. It nearly reached his knee and was wider than my wrist. It was, seriously, the most massive c*ck imaginable and far larger than the supposed “largest dick in the world” cited on Wikipedia.
And yet… it wasn’t long enough, apparently. Maybe if he’d focused more on becoming a more well-read, thoughtful, and empathetic human being he’d have been less anxious about the size of his penis. And maybe if the rest of us did likewise we’d care a lot less about the things we can’t change and focus more on the things we can. Like who we are, how we act in the world, and the lifestyle choices we make.
As for B-cups, c’mon: you won the lottery. They will still be magnificent when you’re 50 and your larger peers are all stressing over sagging breasts.