HEY YOU. Yeah, you.
You’re probably something of a pervert. And hey, that’s okay! You probably also didn’t intend to land on this site. Well, the full story is here, but the short of it is that I think I can help. And I don’t mean help you not be a pervert. But to humbly suggest that I serve as an indelicate guide for your degenerate crabwise journey. Let’s travel together on this shadowed stretch of the search engine highway. Let’s walk awhile on our weary ways.
So let me tell you about a cat I know that’s in love.
And not some – flight of fancy sweeps you off your feet and abandons you when the brain dope wears off, unclogging your ability to smell untoward body parts, and hear actual word meanings instead of singsong affirmation showers – kind of love.
But a solemn lifelong devotion. A silent un-worded vow, unmarred by the pretence of decree. An impossibility of another. Kind of thing.
And who, you ask, might be this blessed and fortunate recipient of Cupid’s business end? Surely the feline’s devoted caretaker, that dotes on his nonplussed mien and sprinkles hand-crafted culinary delights to dot the hours of every day. Nay.
Well then a companion of his own ilk, either already partnered in the abode, or one that he steals away to fleetingly touch noses and barbed genital wails on the rooftops of a passion flooded city? Nyet.
Okay, well, a sultry vixen pillow then. Or a stuffed animal with so many right curves it just doesn’t matter how it’s oh so wrong (Hey, you do what you got to do). Nope.
No, compadres, this cat is head over heels for a nipple. His own nipple. Second down on the left, to be precise.
The nipple that (when he lies on his back and his portly belly spreads to his sides to balance, settle, and lounge atop his spine, while at the same time stretching out his right front paw straight and stiff and true, as though a lonely monument pointing to some long lost celestial memory) is in perfect reach of tongue.
Now you may or may not know this, but a nipple is a fine way to kill an afternoon.
This Einstein-ish in no other way, indoor-only cat, definitely knows how to kill an afternoon or a morning or a midnight snack. In fact, he feels compelled to french-kiss his protuberance of the mamma every time he remembers its existence.
(My apologies for the mental image, but it does no good to shy away from the realities of this world. For example, this particular case of – just realized by the author – etymology: mamma=boob=momma=mother=too weird for a former baptist boy. Also, is calling someone ‘Mam’ like calling them ‘tit’? As in, ‘Excuse me Tit, can you direct me to the nearest haberdashery?’)
This cat loves this nipple so much – it is now outlined by a crop circle of skin where once was fur. His nipple is his dream job and his favorite hobby. It’s his lover and his best friend. It’s his home from the bluster and gale. His nipple is his willow from the winking sun.
And do you know who that cat reminds me of?
Us. All of us.
And not in any abstruse metaphoric sense, either. We are all very literally obsessed with nipples, if our browser searches are any indication and yes of course they are.
But don’t take my word for it, take a look at what searches landed you here:
biggest nipples you’ll have ever seen
biggest nipples you’ll have ever seen in your life
the best nipples you’ve ever seen
best nipples i’ve ever seen
different playboy nipples
Everyone is in a tizzy over nipples! From all over the world. It’s a pressing issue. The masses are a-clamor. It’s a high priority. One that demands serious study. An online petition of signatures has unwittingly been signed (and sold) to delve into the matter. The browser searches are stacking to sky.
And of course dear traveler, that is why I am here.
Okay so you want a perfect nipple. But the ‘what’ of what you’re asking can’t be answered without the ‘why’ being tackled first. We can’t find our perfect thing without knowing what makes us think something is perfect. Because there is no perfection other than our belief of it.
But don’t worry, there also is no hell but for our belief of it.
(That doesn’t mean YOU can do whatever YOU want. Did YOU find a therapist yet?)
*First off, from Wikipedia, the encyclopedia that’s only as inaccurate as we let it be, you might want to know what a nipple is.
*Next, from JEZEBEL.COM, you also might want to know what type of nipple you are. Full disclosure – I’m on the flat side of normal.
*And of course we can’t talk about the female form without mentioning one Mr. Sigmund Freud. Who throughout the couplings of his life if he had any, would remark to his nude female partners if he had any: ‘What?! YOU HAVE NO PENIS!! WHO CUT OFF YOUR PENIS?! Oh, thank heavens, there it is. On your nipples.’
*Though, to be fair, that particular paranoia was not just his.
*Here’s a thread on RAPMUSIC.COM, titled; ‘are hard nipples on a girl the perfect indicator for attraction’ (NC-17 Rated). In this context, nipples are proof positive of the caliber of your skill-set. As in I’m such a stud nipples rise in my presence like rose petals to the sun. And be careful of Alias3000, ladies, don’t let your nipples near him, or they will defect to become citizens of what’s in his pants . And double down on the stay away if you’re 35ish, well, let him say it:
I’m a Big Game Hunter. I look for the high end expensive pussy. you know the type…looks married but no ring, in the mall with 8bags of shit, driving a Lexus truck, maybe divorced with 1-2 kids, very beautiful, will look you in the eye, …holding her own..just needs a “friend”…that’s the make up I shoot for.
I gots no time for college coed broke pizza eatin’ bitches..
Alias3000 actually gets a lunchtime booty call in the middle of the thread. Sometimes the internet makes me wonder how I ever got laid (or if I ever will again).
*Here’s a site dedicated to the health of breasts created by three Californian dudes. Hmmm. In any case, they assert that men are attracted to breasts and nipples because our tight wad pilgrim ancestors strolled around making decrees that lady lumps be bound in blouses. Out of sight are built the boob-castles of mind, I guess.
*Here on LIFESLITTLEMYSTERIES.COM is an interesting article on an Emory University study about nipple stimulation producing elevated levels of oxytocin – the brain chemical released during breast feeding that is reported to induce long term feelings of attachment. A couple of the theories dropped here: one, that because we are a monogamous creature it makes evolutionary sense to cross the lines of sexual stimulation (nipple foreplay), and bonding with off-spring through breast feeding, to help facilitate a sustained relationship with the mate. And two, that we were able to evolve such capabilities mainly because of our belly to belly mating ritual.
So in response, one – wait… we’re monogamous creatures? How many people do you know that have slept with only one person?
And two, dolphins and whales mate belly to belly too. Think of the evolutionary potential for nipple stimulation in that mating ritual. I’ll wait while you imagine it. Oh and whale nipples pop out like giant (baby friendly) switchblades that shoot milk. No joke.
(Wait, I just had a thought, if you know, or more likely, have ever been seduced by Alias3000, tell him NOW to stay away from Sea World. ALIAS3000 -STAY AWAY FROM THE WATER! DON’T GET IN RANGE OF SHAMU’S NIPPLES. SHE MATES BELLY TO BELLY!!!
Also – kudos to the female author of the article for referring to breasts as, “big bulbous bags of fat drooping from women’s chests”. Lady, I wanna party.)
*From LIVESCIENCE.COM, here’s a kick ass scan of the areas of the brain stimulated by the stimulation of genitals and nipples. That’s right. Straight down the line, ladies and gentlemen, exactly between the right and left brain hemispheres. Which means genitals affect every single damn part of us. As if we didn’t already know.
Also from that article – here’s a list of the areas in the brain that are stimulated during a female orgasm:
The hypothalamic paraventricular nucleus; amygdala; accumbens-bed nucleus of the stria terminalis-preoptic area; hippocampus; basal ganglia; cerebellum; the anterior cingulate, insular, parietal and frontal cortices; and the lower brainstem.
(I plan to put this list on my resume.)
The list of areas in the brain stimulated during the male orgasm:
(Don’t put that on your resumes.)
*From ODDEE.COM – some unique nipple pasties. Much better than the cord and tassel combination (stolen from the funny hats dudes wear at the Elk’s club) that the strippers (former grade school classmates) use in my home town.
*From the CHARLOTTEOBSERVER.COM in North Carolina – the attempted introduction of bills that allow for “armed volunteers” to patrol schools, at the same time as another to outlaw “exposed female nipples.” I feel pretty good about the priorities in our country, don’t you? (Repeat after me, all normal monkeys throw poop. It makes sense after a while.)
*And I guess we should take a look at breastfeeding. Here’s an article from the website SHEKNOWSPARENTING.COM that will make you think either- YES!! Or GLAHHK!! No in-betweens. No studies cited for all the facts the author presents, unfortunately.
*From FLECKING in the U.K. – Celebrities with more than two nipples!! Dirk Diggler – 3!!! Tilda Swinton – 3!!! Harry Styles has four!!!! Four!!!! Insert your own joke here! Here’s the first I could think of: Harry Styles and his nipples have decided to branch off on their own to form a new boy band – Five Directions.
*The “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may” guy, Robert Herrick, wrote a poem about nipples. So, we know it’s not a new thing.
*Oh yes, and of course if you need help with the natural look you can buy from these people. Really a fine product and not at all like a thimble super-glued to a quarter.
*Or be like J Lo and hire someone to do it for you. (You know, after observing this phenomena for a couple decades now, with a couple inside glimpses here and there, I’d suggest that anyone that wants to be that famous should just film themselves taking a crap from multiple cameras at all angles. And then sit in a room with flatscreen televisions for walls and ceilings and floors for forty-two hours watching a loop of all the raw footage on every screen. While periodically eating 4 star gourmet cuisine. I truly believe the experience would be the same. It’s a lovely world.)
Okay, so where does all this get us? The one thing we know for certain, is that nipples are fucking complicated. Sure, everything involved in fucking is complicated, but nipples are wicked complex little beans. They’re our first food givers and possibly the first object on which our eyes find focus. But they’re also a signpost for horny and a quick starter/over the top tweak for intercourse. They’re found at the strip club, and in our living room rocking chairs. They invest in the future, while taking care of the here and now.
So to find your perfect nipple, we need to narrow down the field. We need to figure out what type of nipple we’re looking for. Here’s a few profiles:
1.The PostModern Nipple.
Let’s face it, some of us can’t take the whole multi-purpose nature of nipples thing. Some of us would prefer not to focus on the teat function of a breast at all. We don’t want to make all members of the family reunion watch videos of our water births. We prefer to wrap our genitals in latex space suits and float in the theoretical open seas beyond the biological impulse. We would like to think that we’re not bound to the monkey and lizard way of things, but can strive for destinations like pleasure and charity and companionship, without having an ulterior subconscious motive to replicate ourselves for the sake of the continuity of an existing system.
Some of us think of our mothers and nipples and say, yeah, that rubber bottle top thing and state universities are fine for me.
These are your stainless steel cherry lip tipped nipples. It points even when resting, and holds an edge quite well. They sometimes serve as night runway lights and have been known to have a vibration setting. They’re a function of a reality built only with particles dyed in firm dense skin, and when firm dense skin flees us, we replace it with a fabrication of plastic or style. We want to fatten and decay in suits that still hold a form of pectorals, when our pectorals are no longer pectorals (If you ever had pectorals, it’s a foreign concept for me).
The post-modern nipple is for those of us that think the evolution of humanity will divorce us from this planet. That we will bar hop from orb to orb, and eventually abandon our bodies for little silver skinned boxes or floating clusters of numbers. That we can procreate and design our inheritors better by test tube, and just develop software for familial bonds.
In fact, there’s a rumor I just made up that part of the reason why we went to moon was to find a nipple made of an element not available to this earth. Before the Russians could get it, of course.
This is the nipple for those of us able to swim in the same soup we eat.
This nipple smells faintly of patchouli and burritos. It is mature, and nurturing, and dotes on infants and the emotionally stunted. It has seven kids that bake bread and harvest honey for homeschool. It does not deny the existence of milk, in fact offers it freely to others in need. And somehow never lets loose the drum beat acknowledgement that we are sexual beasts, and that our sexuality might even be accentuated by the ability to spill over into the slop of it all.
It can also be a touch over-bearing. If you don’t follow its dogma then you obviously hate humanity and your children will be dumb sociopaths. It kind of slightly revels in the ability to slap its nakedness in the faces of old men in restaurants. Or make employees, bosses, and co-workers pop forehead veins in the strain of not letting a glance fall.
The Gaia nipple is for those of us that understand the canyon nature of pores. That nothing exists of itself and that all definition spills out the sides down infinite folds. That you and I and chairs are manifestations of the same melody, and that the only thing that’s natural on this earth is merely everything that exists.
But especially body hair and patchouli and bean burritos.
As with all things, especially sexuality, every nipple is part of a spectrum. And to suggest categories is merely an exercise in taking note of the ephemeral rhymes found in all things. So the Other is probably the nipple that most everyone is looking for.
It is a mashup of sexual desires formed by odd cultural blips, or trauma induced delusions. It is a result of bad health class instructors, the end of the work day white lies your parent told to not have to delve into the matter, and the insane methodology for research by children flopping about in the absence of information.
The Other is a simple acknowledgement that no matter what governance we construct for our behavior, we cannot escape the fact that in the arenas where we are unchained, we are really fucking weird. (Normal monkeys throw poop. It’s as good a mantra as any, I’m telling you.)
The Other can be a nipple version of sit and spin. It can explode liquid streams (I’m looking straight at you Japan). It can be the altar at which adult humans adorn themselves in diapers and bonnets to worship.
It is the scratch for an itch whose subconscious cause we locked in a box, threw down a well, and then dropped a mountain on that goddamn well.
(I said mountain, not volcano, Japan.)
It forces us to hold seemingly oppositional values in mind, and consider that the truth doesn’t role to one side, but dots itself in every pigment throughout. That all things can simultaneously be part of many different distinct designs.
In the case of the nipple: a baby straw is the same thing as a button to get your funk on is the same thing as damn it’s cold.
But to be human is to draw lines. That whole – nation, race, township, burnt umber, Los Angeles Lakers, master bedroom en suite, business-class, goose down vest, B-List actor, baroque horn, class-c R.V., dark chocolate peanut butter cup – deal. To have a brain is to have a filter/organizer for the world. To have a filter/organizer for the world with a set of eyes, is to have a ‘best nipple you’ve ever seen’.
Making ‘best nipples’ is what we do. At this point it’s the only thing we’re better at than the lizards and the beans.
So, after careful consideration, obsessed World, I feel fairly confident in advising you that the best nipples you’ve ever seen are the ones you already own. And the ones on someone who can suffer your presence and still want you to touch them. It’s really that simple.
Crap, I just realized what that means. Yep. That cat is a fucking genius.
And that, dear traveler, is as too far as I’m willing to have already gone.