October is here again.
And the campaign for everyone to care for their boobs is floating every street.
Well, we both don’t need October to enlighten us on the need to show each other love since we already do so effortlessly.
But then again, nothing spoil in joining the camp, paint the message on every walkway.
I know that the ties that bind us together is like that which bound my butt to Kitopa’s boxer pants during my Junior High School days. To know that you unveil the volume of my torso, awaken my senses to a bowl of refined closure with an irresistible pleasure is soul-stirring.
See, the mere thought of weighing you on the scales of my palm, rubbing and pulling your teats with my digits makes me want to stand guard over you every day.
Had you been lemons, we would parade the terrace of our day job freeing each other of every hurt hoarded up our trunk. It’s not like you are melons too. But does it even matter what you are like? I will always love and cherish you. Beautifully Bold and Fragile. So, whenever that hour calls for your freedom after a long day’s work, I never hesitate to let you breathe in the humid air at night. After all, it is therapeutic to my broad chest.
I still recall our occasional 3am hand-to-boob conversations we have butt-naked on our sheets under the moonlight. Your language of connection is not far from that employed by the mimosa plant.
Listening to your areola smile, frown, and shiver humbles my eyes every time.
If you have been wondering all this time why I can’t seem to stop rubbing my hand on you in a cyclical manner with the other arm raised…well, there you have it.
It’s my own way of showing you how much I love and cherish you.
Watching you take advantage of my weight and size worries me sometimes.
But hey, don’t go cringing on me now sweetballs.
Let’s just enjoy the minutes we have left before you’re made to shape your look for the day my Boobie Balls.
In all things dear reader,
…Know thy Balls and the best care to give them.