My breasts will be any size you want in the next life, but, for now, you have to get used to different kinds of breasts, including smaller breasts. Once you get used to me, and my soul, you’ll be just as turned on—no matter what my bra size is. In the back of my mind, I understood that to be the case, but it didn’t change the fact that if I didn’t know you, or your soul, and I wasn’t projecting anything, then, in the ordinary case, I preferred larger—not fatty, but larger—breasts. That may be a real downer for some women, and, maybe, considering that I don’t have a giant penis, it may seem a little shallow, or hypocritical, but I can’t help it. Does it get me down that women might prefer, if they had a choice, a larger penis than mine? Maybe a little, but, honestly, I feel the same way that Ursula does. Once a woman gets to know me, and falls in love with me, then my penis will be as arousing as any other. Now, granted, I feel sorry for men that have abnormally small penises, as that could be a stumbling block, but if you imagine Greek and Roman statues, and how nice those penises look, then, I think, you, and your lover, can make that comparison, instead. Just as, without trying to sound like a pedophile, a woman with small breasts might resemble a young girl, which can be arousing enough, if you imagine you live in a time period in which a woman is viable as soon as she starts having her period—when people married young.
So sue me—if it was legal, well, I might find such women, and their small breasts, and their innocence, etc., very attractive. I don’t think that makes me a pedophile, however, because I wouldn’t do something that is illegal, and illegal for good reasons—young women, in today’s world, can’t get on in life if they are saddled with a man at a very young age—a man that would sleep with them before marrying them, a man that they, in this time period, would not be able to truly love—since, in this time period, you don’t know what you really want until you’re much older than you might otherwise have been, in the past. Things, nowadays, change at a much faster rate: we have careers to worry about; we have to look after ourselves. We can’t depend on a man, or a woman, to look after us forever, since, in this day and age, marriage doesn’t necessarily mean what it used to mean—a merger of families, and the assurances that you would always be provided for, and supported, by your partner. A world in which you didn’t have a whole lot of options, and, after choosing a partner, divorce was, for the most part, out of the question. You both understood that you were committed to each other no matter what, and, because of that, you treated each other as such—as if, indeed, you were going to have to spend the rest of your life with this person, with no practical way out.
So yes, I might’ve initially preferred larger breasts, in most cases, but no, it wasn’t a dealbreaker, because most women had breasts of a comparable size, you didn’t necessarily expect large breasts, and, if you wind up with small breasts, then the women looked young, and innocent, which, if people are being honest, without thinking about what is and is not allowed, is attractive. Furthermore, smaller breasts might make you look a little more bisexual, or like a young boy, which, in both cases, depending on your sexuality, and what your into, could be very attractive, and designed, by nature, with you, specifically, in mind. I have to ask, too—how much of a man’s attraction to larger breasts has to do with homophobia? That is to say, am I drawn to larger breasts because I’m a little gay, because sexuality is a spectrum, and I don’t want to be reminded of this—of any similarity, whatsoever, to a man’s body? Breasts define women—men do not have them—and, therefore, the bigger they are, the more we associate the women that have them with pure womanhood—as if breast size could erase every masculine aspect of a person’s body, and their character, that, deep down, we could be running from—or trying to block out, and ignore. So, I ask, if men that like big breasts to an extreme should really confront their sexuality, would they find that, deep down, they are a little gay, and that, although they might still like big breasts, they actually, in fact, like men, just a little, too? And that, if we truly accepted ourselves, we might find that we are equally attracted to smaller breasts, too, women that had bodies that, in fact, did not look as far from masculine as they possibly could? And, furthermore, wouldn’t this be the case with women, and penis size, too? So it seemed to me that if a smaller breast size, or a smaller penis size, not necessarily extremely small, but smaller, was a dealbreaker, then, deep down, you were probably overcompensating for some kind of latent bisexuality—something that, if you truly accepted, would lead to a happier, and freer, sex life.
The only problem with this is that, take it from me, it is more difficult to accept your sexuality, in many cases, than you might otherwise think. It’s one thing to intellectually say, yes, I’m attracted to men, I know there’s nothing wrong with that, and, if I had the opportunity, I would engage these desires, and another to emotionally say, no, it doesn’t bother me that I will be judged, that I will lose people, that I could wind up more isolated, cut off from women, and alone. To shake off parents, and an upbringing, that, at least at some point in time, were not compatible with unadulterated homosexuality. I find that it is a lifelong struggle. That it is my built in reflex, possibly even a genetic reflex, to fear homosexuality, and to be wary of it, precisely because of how dangerous, both socially and physically, especially in the past, it could be. I am always having to remind myself that, yes, in fact, I do like men, and yes, in fact, there’s nothing wrong with it, I should fantasize about it all I want, and, if I’m true to myself, pursue every opportunity to express myself, to connect, to live, and be happy. Somehow, I suspect, because of who I am, and where I come from, and the fact that there might not be a lot of women out there that are compatible with that, and, as such, I could wind up alone—and, in my case, I probably will—I will always be this way—constantly having to remind myself that I’m bisexual, and constantly having to accept that about myself, over and over again, at least, that is, until I might wind up in a perfect bisexual relationship—one that involves sex with both men and women, such that I can see, for a fact, in real time, that yes, in reality, this is possible, and yes, this can work. It doesn’t have to stop me from having a safe, happy family, and, indeed, there are women, and men, out there, in reality, that are into this kind of thing.
Now, in this day and age, that experience, however possible, is highly unlikely, especially for me, which is why I say that the reality is that accepting your homosexuality can be extremely complicated, and an ongoing process, one that could last for the rest of your life, even if you do, at some point, find love—such love would be rare—real bisexual partners are rare, and because of that, your reflex is always going to involve second guessing yourself, and thinking that your life might’ve been so much easier if you weren’t born with a bisexual gene, that, for whatever reasons, turned on, and left you a little out of the loop. In a position that makes it difficult to partner with anybody, and raise a family, which, let’s face it, is something that we are genetically hardwired to do. If we don’t want that, for whatever reasons, it doesn’t change the fact that, in a perfect world, maybe not in every case, but, I would argue, in most cases, we would want that, and, as such, our happiness, and our world, become complicated.