Rob-Rivera.com

Tits and Ass

Before you all burn me on the cross for sound off as a chauvinist pig, I’m doing this for SEO (search engine optimization purposes) since it’s come to my attention that yesterday’s hits were downright ridiculous and I think it’s because of my blatant use of the term “XXX.” Also, it seems that a lot of people look for “breasts” and “nipples” on Technorati so I’ll do this and tell you a rather interesting story on human behavior tomorrow morning if this plays out as I think it will.

Ass and titties, tits and ass. Junk in the trunk. Funbags, breasts, booty, butt, buttocks, being bootylicious and packin’ heat in the front. Society’s fixation on a person’s appearance can be a very discouraging thing but I’ll be damned if I don’t admit that it gets people to what they want faster more than half the time. This physical appearance thing shoehorned by God-knows-who is the same one that has brought forth ill-conceived notions such as black guys have the biggest dicks, Asians have the smallest, blondes are dumb but always have more fun and big breasts get the attention of every man alive just as much as a ripped six-pack stomach will catch every girl’s eye every time, all the time. I’m guilty with the tits and ass thing, and if you’ve known me long enough then you you that I have no red tape about it whatsoever. I like breasts. I like ass even more. But hell, I’m a guy and ad companies know that as much as the cable networks do so as a result I find myself curiously stopping at ESPN 2 to catch women’s beach volleyball. I don’t even like volleyball and I’m watching it. The girls aren’t even in bikinis but there’s something about seeing ripped sweaty women playing a sport that makes them run around and scream with excitement, and let’s not forget the ass-slapping and constant hugging whenever a team scores a point. It’s kind of like Jose Nuñez’s “Bilingüal” in the sense that once you get caught in it, it’s hard to get out of it until it’s all done. I believe I’ve talked about this before, how Panamanians like to go where the women are? That’s not really a Panamanian thing as much as it is a downright universal thing and no heterosexual male can deny how they’d rather be rubbing their faces in a big pair of breasts rather that doing whatever it is they’re doing at the moment, and that includes you reading this article here. Hell, I bet you’re not even paying that much attention since I’ve got such a drop-dead gorgeous woman naked and staring at you with her full, luscious knockers. It’s alright to admit it… you’re human. Humans are fallible, specially when it comes to sex.

It’s true what they say about how alcohol brings the honesty out in people, and it’s specially true how, because of that fact, your metabolism does you the favor of feeling like you’re embarrassing yourself while doing ridiculous/hilarious things by simply blocking the memories. It’s also true about how alcohol and sex are linked since most of my “encounters,” with notable exceptions, have come about courtesy of ridiculous amounts of alcohol in my system. Alcohol breaks inhibition barriers. Suddenly, the girl or boy you wouldn’t hook up with looks that much hotter after 10 shots of vodka. It makes things gel easier, and the next thing you know is happening you’re tusslin’ with that girl who benefited from the dark corner she was in when you first saw her at the club and right now it’s not looking very promising but you stick to your objective which would be to make the best sex out of it… you’ll deal with “the morning after” in due time. Hell, maybe that’s why alcohol is so popular as a valid choice when looking to have some fun… the sex. Things are just so much easier when there’s alcohol involved, and since we think about sex too damn much anyway then that’s why you hear the things you hear about friends and couple who hook up after a drinking binge. It’s perfectly normal if you ask me.

I don’t know why I like alcohol. It could be because I like sex, but I could also go with the more meta description I give myself which is that of liberation. I wish that for at least once things went out of control at a party or at a club. Maybe I’m just going to the wrong parties and clubs, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen some honest-to-God breasts being flashed at me in public and for no apparent reason. Exposed breasts and being naked in public overall is not something you see every day, specially since Panama is so small and its people so socially retarded that they wouldn’t be able to control themselves. A lot of men here are downright disgusting when it comes to their treatment of women… I’ve talked about it before, how I worry whenever one of the Canadians hops in a cab. A lot of men are pigs, and what’s worse is that most of the women here like the shit, and stick to their 1950’s “housewife” role that I downright despise. Seriously, what will it take to make someone like that live a little? That’s why I believe I’m so overwhelming to certain people: My Torment and I are polar opposites and the more I think into it, the more I’m convinced… it all comes down to me, horns sticking out of my head and a tail coming out of my ass crack while I poke this angel with my pitchfork into living a little and taking a chance at things she’s never tried before. People here rarely push their boundaries and I love to watch when they do… even more so when I act as a catalyst to it. And do you know how I often pull that off? Oh yes, ladies and gents… alcohol.

Last Friday was a night where I don’t remember the things I think I’d get the most kicks out of. To this day I’m getting fed little tidbits of what happened that night and it seems that the intertwining theme was that “I made everyone laugh,” which could be a double-edged sword since I make people laugh while I’m sober anyway, yet I’m not sure if in this instance it means that I made everyone laugh at me… I’m fine with it, though, since everybody makes an ass out of themselves at some point or another and if I hadn’t gotten so wasted I don’t think I would’ve had as much fun as I did. There were phone numbers dialed and text messaged too, flaming lips, tango dancing and serious vodka drinking. I was told that the amount of alcohol I drank that night would’ve killed a horse, and I’m forced to believe that… but what I wanted to get at was that one of the things I did that I quite frankly don’t remember is me hitting on girls. A lot of girls. Hell, most of my drunk dialing was to ladies I know on several degrees of intimacy, each one of them approached with a different tactic depending on how comfortable I am with them. And that’s the funny thing that happens when you’re hammered: your self-esteem goes either through the roof or through the floor, and in either stance you’ll be looking for affection… for sex. People become primal when they’re hammered; I suppose that’s a great deal of its appeal, that of wanting to fuck and being downright obvious about what they want. Hell, I remember that the last thing I thought about before falling asleep was big breasts in XXX action. In fact, the clip that played in my mind was a Jenna Jameson clip from the late 90’s, the one where she’s like a fire Marshall or something and the clip both you and I downloaded off the internet started with a crane shot that came from the ceiling and Jenna Jameson was bent over sucking on fireman cock, and then when the camera was just the right distance it’s like she had ESP and used it to lift her ass up so we could both beat it to the sight of her sweet pussy? Yeah, that’s the one. I played that one but couldn’t get my concentration going long enough before my body decided to call it a night. A shame too, because I love that clip, nd I love Jenna Jameson. Come to think about it, she has a MySpace account. Would I be too much of a fanboy/horndog if I added her as a friend?

Tits, breasts, boobs, knockers, jugs, funbags, tatas, cantelopes, melons… ass, butt, buttocks, cheeks, rump, tailfeather, junk in the trunk… there are so many different ways of saying these two body parts that make men feel tight in the pants. And I think that as long as there’s alcohol we’ll make asses out of ourselves to cup a feel of the action.

Because you’re dying to know, the model’s name is Luba Shumeyko. Go google her, you dirty scoundrels. To the women and children reading this piece, I could apologize but then I think that would be a little hypocritical of me. We’ll see how the numbers rank tomorrow!

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