The breast pump

Here is something to balance out all the cutesy baby posts.

The breast pump, to which the foreplay are leaking great dark nipples, bursting from a web of dark blue veins of the nurturing breast.

For those of you who secretly never got over the sheer terror of ejaculation, partly due to those porn movies where three Romanian guys come on a ladies eyeball as she finds the will deep within to hunt the little white clots with her toungh simultaneously - but i guess that is a story for the other night.

So those of you who secretly or unashamedly do not count the fountain of a penis to the top ten treats of human existence, I assure you you will never get over the breast pump, second only to castration in the battle to reduce an excessive libido.

Pop a few batteries into that bad-boy and spank up your cleavage with it as you walk down dingy deep corridors at night and you will not get raped even if you would really like to.

It brings something to light due to its clear plastic body that was never meant to be witnessed by the naked human eye - the naked female nipple as it amorphs rhythmically into a sponge expanding, changing shape, changing colour looking utterly bewildering.

This was meant to be hidden behind toothless little cheeks in the rosy depth of babies throats.
It was not meant to be displayed while watching TV.
It was not meant to be used in the bedroom (unless intended as a contraceptive)
It was not meant to lye on next to the kitchen sink, stained with and smelling like mothers milk.

But it always happens. The woman next door with the key comes in while you use it behind closed blinds.
Your girlfriends say, sure go right ahead, not getting the hint, which you see they bitterly regret a few moments later as it starts tugging on your breast. Or they stare at it morbidly transfixed. Either way you know well, some of the population decline is now reducible to this simple act of yours.

Your husband falls asleep to its monotone rhythm.

And before you know it, you will be sitting on the couch, half naked, digging the grave of the eroticism of your once admired breasts a little deeper with the cunning use of the pump, yet you will absentmindedly ask your husband for a morning kiss.

Ground zero comes when you decide to write a blog entry about it.

And as for posting that - I can t even find the words...