Fake Breasts - A Review

Nip/Tuck your nads between you're legs, because this one could get a little bouncy (that's right, I take the risk of you experiencing a high velocity genital impact into account while writing this blog).

Generation Y is the first to come of age having been exposed to sex driven marketing from the day we were purged from our mothers, gagging on our own amniotic fluids. In the last month, the fruit born from family dinners revolving around cosmetic surgery television has ripened and come into my life. I write today as one of the few in my social circle, nay my age group, who has been privy to experience artificially augmented breasts in a non-adult entertainment capacity.

So - is there a big difference? Absolutely.


In short, fake tits are noticeably firmer and less malleable. They sit upright in perfect form at all times, thus to shackle them in a brazier is more of a modesty concern than a measure of practicality.

Does this detract from their appeal? In my opinion I found them to be money well spent, at least in terms of raw physical attraction. They are flesh, a warm, living part of a woman, and I rather fancy women as a whole. As a male, however, I have a bias opinion, as I have not come across a breast via personal encounter that I didn't enjoy in one way or another. The real question is how did they stimulate my brain?

Since being force fed playboys and internet pornography since oh, age 10, I have come to associate certain traits as being sexually ideal in a woman. I have been attracted to, had sex with, and had serious relationships with plenty of women who did not meet these ideals, and in no way did I find those experiences less rewarding because they lacked DD's or waxed bikini lines. But to be with a woman who is the image of my adolescent fantasy, straight out of Maxim, is an odd feeling indeed. I've grown up associating women like these with my computer screen and fucking my own fist. Never have I considered them as breathing individuals I could reach out and touch, and what's more, would touch me back. After years of coveting these objects of my libido, I was able to enjoy one, and in the process I shattered an illusion.

I think it goes without saying these women have been put on the societal alter and worshipped as false goddesses. Did possession of these fabled tits have me shaking in my boots with my own insecurities? Absolutely. However, in hindsight I've found this reaction was completely unwarranted, and doubt I will have it again.

Women who have these extensively market-tested traits are no more sexually dynamic than natural women, and possibly even less so. One of the sexiest thing a man can find in a woman is that look of self accomplishment - that "I've convinced you that you're dying to fuck me" smirk. This process of convincing could have lasted weeks or even months (dare I say years?), and the release after all that anticipation is as genuine as a child's on Christmas morning. 10's who have surgically acquired their features already know you're dying to fuck them. They slapped those tits on so they could have control of at least one variable in a world of uncertainty. They suffer from a need of sexual assurance, an inability to cope with their own shortcomings and wrote themselves a silicone prescription. That type of deep seeded insecurity doesn't exactly result in a boon of mental arousal.

I personally find it more attractive when a girl is high on that feeling of self worth, taking it like a shot of cocaine straight up the nose and bucking beneath you until she peaks. After that arduous, hormone laden journey when she's finally reached her apex, you can watch her eyes glaze over in a deep, however fleeting sense of peace and self worth. Does it make sense that I find it less appealing when woman has to mainline polymer validation like a jittering addict? Sexual fulfillment, like any good drug, is best enjoyed recreationally, not medicinally. Needing to know you are walking masturbatory inspiration in your quest for emotional equilibrium is not a turn on. Artificial sexuality, in my limited experience, seems to come off as glaringly artificial, no matter how damn good her surgeon was.

(for the record, that man deserves artistic recognition, for surely he is a renaissance master of breast sculpture)