Man, the world would just not be worth living in without the awesome glory of boobs, and I’ll tell you that for free, jack!
What is it about the allure of a lady’s bosomy curves? The comforting roundness that enchants the eye and begs to be slowly, tenderly caressed, a softness that promises nurture and voluptuous delights, topped with that sensitive node that stiffens in welcome when tenderly greeted… They are a visually obvious aspect of woman that has fascinated me since I was but a wee, lecherous lad, and they’re an obsession that shows no sign of waning, and the kind folks at Taschen books have kindly catered to the mammalian-minded among us with the simply incredible THE BIG BOOK OF BREASTS, an enormous coffee table volume that celebrates exotic dancers and pinup models from those bygone halcyon days before the omnipresence of silicone.
Weighing just over seven pounds (seriously, I weighed the fucker on the barbecue joint’s digital scale), this nearly four-hundred page hardcover cornucopia of 100% girl flesh is nothing short of jaw dropping, with the models ranging from the zaftig to the downright freakish, but all of the sweater goblins on display are real, and as a staunch crusader against fake bobbies — unless they’re part of post-mastectomy cosmetic restoration — I applaud this flagrantly worshipful tome.
And not only are we treated to a legion of healthy-looking women of myriad ethnicities beautifying the place for pages on end, we also get candid interviews with some of the icons of the bump-and-grind/girlie mag era such as Tempest Storm (lover of Elvis and JFK), British bombshell and early PLAYBOY legend June “the Bosom” Wilkinson, Swedish Russ Meyer star and polyglot Uschi Digard, poster children for back problems Candy Samples and Kitten Natividad, and Native American/Irish Texas wildcat Candy Barr (possessed of a stunning face and form that looked like she was drawn by hot chick cartoonist/animator supreme, Preston Blair), each of whom have stories to tell that discuss their feelings about their bodies, their “unsavory” careers, and their roles as fantasy playthings for men that are utterly compelling.
Bottom line: if you’re a devotee of thermonuclear female pulchritude, you owe it to yourself to pick up this indispensable treasure chest (pun intended) and leave it out unashamedly in a place that will cause your friends and family to think you’re some kind of scurvy pervert while you know you’re only being appreciative of nature at its best. A steal at $49.95, this book is HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. Trust yer Bunche!