I think I’ve always been a woman. Even when I’m a little girl I see and judge the world through womens’ eyes, womens’ needs, women's understanding.

There are pictures of me at six years old with that perceptive, knowing expression you usually only see on the faces of very wise old women. The expression that says I know the secrets…I’ve found out what it’s all about…you can’t fool me…I’ve seen it…I know…I know…

One of those secrets, at least for me, is to simply ignore conventional female modesty, mostly imposed by long-dead, misogynist men in wretched deserts.

I never understand the sort of timidity that drapes so many of us in dull, shapeless clothes to hide our bodies from the lusting eyes of hungry males.

My body looks great and I see no reason why I shouldn't exploit that. I’ve got these wide, heavy breasts that men love and nipples that stick out through just about any brassiere I wear — which turns the strongest men into  humble, lusting servants.

As I see it, there’s no point in having beautiful big breasts (and yes, it is sometimes tiring carrying them around all day causing, if you must know, backaches, neck-aches etc.) if you’re going to hide them from the very people who get exceedingly interested and generous when they see them and want to fondle and lick them.

And I’m not into the sort of modesty which demands that I lower my eyes, pretend meek and demure, when stared at by hungry males — the sort of modesty that requires most women to snatch occasional, apparently accidental, glances at some horny, staring male when what she really wants to do is stare boldly back.

I stare boldly back.

It saves a whole lot of time.


(Samantha Jones is the nom de plume of a semi-famous Canadian TV journalist, author of the erotic memoir "My Life In The Great Sexual Window".)

Since the “My Breasts” blog last week (see following blog) I’ve had lots of Direct Messages and emails from people (well, mostly men) who want to know more about breasts — in particular, what it’s like to have the damn things.

It seems we women don’t talk much about our breasts to men — although, god knows, they're an endless subject of discussion with other women, particularly when said breasts are bounteous like mine. I guess we figure giving chosen men privileged access to them is enough. They’re welcome to see, touch, fondle, lick, suck etc. so no need to do a lot of talking about them. Just lie back and enjoy.

From the reaction to “My Breasts”, a lot of men are strangely ignorant when it comes to “the two soft, protruding organs on the upper part of a woman’s body” and how they effect us.

So here are some of the questions I’ve received, along with my answers, as best I can:

Q — That was fascinating about your breasts. Never read anything like it. May I ask how big are your breasts?

A — Of course. 36DD most days. Time of the month effects their size, of course.

Q — When I notice a woman’s nipples protruding through her top, does she know that’s happening?

A — You betcha! There are some bras — filmy, fragile, lacy things, some with cutaways for the nipples, that are designed to show nipple. I’ve got a few.

Q — Being a devoted breast man, when I walk down the street I naturally look at every women’s breasts coming towards me. Do women mind that?

A — Depends. We don’t like leering or comments but we do like to be admired. Even so, I learned as soon as my breasts became spectacular when I was in my teens that the best way to handle men’s stares is to simply ignore the ogling. Most of the time now I’m so used to it that I don’t notice.

Q — When I’m in bed with my wife or girlfriend, I never quite know how to handle their breasts. Should I be very gentle because I know they’re sensitive or should I be rough (which turns on my girlfriend more than my wife)?

A — Again, it depends on the woman and the circumstance. Sometimes, for instance, I like sensitive, mostly at the beginning, other times a bit rough if it’s not too hard. In fact biting, particularly biting my nipples, is very exciting, partly because it’s taking a risk. What if he bites my nipple off! Ask your women. They’ll tell you. And use your instincts.

Q — Have you had breast enhancement or considered having them reduced?

A — Dear god, no. The way I see it, my breasts are a gift from whatever gods may be and a splendid prize for the lover of the moment. I adore them just as they are, spend lots of time slathering breast firming cream on them (just in case) which, not surprisingly, turns me on, makes me love them even more.

Q — Are lesbians as fascinated by breasts as most men?

A — In my experience, yes. And lesbians are usually much better at making love to breasts, presumably because they have their own and they know what they like so they know pretty much what I like.

Q — Will you send me a picture of your breasts, please, please, please? I promise I'll respect you in the morning!

A — Since you ask so nicely, here's a fairly recent pic. Sans face because there's a morals clause in my contract. Enjoy!

Ever since I developed breasts when I was a late teenager I’ve been fascinated by them. It’s like they have their own personality, separate from the rest of me.

They don’t even move at the same time as the rest of me. I’ll turn abruptly left, for instance, and my breasts will follow, but only in their own time, a little later. Even then, they sway to the right of me before returning to centre where they’re supposed to be.

And when I bend down after a shower to dry between my toes like my mother taught me, they hang down like two swinging, dangling watermelons and are almost never in the same place at the same time as the rest of me.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my breasts. In fact, I adore them. But sometimes they seem to belong to someone else — a woman who’s slim and boyish like I was as a girl and somehow had these enormous mammary glands transplanted onto her when she wasn’t looking.

Then there’s the way other people look at me. They stare at my breasts before checking my face. Not just men — which I guess is understandable because you know what men are like about breasts — but women too.

Women make immediate and often final judgements when they meet me. With heavy breasts like these puppies thrusting, bobbing, swaying out in front of me, I’m a serious threat to them. Am I after stealing their husbands, boyfriends, sons? Can there really be a god if I have this all-too-obvious mammiferous advantage over them?

My breasts define me more than anything else about me. In the eyes of the world I’m the middle-aged, slightly touched-up blonde with the big boobs. Only afterwards am I Samantha Jones, semi-famous Canadian TV journalist and pseudonymous writer.

So, do I try to hide my breasts? On-camera I have to of course, because I’m a serious journalist and nothing must distract from the news. So, off-camera do I wear modest, shapeless tops that hang loose and hide more than they reveal. Am I crazy? Not when I have this huge advantage over most of my sisters.

Instead, I wear clothes to show my breasts off. Low cut, filmy tops flashing cleavage over fragile, lacy bras that do little to hide my nipples, particularly when it’s hot or cold or I’m excited or it’s Tuesday or I just need some attention.

Sure, carrying them around all day can sometimes be a drag. I probably get more back-aches and neck-aches than most women. And you should see the red, bra-strap marks on my shoulders after a long day!

But I promise you, every single ounce of gorgeous boobage is worth it when I think of all the pleasure my breasts give to me and other people. Come to think of it, over the years rather a lot of other people.


(Samantha Jones is a Canadian journalist publishing her erotic memoir at www.lulu.com)