So I have big breasts. It’s not unusual for people to stare and beg to rub things on them, only to leave disappointed when I refuse. As a teen, the heat missiles strapped to my chest were good for drawing the attention of seedy men. I remember how pimps used to hit on me, ensuring I would never opt for a life on the street. Nothing made the walk home from school more uncomfortable than hearing shouts of, “Damn gurl, bring those juicy D’s over to Daddy!” This of course, was cause for offense. If I were ever going to sell myself, why have a middle man? Surely I’d be better off NOT having someone beat me and take half of my money? That’s just Bad Business 101. No way those fools were gonna play me.
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If there is one song that does it for me, it’s “Come Go With Me” by Teddy Pendergrass. This is one of my FAVORITE songs ever. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it and now every time it comes on I feel things, good things.
A few nights ago I decided to look up the lyrics. After reading the words, the song has taken on a slightly different meaning. I think maybe, just maybe, Teddy was a little desperate and under the cover of night wanted to grab himself a moped.
Lets take a closer look:
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I found out not to long ago that on a scale of 1 to “I want to have sex with you”, I was rated about a 6. Which, if I may translate, means I’m only 4 beers and a shrug of “why not?” from being the best (or worse) night of your life.
Chris, thank you for your honesty.
I suppose this should bother me, but it doesn’t. Everything needs a rating: food, movies, cars, TV shows… why not sex appeal? If more people knew where they stood, it would prevent a ton of disappointment. A man who is clearly a 3 would not, under any circumstances, go after a woman rated higher than a 5.
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