Ed thinks I’m obsessed with breasts which he thinks is odd for a gay man. I disagree, the difference is I notice and talk about anything and everything. I think a lot of gay men don’t notice women’s breasts and if they do, they don’t say anything about it. I have no carnal fascination. One of the things I have found particularly intriguing is that women use breasts as storage devices. I have been amazed by things I’ve seen women pull out of their cleavage. Some of the cargo I’ve seen being removed have included: cell phones, cash, car keys, wallets, coin purses, sun glasses, letters, pictures, IDs, snacks and other items too numerous to list here. One of the things that used to be on my bucket list was motor boating. I joked around about it with some of my lady friends and they’d tease me and say I could do it with them but they didn’t mean it. About three years ago, I had a couple of opportunities to motor boat and this was my first experience. I knew I would be a great participant in this activity because I usually have a couple of Handi-Wipes in my pocket and am compulsive about cleaning up after myself. I would never leave any traces of spittle or lip prints behind. The first time I actually did the deed was with a large woman who was a security guide at a warehouse hardware store. If you have ever driven past one of these stores, you have probably noticed they have a number of out buildings for sale which line the front of the store. My security guard friend had me accompany her to one of the out buildings. Once inside, we left the door open a crack for light, she slipped off her shirt and I went to town. I enjoyed the experience and felt it would be one of my fun memories for the remainder of my life – but I thought too soon. As I was about to move away, I felt moisture on the top of my head. Now, this young lady was a little on the masculine side. I knew she chewed tobacco but, because I don’t like that habit, I put it out of my mind. Apparently, while I was doing my motor boat thing some tobacco juice dribbled into my hair. To say that I was horrified would be an understatement. I left my friend buttoning herself up in the shed while I sprinted to the front door of the store, sprinted to the men’s room in the back of the store and got as much of my head under the faucet as possible with the water pressure as high as I could make it. I went home with a head of sopping wet hair which I shampooed two more times before I went to bed.