Sugarplums

There we were, some four or five of us dudes, sitting around the campsite at Reggae on the River the other day, and the subject of breasts came up, among other things. 

I know, weird. 

We didn’t start out here but when you are with the guys, all roads will inevitably climb these hills. We were of different ages, from late teens to me, a lofty-but eminently respectable-64. Cough. Topics of conversation were plentiful.

Besides, I was on the wrong end
of the stage for viewing the audience.

We started off with J. Boog and his presence in our campsite for lunch, Saturday, the one I chose to pass on. It’s not complicated; I’m not an adventurous food person, which is why I ate out of an ice chest the whole four days I was camping. Additionally, I do not like dining amongst a crowd and there were suddenly fifteen to eighteen folks in camp. 

Finally, I don’t relish mingling with a bunch of undoubtedly nice people when I don’t know anyone, so when I gazed out over the sea of unfamiliar faces suddenly floating within my vision, I seized a lifeboat, and white-watered it back to the bowl.

So how did the transition to breasts occur? I initiated it myself, innocently enough. Seriously, all I did was ask the one lad, Kona, if he had taken advantage of his wristband to check out the music from up on the side-stages, one of the perks of being a volunteer at ROTR.

His eyes lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree, and he replied in the affirmative, adding that the view was quite excellent way up high there. He gave me a knowing look, while simultaneously nudging one of his cousins in the ribs. 

“Right, David?” he inquired and everyone but me joined in the laughter. Though I perennially dwell in the darkness, when it comes to knowing what’s up, I suddenly saw the light. As noted above, young men’s fancies will always turn to sugarplums, as good an image as any, I suppose, for the purposes of this conversation.

Drummer for Nkulee Dube (This artist from
South Africa blended reggae with soul and jazz)

I played dumb, devilishly easy to do, if I may say so, modestly, because I get a lot of practice. I continued, “You can see everything so well from up on stage; I especially like seeing the drummer because you can check him out from the side.”

That threw poor Kona for a loop. “Drummer? Who’s talkin’ about the drummer?” he asked incredulously. “We’re talkin’ about titties, here, man.” He laughed as though I were puling his leg. “Don’t you like to look at titties?”

“Actually, I don’t,” I responded, and had fun watching his face react.

Everyone had a good chuckle at the graybeard,who checks out the drummer, but not the titties on the women in the crowd. 

“You’re joking, right?” Poor Kona looked dazed and confused.

“Three reasons,” I began. “First, I don’t want them; second, I can’t have them and third, I already have access to a pair, and have had so for 35 years, thank you very much. And I have to tell you, you can find different breasts to handle your needs, but you cannot find 'better' ones."

I droned on, "You know what I’m sayin’/talkin’ about? By definition breastage is breastage. When you get to be as old as I am, you realize that the total package has many fine knobs and dials, available for incorporating into the entire experience. The reality is though, that titties are all the same-only different," I concluded.

For those who take the “viva la difference” to the outer limits, I say, no problem when you are young, but as you age, you find that breastage will only take you so far, and then you are going to want to move on to the entire package. I held off on the whole concept of respect, as a premise, for the simple reason that I had never seen these guys before, and would dispense with the dad/teacher act.

In my case the entire package has so far exceeded my expectations beyond my wildest imagination. Consequently, why would I jeopardize what I have, for that which I don’t want, for the simple reason that the bumps under someone’s else's shirt front, are shaped differently than the ones I already enjoy?

You know what I mean?

Besides, what would I say to a 20-something, once we had finished mountain climbing? Wanna go watch some “Game of Thrones” together?

You have to figure these impressionable young lads I was talking to, are going to meet all kinds of people in their lives, even old dudes who profess to not like to ogle a nice rack when they get a chance. On the other hand, for those guys who realize that continuing to hunt for that which they already have, is a pointless exercise in futility, life can be intoxicating.

Drummer for Mighty Mystic &
The Hard Roots Movement
{Hiphop  blended with reggae}

 

Drummer for Ojo de Buey
(Salsa blended with reggae-with salt!)