Now I Understand Those Women's Breasts #OFWTraveller

Now I Understand Those Women's Breasts

It was in a cold and clinical hospital examining room that I began to understand that a woman’s breasts are more than objects for my pleasure. And, I am a better man for it.

I’ve always considered myself a “breast man,” bras, bikinis, etc.; all windows for my insatiable voyeuristic appetite. And I am totally enamored of my wife’s beautiful body – in addition to all her other wonderful qualities, of course.

Imagine, then, the fear I felt one Sunday morning when, in an unconvincingly light tone, my wife told me she’d felt a lump in her breast. The word cancer was far from my mind as we sat in the gynecologist’s office awaiting her mammogram. Even during the brief strobe-like flashes when my brain registered the worst possibilities, my thoughts were more of treatment than a disease: Lumpectomy, radiation, and chemotherapy.

Over the weekend, while awaiting the results, my wife and I did not mention cancer. I felt I was doing her a favor by not talking about something over which we had no control.

The results of the mammogram were negative – but I quickly learned this was no guarantee that the problem would quietly go away. My wife had felt a lump. Her doctor had felt it. Her advice was to return in three months for a follow-up exam. It took only three weeks for my wife to become convinced that something was wrong. Our next appointment was with a specialist, and only when I heard the word biopsy did I admit to myself that these people were seriously talking about the breast cancer.

In the hospital waiting room, my wife asked if I would come in with her to see the doctor. “You mean while he examines you?” I asked, startled. She stared at me. I’d always considered the examining room a place of utmost privacy. I hadn’t imagined she’d want me in there, but that look told me I’d clearly erred in my judgment.

The male doctor was disarmingly handsome and rather young. He struck me as being more like an advertising executive than a highly regarded oncologist. He barely noticed me as he and my wife discussed her medical history in great detail. They spoke easily of ovulation and breast density and other mysterious topics that usually remain locked away from a man. In some odd way, I felt like I was watching my wife getting picked up at a bar by an attractive intelligent stranger.

My wife lay back on the examining table, and the doctor deftly untied the strings of her gown. He pulled the flimsy cotton back, exposing her fully I averted my eyes, as if trying not to view a car wreck. I’d adored my wife’s breasts. But I couldn’t make her problem go away. My touch was nothing more than sexual or affectionate. This stranger’s hands could heal. Maybe it was jealousy.

The doctor examined each breast with firm resolve. At that moment, I was struck with shame and humiliation: I didn’t even know which breast had the lump. How could I have not even thought to ask? After a cursory exploration, the doctor focused on her left breast and began a painstaking exam every inch, as if he were making a map. At one point, he turned his head toward the ceiling as his fingers manipulated her nipple. I could see that his eyes were tightly shut. He looked like he might have been praying.

Ever since that first, heart-stopping adolescent moment when my wife allowed me to feel beneath her shirt, I have been both soothed and excited at the bosom of countless women. Yet it was only in a cold and clinical hospital examining room that I began to understand how a woman might view her breasts. Harbinger of adolescence, billboard of sexuality, provider of her baby’s milk. Two organs from which I have taken nothing but pleasure can symbolize an entire cycle of life for a woman.

In that small, cold examining room I received an education on something called a fibroadenoma. The doctor felt confident that my wife’s lump was a coiled tissue, a cyst that can be cured upon.

Six months later, I accompanied my wife to the hospital and the doctor examined her breasts again. I felt no jealousy while he performed the breast examination, which produced the same comforting diagnosis. We are safe for now.

It might do every man good to accompany his partner on a visit to her gynecologist. The experience did nothing to desexualize my feelings for my wife. I am still profoundly attracted to her breasts, but I am also keenly aware of the vulnerable, precious person behind the sexy façade.

Best Story That Will Make You Cry #OFWTraveller

Best Story That Will Make You Cry


I remember those years when I toiled from a far away place just to work, and in some other moments, sadness engulfed me. I read this from Junix Monter site and it says: "Try to forward this story to as many as possible...this may change somebody's fate. Feel free to Tag , Like , and Share this post. Don't forget to like my page for more inspirational Posts. www.Junrix.com.

One young man went to apply for a managerial position in a big company. He passed the initial interview, and now would meet the director for the final interview. The director discovered from his CV that the youth's academic achievements were excellent.

He asked, "Did you obtain any scholarships in school?" the youth answered "no". " Was it your father who paid for your school fees?" "My father passed away when I was one year old, it was my mother who paid for my school fees.” he replied.

" Where did your mother work?" "My mother worked as clothes cleaner.” The director requested the youth to show his hands. The youth showed a pair of hands that were smooth and perfect. "

Have you ever helped your mother wash the clothes before?" "Never, my mother always wanted me to study and read more books. Besides, my mother can wash clothes faster than me. The director said, "I have a request. When you go home today, go and clean your mother's hands, and then see me tomorrow morning.

The youth felt that his chance of landing the job was high. When he went back home, he asked his mother to let him clean her hands. His mother felt strange, happy but with mixed feelings, she showed her hands to her son. The youth cleaned his mother's hands slowly. His tear fell as he did that. It was the first time he noticed that his mother's hands were so wrinkled, and there were so many bruises in her hands. Some bruises were so painful that his mother winced when he touched it. This was the first time the youth realized that it was this pair of hands that washed the clothes everyday to enable him to pay the school fees. The bruises in the mother's hands were the price that the mother had to pay for his education, his school activities and his future.

After cleaning his mother hands, the youth quietly washed all the remaining clothes for his mother. That night, mother and son talked for a very long time. Next morning, the youth went to the director's office. The Director noticed the tears in the youth's eyes, when he asked: "Can you tell me what have you done and learned yesterday in your house?" The youth answered," I cleaned my mother's hand, and also finished cleaning all the remaining clothes' “I know now what appreciation is. Without my mother, I would not be who I am today. By helping my mother, only now do I realize how difficult and tough it is to get something done on your own. And I have come to appreciate the importance and value of helping one’s family. The director said, "This is what I am looking for in a manager. I want to recruit a person who can appreciate the help of others, a person who knows the sufferings of others to get things done, and a person who would not put money as his only goal in life.” “You are hired.”

This young person worked very hard, and received the respect of his subordinates. Every employee worked diligently and worked as a team. The company's performance improved tremendously. A child, who has been protected and habitually given whatever he wanted, would develop an "entitlement mentality" and would always put himself first. He would be ignorant of his parent's efforts. When he starts work, he assumes that every person must listen to him, and when he becomes a manager, he would never know the sufferings of his employees and would always blame others. For this kind of people, who may be good academically, they may be successful for a while, but eventually they would not feel a sense of achievement. They will grumble and be full of hatred and fight for more. If we are this kind of protective parents, are we really showing love or are we destroying our children instead?

You can let your child live in a big house, eat a good meal, learn piano, watch on a big screen TV. But when you are cutting grass, please let them experience it. After a meal, let them wash their plates and bowls together with their brothers and sisters. It is not because you do not have money to hire a maid, but it is because you want to love them in a right way. You want them to understand, no matter how rich their parents are, one day their hair will grow gray, same as the mother of that young person. The most important thing is your child learns how to appreciate the effort and experience the difficulty and learns the ability to work with others to get things done.