While my Dolly Parton-esque double D’s provide my sexy-time friends with far, far more than a handful, my breasts prevent me from normal activities. Like crossing my heart to say the Pledge of Allegiance. Like squeezing between tables at restaurants without whacking someone in the face. Like wearing button-up shirts and running at the same time. Still, are my bodacious ta-ta’s any more intrusive than, say, the pair men have — that is: balls? I mean, how do they run with those things dangling between their legs? There’s just no denying it. Ladies and gents have bulky body baggage. Thankfully, some gender-bending reporters over at Time Out New York decided to put their work-out routine to the boobs versus balls test. Their results? Frank and beans are easier to exercise with than a couple of milk jugs. But here at the Frisky, let’s talk about when appendages really matter: the sex act. Which cushion do you think is worse for the pushin’? [Boinkology] Keep reading »
