For thousands of years, mammalian males have been accused of their obsession with the nipples.
Thousands of years ago men spent time carving such shapes into the cave walls, and thousands of years later a man hunting for writing inspiration etches a similar, albeit more wordy, thingy on the same. Oh how evolution changes us not. There are those blessed with a third nipple, a supernumerary nipple about which some drunk deity laughs his ass off whenever he thinks of how men must suffer. A rookie deity who experimented too much when the master was not looking. His evil laugh, emanating from the bowels as he sits on a bar stool in Olympus looking for happy thoughts. He thinks of that supernumerary nipple, that third nipple whose presence can change a steamy quickie into a scientific discussion about the merits and demerits, and likely causes of.
Yours truly has never encountered the supernumerary nipple on a member of the opposite sex…at least not yet. Being a heterosexual male then, and having only seen said nipple on a fellow male, compounds everything. It was a long time ago, in high school, when a fellow student walking around sans shirt or shame happened to have one nipple too many. One was curious; it is not always that people openly confess to being in possession of excess blessings. Often, as is the norm, one is advised early in life to, quote unquote, hide that shit!
The awkward discussion after was informed by a sense of innocence about the sexuality constitution and the implied Bro Code. One never touched it, but one did wonder whether it did work like a run-of-the-mill nipple. One did ask whether he could feel it though, but the owner was selfish, or figured that an awkward silence would follow one’s ‘scientific experiment.’ But then one wonders, how many people does one encounter everyday who are hiding a third Pointy of God underneath their blouses, bras, funny clothes with no name yet, and personalities? How many of one’s friends secretly spot a third nipple that they can never talk about? Because others might be jealous…
Still though, to be human is to be curious. The observer must wonder, does it work? Is it responsive to changes in say, temperature? Or touch? If another touches it, does it, uuuuuurrrrmmm, follow the touching surface? If one owns one, can it be included in an encounter of whips and nipple rings? Is it safe to eat? The answers to such questions are complex and oft, baffling.
Why would a Google search of supernumerary nipples yield so much vitriol about the oddity? An innocent gift from a generous, nipple-rich deity? With medical journals referring to it as a ‘congenital malformation.’ Such negativity. A good scientist did take the time to tell us that not all third nipples are third nipples. They form along something called the embryonic milk line that oddly sounds like a milk plant run by embryos-get them early and helpless huh, capitalism? Some third nipples are the real deal, nipple with glandular breast tissue, areola and the everything! Imagine that, two is already a handful, or mouthful, depending on the tool of choice, but three? Three can make one a believer in a higher power who gifts to those who use what they have been given well.
But on the structural integrity of nature’s gorgeous architecture, perhaps the deities should have decided on a single structure for all nipples. Something like how it is the norm to have the eyes above the nose. So whenever you look at someone, you know what to expect. To feel around another’s nipples without first seeing them is to play Russian Roulette with one’s sanity. Believe it. Try it. It is akin to opening a gift on one’s birthday, that moment of uncertainty where one thinks of the many possibilities of what could fit in such a small, or big bra…box, in context.
Could it be a sunken valley? A plateau maybe? A small hill on a mountain complete with a hillcrest? A mountain? A mushroom? How does it stand relative to gravity? What oddity has nature blessed this person with? If we open this box, will we find two nipples, first, and if yes, of what structure? Oh wait, three? Forget about the structure; forget about the wine, we now have a conversation starter.
It is no longer politically correct to ask why men have nipples because they are not really nipples, and yes, you may play with them honey. They are ticklish; perhaps a sign of that chromosomal X, but one does not know why one still has them. No, they are not proof that evolution as a process has gone to the dogs, and no, you may not ask me whether all men are actually women with pointy genitals.
But please let one play with yours, because what the good deities saw it fit to make vestigial in one, they made very alluring in you. The very essence upon which life is sucked, literally, the pinnacle that makes a mere mound of fat become the ruin of many a man, and woman. That one place where direction can be obtained, the pointed end of a plump and perky hill on a mountain. If you have another, allow one. At least, for all religions do teach altruism, and within that volcano lies the lavas of the very essence of life. Delectable.
Based on mentioned medical description, when third nipples are cool again, as one imagines they once were, please remember that a patch of hair is not an extra nipple. It might look like one and probably excite your bedroom shenanigans but it is not something you should be proud of. Shave it.
If you have an actual third nipple though, come sit with one. Let’s engage in banter about it even, about whether it can be described as one of ‘little hard dagger-points’ or throbbing, does it throb and become taut? Forgive one when one introduces you to others as ‘this is one’s friend Sue and Sue (So and So is colorless) and she has a third nipple.’ Because unless it is a sign of some other disease for which the symptoms are halitosis and very stinky flatulence, friends a third nipple shall get thee.