Other guys love the whole phenomenon, the very sight of augmented breasts, the very idea of them. Sleeping with a woman who has implants is a special accomplishment for these guys, though I've never heard any of them report much in the way of advantage or disadvantage, any real amplitude in the giving or receiving of pleasure. When I called one of them just now to ask for his thoughts on the matter, he was sanguine. "Implants are like women," he said. "Every one is different." I feel compelled to add that they actually pay this guy to teach at the university level.
For many men, the self-consciousness of breast implants is a remarkable, and I think legitimate, turn-on. To them it feels like an offering. "You can't deny the power of it," a buddy told me of sleeping with his girlfriend now that she's had augmentation. He deeply appreciates the change, though he never asked for it or even felt unhappy with the real thing. The implants, he says, solved something for her, not him. "She did this thing. She decided to make this change. It filled something up in her." I laughed at the pun, but he shook his head. "We don't even joke about it because it's that real. It made things better for her somehow. And you know, that's just better for both of us."
I asked if he could tell the difference—meaning could he feel the implants themselves? "Sure," he said. "It's not the same. Not at all. The great part is she's the same woman, but she's, well, she's just more." I got that straightaway. It wasn't size or volume at issue. It was a question of appetite, his and hers. In this, the very best case I could imagine, the implants brought together the lodestars of great sex, or maybe desire itself—wanting more and being more, all in the same moment.