Ta-Tas Of The Jungle!

The many misadventures of Bo Derek's boobs begin quietly enough in the 1981 film Tarzan the Ape Man, the third attempt at this flick. The movie not so much about its titular star, but about the woman who beguiles him, or more correctly the tits who trapped the wild man. We are fortunate here to have the journal of Bo's boobs and there's some fascinating material from the time when the tits were at their most famous during the making of the Tarzan flick. Here is more from the real stars of this movie. 

From Bo Derek's Boobs Diary --

We started filming of Tarzan the Ape Man today. After the splash we made in the movie 10, Bo lost no time in make sure we found a showcase to ensure our ongoing stardom. It is a wonderful time, when most of America is curious and eager to know when they will catch a look at us again.

Bo and her husband/director John Derek are both eager to get us some screen time, but they both know that a demand must be created, so early during early days in the production we are tucked away beneath traditional opaque clothing of the period. Tarzan is a story set in the early part of the 20th Century, a woeful time for tits generally, but hopefully with this movie we can make a statement about how modern mammary glands deserve to be on at minimum eye level with men.

As the movie unfolds, so do the the tops of Bo's blouses and before you know it our presence is being felt by men across the movie theatre. We are not seen in all our robust glory, but are tastefully obscured by a gauzy material which only increases its effect when doused with water. Like the movie 10 we spend an inordinate amount of time wet, the gloss which is added to our glory being a likely motive.

After it seems and interminable amount of time we are freed at last to enjoy the cool refreshing waters nd then with a quick suddenness the actor whose name we forget paws at us and despite it looking as if we liked it, we didn't. We do our part for the film industry and our task is to bring eyes into the theater. Later when it seems countless women are massaging and caressing and painting us white (as if we weren't lily white enough) the job comes to an end and we can once again return to the modern world where we must cloak our existence, yet still remain the objects of the gaze of any man. Life is good.

This is but the first in a series I have dubbed Adventures of Super-Star Body Parts. Next time we check in on the tongue of Gene Simmons.

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