Hot Boob Shots
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Hot Boob Shots
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27. Basic Instinct - Sharon Stone
She'd been appearing nude in many more films before (and indeed has since), but it was her quick leg uncrossing in Basic Instinct that put the lovely Ms. Stone on the list of Hollywood actresses that were very comfortable with nudity, and propelled that film onto a special list of iconic film moments that completely transcend their context. But with the prevalence of that particular scene, those who haven't seen it might not know that she does a lot more than just flash Michael Douglas and his cohorts under interrogation. 26. Witness Kelly McGillis
In Witness, Harrison Ford is a cop hiding out in Amish country after he is wounded trying to protect Rachel (McGillis) and her son from rogue cops that want to kill all of them. We spend a good portion of the film learning how the Amish culture and the rest of the world don't mix, with inevitably sexy results. And that makes the scene where Ford finds her taking a sponge bath that much more exciting. 25. Heavy Metal
If you like your breasts animated, you should check out this 1981 R-rated cartoon anthology, which took its stories from the pages of the (then) monthly adult art magazine, as - somewhat typically - there is plenty of animated flesh in the Harry Canyon, Den, So Beautiful and So Dangerous and Taarna sequences.
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Mr. Thomas is primarily a graphic artist for the San Antonio Express-News, but also finds time to write the DVD Extra blog for the paper’s website.
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27. Basic Instinct - Sharon Stone
She'd been appearing nude in many more films before (and indeed has since), but it was her quick leg uncrossing in Basic Instinct that put the lovely Ms. Stone on the list of Hollywood actresses that were very comfortable with nudity, and propelled that film onto a special list of iconic film moments that completely transcend their context. But with the prevalence of that particular scene, those who haven't seen it might not know that she does a lot more than just flash Michael Douglas and his cohorts under interrogation. 26. Witness Kelly McGillis
In Witness, Harrison Ford is a cop hiding out in Amish country after he is wounded trying to protect Rachel (McGillis) and her son from rogue cops that want to kill all of them. We spend a good portion of the film learning how the Amish culture and the rest of the world don't mix, with inevitably sexy results. And that makes the scene where Ford finds her taking a sponge bath that much more exciting. 25. Heavy Metal
If you like your breasts animated, you should check out this 1981 R-rated cartoon anthology, which took its stories from the pages of the (then) monthly adult art magazine, as - somewhat typically - there is plenty of animated flesh in the Harry Canyon, Den, So Beautiful and So Dangerous and Taarna sequences.
Company Pages
About Us
Contact Us
Careers
Advertise With Us
Sign Up
© What Culture Ltd. 2022 All Rights Reserved. —
Privacy Policy
More stories to check out before you go
Mr. Thomas is primarily a graphic artist for the San Antonio Express-News, but also finds time to write the DVD Extra blog for the paper’s website.
10 Upcoming Movie Castings That Pissed Off Actors
10 Times Movie Fans Pissed Off Actors
10 Iconic Characters Movies Keep Screwing Up
10 Actors Who Blamed Themselves For Films Failing
Captain America: New World Order - 10 Supervillains Who Could Appear
10 Unexpected Horror Movie Survivors
Harry Potter: 10 Scenes Actors Hated Filming
10 Actors Who Were Criminally Wasted In Famous Movies
10 Exact Moments Actors Died Inside
10 Times Star Wars Gave Fans What Wanted (and They Hated It)
10 Film Documentaries That Accidentally Uncovered Major Scoops
Delivering passionate and comprehensive entertainment coverage to millions of users world-wide each month. Seen on Sky News; featured in The Guardian, NY Times, The Independent and more. 40,000+ articles posted by thousands of contributors spanning the entire cultural spectrum.
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Connecting people through photography.
10 Singular Options With 2 Colors Each & 5 Fatpack Exclusives For A Total Of 25 Colors
Fitted for eBody Reborn, Juicy Boobs, SB Mounds, & SB+Kottr Overflow Mounds
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at 1950's and 1960's in Time Portal, Second Life
This pic is already up , but I guess no one noticed, even me, that my boob is exposed. I was really acting silly and goofing with the photog and no one realized my dress strap AND bra strap had slid off my shoulder, thus exposing my left tit. Kind of fuzzy pic, but this is the ONLY foto anyone here will see of Lefty, one of my favorite tits. the other one is called " this one ".
Check out more at my Patreon page...
Taken at Sunny Side Up sim using pretty
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Since 1957, GQ has inspired men to look sharper and live smarter with its unparalleled coverage of style, culture, and beyond. From award-winning writing and photography to binge-ready videos to electric live events, GQ meets millions of modern men where they live, creating the moments that create conversations.
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She rises from the depths like the Venus of the San Fernando Valley—slicked hair glistening, water dripping from her smiling lipps, dark eyes glittering with libidinal mischief. Then—in a scene that will forever grant an otherwise incomprehensible erotic aura to the Cars—the new-wave chestnut "Moving in Stereo" kicks in as Phoebe Cates begins her slo-mo poolside strut. And boy, do they move in stereo, those pert, secondary sexual characteristics of teenage Phoebe Cates, as—in one breathtaking gesture—she frees her frisky buds from their front-fastening red bikini top to quiver in the balletic perfection of Judge Reinhold's furtive spank dream. The boob shot would soon become stock-in-trade of the Porky's epoch, but it would never be used to such weighty narrative effect. Here, hooters star in a compressed version of the male adolescent's tragic arc: from the soaring heights of erotic fantasia to the bleak depths of sexual humiliation, as the sleek naiad of Reinhold's imaginings actually walks in on him log-flogging to her image. The cable arts channel Bravo included this scene in its Sexiest Moments in Film —in which the model-pundit Roshumba Williams helpfully explained, "In the male world, boobs are huge."
I'd heard it was scary, so I went. It scared me, all right. Scarred me. Before, I'd believed outer space an antiseptic realm soundtracked by strauss. I quickly learned otherwise. Learned that space was cloyingly organic, infected and infectious, rapacious—and that to experience space was to experience not the infinite void but rather the claustrophobic horror of being caged with a sexual predator.
Indeed, Alien teemed, burst, with inner private parts that had no business seeing the light of day. Firstly: that loathsome leathery pod that grew translucent as John Hurt neared, revealing a jellied organ aquiver within. Moments later, thick black lips peeled back to expose—no doubt about it—a glistening, pulsating vagina . Then, in response to Hurt's whispered exclamation ("...organic life! "), that wicked wobbling vagina-squid sprung forth and... raped his face! Clasped its insectoidal legs to his scalp, noosed his neck with its muscled tentacle, and pumped a fleshly funnel down the man's throat, through which it...planted its seed.
Such a filthy movie: exploding retractable jaws; acidic body fluids; a severed droid head whose mouth issued lewd taunts ("perfect organism! ") along with a strange milky effluent; a man who gave birth. That birth—is there a more violent, violating moment in filmdom? As Hurt bayed in pain, my dear, sweet, credulous brother, sitting beside me, began to whimper. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. When the spawn emerged from Hurt's chest, spraying gore and squealing triumphantly, he promptly pissed himself—then fled the theater.
They popped up near the end, after the last human standing—Sigourney Weaver's character, Ripley—had blown up the mother ship and escaped in the shuttle. Safe at last, she began to relax. Off came the clothes.
Now, Alien worked on the principle that what can't be seen is always more vivid than what can. (Glimpses of the creature were fleeting at best.) So it was that Ripley's breasts remained sheathed. Whereas the alien had its exoskeletal armor, Ripley had that skimpy white tank top, thin as cheesecloth, which only made her seem more human, more vulnerable. So palpably natural, those breasts, utterly unbuoyed and uninflated. They even seemed a bit forlorn—bewildered little patties blinking and withering in the harsh fluorescent light of the shuttle. The nipples, however, were another story; they'd gone as hard as ski-pole tips. It was both the earthliest and the sexiest image of a woman I had ever seen, and by way of contrast it created the film's most disorienting moment.
Presented with Ripley's tumescent womanhood, I began to let my guard down, to psychologically uncurl myself and to physically sit up straight in my seat, as it were. The movie was just setting me up, of course; the alien had stowed itself in the shuttle. As it came out of hiding, I got my first good look at its proboscis. Which was—gleamingly, drippingly, chitinously, blackly, hugely, undeniably—phallic. I took it as I was meant to take it, as a grotesque mockery of my own arousal. You don't get to have her— it does. Was I manufacturing sexual undertones? No. For as the beast nonchalantly began to stretch its limbs and slide its goo-slicked jaw in and out, in and out, what did Ripley say over and over? Lucky, lucky, lucky. That's right—the perfect organism was gonna get "lucky" with Ripley.
I was 12 years old then. I'd already learned to pair id with dread; I knew well the horror of others banging on the bathroom door as I...took my time. Yet I had never had—and never again would have—the third-rail force of my own sexual desire so vividly and soul-scarringly converted into fear.
Now, twenty-six years later, I only wish I'd pissed and run like my brother. I'd be just a little less fucked-up if I had.— Andrew Corsello
To me, the oddest instutition in Hollywood is the body double. I can understand if an actress, for various reasons, doesn't want to do nudity. But then why let someone else do it for her? If everyone thinks those are your tits, then in some sense they are your tits. I guess a body double simply saves an actress the embarrassment of being ogled by the key grip and the best boy all day. But what the big deal is about showing tits I don't know, unless they aren't such great tits. Which is, of course, a perfectly valid reason for modesty.
There is one brilliant reason not to show them, and that is to increase the value of showing them eventually. Halle Berry was rumored to have demanded a six-figure deal for baring nipple in Swordfish , though she denies it. But she was well paid for this box-office-stimulating flash. (I would also deny being paid a premium for nipple exposure. In fact, I do deny it.) Timing is everything, however. Meg Ryan never showed 'em, and then was counting on a surprise appearance of her mammies in In the Cut to uplift her sagging career. Alas, it was too little too late.
One of the best star breast moments in film was the brief but pleasant exposure of Linda Fiorentino's in The Moderns . As someone interested in the art world of the '20s, I just hate pseudo-cool movies like Alan Rudolph's wimpy rendering of the modernist movement, but I loved Linda Fiorentino as the modernist muse and sylphlike sybarite. The one genuinely modern thing in this film is Fiorentino's body. Her breasts are revealed when the crass collector, played by John Lone, performs the obeisance of shaving her armpits, then again when she tub-wrestles with the painter, played by Keith Carradine. She's not exactly androgynous, but streamlined. A woman after Matisse, built for running, not milking. Artemis, not Aphrodite. All in all, a pleasant relief from the glandular excesses of Hollywood and a tribute to the erotic sensibilities of those of us who were happily weaned.— Glenn O'Brien
Like so much transgression, it begins with cigarettes. Titta, Fellini's younger self—living in a tiny town in fascist-era Italy; adolescent, hormones geysering, his days spent in delinquency, yearning, and self-abuse—goes to the tobacconist to buy himself "una nazionale," just one. It is closing time, and he slips in under the iron gate. The proprietress, locking up for the night, is moving large sacks across the floor, and he offers to help. "You couldn't manage," she dismisses him; he is half her size, after all.
She is cartoonishly ample. In her pale blue cardigan, her bust is an unyielding shelf, jutting out in an improbable cantilever worthy of Frank Gehry. An undifferentiated wedge such as this could be known only as a bos
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