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My Breasts: An Autobiography
My Breasts: An Autobiography
This morning as I was walking through the store to get my morning yogurt I saw a man with the most horrendous comb-over. I hate to sound like one of those bitchy stuck-up women, but it never ceases to amaze me how many men do that despite being told by every woman/man/advice column that it’s Bad, Bad, Bad! Bald is not bad, guys! It’s a sign of virility. Most women would date a man who’s going bald.
It reminded me of my own “problem area”: my breasts. I assume men who are going bald embrace the comb-over as a some sort of security device. I’m sure it only makes them more aware of their baldness when it is actually exposed to the world. When I feel that my breasts are the center of attention, I often find myself regressing back into pre-teen mode when I used to hunch my shoulders and cross my arms around them, despite being told by my mother numerous times that it only made them more obvious.
I knew that these babies were going to play a significant role in my life when, at the early age of 9, my mother pointed to the microscopic bumps on my chest and said to my dad “______’s getting boobies!” Thus, was my introduction into womanhood. A year and a half later I was a full C-cup.
I wasn’t one of those girls who begged their parents to buy them a bra. My parents literally had to force me to wear one. My mother even tried to sweeten the deal by introducing me to all the pretty colors and frills I had to choose from. This failed to eliminate my hatred for “the bra.” It was constrictive and itchy and made me feel more grown up than I wanted to. So I would sneak out of the house with extra heavy coats on (a strange thing in Los Angeles) so my parents wouldn’t miss the tell-tale straps (or lack thereof) through the back of my shirt. I kept it on throughout the day because every move I made caused them the shift and sway, bringing even more undesired attention.
I hated the way clothes, which were made for A-cup sized 12-year olds, fit on me. I either popped out of the tops or found them so clingy I could hardly breath. Looking back, I can’t believe I wanted to get them reduced when I was probably one of the most desired sizes on the face of the planet.
At 14 I grew another three cups to a full DDD. By that point I had fully embraced “the bra.” To do otherwise would have been outright masochism. I had also learned to accept my breasts and the potential benefits the offered. Yes, I still hated the way clothes fit on me, but realized that having more cleavage than necessary was good for cuts in the lunch line and rides home from school.
When I got my first job at Disneyland, I found it ironic that I had been placed in the one area of the park where the girls were forced to wear what we referred to as “fuck-me” costumes. If you have ever been to Fantasyland (no pun intended) then you would know. For those of you in the dark, imagine a bunch of girls between the ages of 15-23 in white knee-socks, blue above-the knee culottes made to look like skirts, and a white shirt with puffy sleeves that always managed to fit a little too closely in the chest area. There were more connections made at Disneyland than all the singles bars in the country put together. One of my personal connections involved the dirty old Sweed who maintained the boats on the storybook ride. Heused to ask me for a hug, pretending to be a harmless old bear and in return he would give me a snickers ice-cream bar, which he knew that I loved. I was fully aware of the dynamic of our relationship. Dirty, I know. But still, I considered it harmless fun.
I eventualy went to a liberal arts college (emphasis on the liberal) and was immediately introduced to sex, alcohol, and drugs. With a psych-major bisexual best friend and an upbringing under a mother that made nuns seem unscrupulous, you can imagine the fun I had. I participated in all the necessary college antics like streaking across campus. My favorite took place during my junior year when I took photography to fulfill my arts requirement. The photo lab was open 24/7 but was usually booked during regular hours. One night I decided to go over to develop some film for class at a time when I thought it would be empty and I could have the place to myself. My exhibitionist side kicked in, and I decided to go over in a completely see-through purple top with no bra on. I assumed I would be alone, as it was 10 o’clock at night. Unfortunately one of my classmates (a male no less) had the same idea. It was unnerving and exciting at the same time. He had seen me walk in practically naked from the waist up. It didn’t help that the excitement had cause my nipples to pop straight through the transparent material. The fun part was that he was more uncomfortable than I was…mostly because it was the two of us alone in the dark room for a good hour. Though he couldn’t see much in that room...he knew. The rest of the semester he couldn’t make direct eye-contact with me.
With breasts like mine there are far more adventures than can be stated in one blog post. These are just my favorites. Hopefully they will go through new adventures with individuals on this site.
8/7/2005 7:27 pm
SUGAR I WOULD LIKE TO GIVE A FULL BODY , USING BABY OIL, MY HANDS,AND MY TONGUE|
10/1/2005 1:57 am
First time i have been on to blogs,loved the breast autobiography,keep on writing.|
12/21/2005 8:21 pm
I love this story. Being a tit, boob, breast, and nipple fan for years, it really hit home with me. You're the greatest. The picture on this edition only had to have erect nipples to be perfect. Love them, luv ya.
2/11/2006 2:18 pm
oh, how I know that - although your's seem to have 'popped up' almoust instantaneously as compared to mine which gave me a long time to adjust. (My godness, at 14 you were about 'complete'?)
But the bra was the same to me, still is.
Some time after I had begun to grow roundings that could no longer be denied as having to do with becoming a woman, my parents began to bring up the issue of 'you have to wear a bra', lightly at first, more insisting then. I usually argumented that if it had been ok without for so long, why shouldn't it this day now: what was different this day from last day. In the end my father usually shook head then and surrendered with a down-waving move of his hand. But at one time it really developed a bad quarrel in the way of which I became verbally abusive, got beaten, managed to get out and run away.
I stayed out the whole day with friends and at evening finally stayed with one girl's family. They were about to host me overnight when they got a call. It was - of course - for me. They told I was here. I was asked, please to come back home, and never mind the bra issue would not be raised again.
It was raised not this evening, nor the next but about next week. Then I argued: you promised never to raise it again and since word given counted for something in our place, so it was dropped.
But that did not mean all was well. I desperately thought about means to stop this unwanted growing. I envied some of the girls in my class which had a breast as Mariel Hemmingway before her op.
As you said, my breasts started to 'comment' my innocent moving.
Well, over here in Germany we only have hot weather for say 2 - 3 month a year, so wearing a jacket was usually both fitting and handy to contain their mass. My, would I have been out of my head, had I known what lay ahead over the years (by that time they had only developed about one third of their final volume)!
I did not find the attention I got for them by the boys quite so wellcome. Frankly, I distasted it. I sure turned down some nicer approaches, too.
Some of the girls that still wore 'nil' envied me, too. One teacher we had in geography was sometimes rude on girls (but he did not want to get their 'attention' for that, as your TV-guru proposed, but my guess today's is that he was just at a loss how to handle that bunch of attractiveness in the class.)
There were two of us that could be considered near-fully woman-like and some 5 others that were over midways, while the rest were more childish/girlish; consequently was focussed the hustle and bustle by the boys in our class. Usually all went well but sometimes when I had not payed attention and he (i.e. the geo teacher) had called me up I did not know where or what and he used to wait a painful time to make the failure more obvious and then turned to some sarcastic comments that could be quite offensive because they touched the attactiveness of my body, mostly my bust, alledging that whith 'that' I would probably think, I need not pay attention and would not learn anything, or: what usually is in the brain has dropped into the bust with 'some in here' and the like. Usually I took up by returning some sarcasm back on him on which the class usually giggled if they had not drowsed away largely, or broke into laughter with the better ones. That made him quietly mad, the degree of which could be read tolerably well by his turning red in the face with anger. One time I got him so far, his trembling hand broke the chalk when starting to write on the board, which again made him look 'unprofessional'. Meanwhile I felt hurt somewhat by his remarks, but not so much if I had come up with a good reply. I felt more hurt when classmates mockingly repeated the stuff which some boys liked to do, with one or the other 'flat' girl grinning or giggling like mad on it. I could loose my temper then and attack the mocker on which they usually held up arms, chuckled and repeated the words or commented on my bust wiggling when I was fighting and that obviously rewarded them for the drumming they received. Some would however fight back and since I had long hair then, would want to grab it so to hold me. There was nothing I was more afraid of than that and it made me fight in earnest until he withdrew or (usually) some teacher would appear, pull us apart and at one time take us before the director. Our director Ü. was a well-meaning man but believed in discipline, order and behaviour. He talked to us upon the meaning of high school, learning and the like, got to 'what kind of a girl' I was to fight with boys upon which the so-far unattended boy said, about as I recall: 'It's unfair - she's larger, girls are not supposed to be larger!' The direx then turned his advicive talk to the boy while I was allowed off, not without getting a chocolate handed out by his directrice with a 'brave done, he's a rude boy!'
But I only got real angry when said geo teacher poured his verbal abuses over my friend A. who was the other of the above mentioned two 'well-endowed'. (Although his words 'With your bed-room-eyes the only way for you is to get into the film industry' (in German: mit deinen Schlafzimmeraugen kannst du nur zum Film gehen)were meant as an abuse, they later proved true: she did become an actress!
Some of the other girls that were still in the middle of nowhere between child and teenager would admire us, some would secretly intrigate against us. So, all it all my growing halfs mostly meant trouble for me an I hated them for that. I do not know if I should enlarge on what I tried and did in wanting to stop them from growing and what came from it. It was a probing time for me and it went on for years on end! ...
My attitude has since fully reversed, I like my boobs, I actually like the way they are, may I say I'm quietly a bit proud of them. I still wear much the same easy, more sporty stuff as I used to, I do not like to 'stick them out' or emphasis on them by dressing. But they are cute, just by the way they allow me to go 'without' and keeping well, no sagging to weight. I do a fair share of training, though.
But how long will this last? I fear in aging we 'biggies' will all pay a dear, dear price. That is no happy perspective.
So let's enjoy the good years.
More could be said, of which your word reminded me, little can sice I have call it a day for today.
(p.s. never mind any typing errors, have no time to go through it)
2/13/2006 2:05 pm
today I read your comment: interesting to read this view 'from the other side'. I can imagine that some were less than nice to you when at school - never mind, all people off the conventional in any way get their share of abuse in this 'convention' centre. I applaude to your beating it to them! You must be a big-hearted person, never seem to give up! As for the teacher: I was the same, they regularly 'rewarded' me with bad marks, which was easy to do as for spoken interrogation, but even in written tests my marks were often as down as could possibly explained if arguements were extended enough.
Wish I could have met you in school-days, would have liked to back you up, be on your side, comfort you, reassure you, love you.
I'd give you lots or more chocolate to back up your energy!
Hope you found nicer guys, too - there some around, and this includes me, who would worship you!
Sorry to hear it all got you to hate this paradise wonder area of a woman's. With some fear: what did you do to those innocent 'halfs' that only did what was planned by the genes? What did come from that?
I hope you did not hurt yourself or had - gasp! - plastic surgery on them??
Could you give me a hint, if it is not asking too much of your privacy?
2/15/2006 12:36 pm
thank you for - too late - offer for help in my by-gone school day troubles.
Next: you ask me questions!!
I guess it's the internet that is to blame.
We are all the same.
Well, allright, before allowing ideas run wild:
in succession of your question concerning my 'paradise wonder area' -
a) are you asking me about how I did please myself? In fact you do, since what was first initiated by a wish to change direction of a development turned out to be pleasurable, though the harder way. That's as much as I will comment on that.
b) it made me better trained, as well as more agreing with and finally fully content with my natural specs the way they turned out.
c) no hurt - training could be a word.
d) my goodness - no! You mean to make them smaller? No-no-no, would not want any such thing. No cutting on my body! Makes me shiver! Happily never had any need for any doctor to cut into me for any accident or the like, either. Beware of that!!!!
Hope that will reassure you?
3/8/2006 1:18 pm
if you can reassure your children and back them up through school that's a good thing. Knowing to be accepted by one's family does help!
Me a teacher?
My goodness - no ways!
I remember one day our perenial pain-in-the-neck chemistry teacher came in late - as usually he did - and upon the classes' meanwhile 'wet-sponge-throw-around' turmoil started a monologue about 'those elements that don't belong to College' and about 'what are you here for anyways'. 'That's what we wonder, too' we replied, 'why do we have to spend our time listening to complaints of frustrated teachers?'