It usually starts before I even speak to a man. Or even to a woman for that matter. People, for the most part, are very polite. But it’s always there. Most people look first at my boobs and then at my face. A few ardent souls will try and keep eye contact but the sexual gravitational pull of my bewbies pulls them in. Sometimes it’s a quick glance. Sometimes it an oogle. Other times it’s a gawk or a stare. Leers are awful. Then there’s the “deer in the headlights”. This mostly happens to poor teenage boys. They just stare at them and can’t do anything else. Poor souls.
I was one of the first girls in my class to get them. The end of 4th grade. I was teased mercilessly. I remember coming home to my mom and crying my eyes out about how mean the boys were. My other brother got sent to the principal’s office the next day because he hunted down my persecutors and twisted their nipples violently until they swore holy oaths never to tease me about my budding breasts again. I love my brother. I believe he made similar threats throughout my life to anyone who was tempted to come near my breasts, including my husband. But I digress.
It wasn’t until I came back at the start of 5th grade that I began to know what positive attention from my breasts was like. They were prematurely large for my age and I was very self-conscious about them for years. I did my best to hide them. Then later in my teens there was the whole guilt thing.
I remember the moment I began to truly enjoy them though. I’d be one of the first to shower in my house in the mornings growing up. We only had two bathrooms and so you had to be in and out quickly. Sometimes I’d have to wait until someone in the other bathroom was done showering. I had some time to look at myself in the mirror. In clothes, I felt awkward. I felt my hips were too wide or my shirts rode up and exposed my tummy. My bras never fit properly and pants would make my butt look big. But those mornings I’d look at the mirror and I saw a woman’s body not some awkward teen. My breasts were gorgeous and my hips were shapely. My stomach didn’t bulge over my waistline. This is how I was meant to be. It gave me confidence.
I noticed that when I wore v necks I could make some splendid cleavage show and boys were a lot nicer. I was never mean, but there was always a group of useful boys who just hung around that I could make do things for me. I’d give them hugs and make sure my boobs pressed up against them.
When I was a missionary I was told by the mission president in an interview that I was too sexy for the elders and that I should try and “tone it down”. I followed the dress code with exactness. It was just that I was packing a lot more around with me. There were other missionary experiences though that he didn’t know about.
Women reacted differently. Other women with big boobs commiserated with the difficulties. The aching back, the stupidity of bras, “big bewb problems”. Smaller girls were sometimes cruel and mean. They called me a slut and tried to shame me just for having big ol’ titties.
After my mission, I had a “time of exploration”. Which means I kinda hoe’d out for a bit. I don’t say that with shame at all. I had an enabler named Esther from which many future stories will come. Esther was my first female sexual partner and a former companion of mine. Like I said, many a story will be told about her. She gave me a “big boob challenge”. Esther did not have big boobs. Esther barely had anything. But she wasn’t jealous. She was content to gently suckle on my breasts, planting sweet kisses on them like beautiful little flowers that fell from her soft lips. She had freckles on her face and I loved to see them buried in the soft whiteness of my breasts. A woman’s kiss is so different from a man’s. Softer, sweeter, wetter. Feminine. The things her tongue could do.
My challenge was this: There is a theme park located north of Salt Lake City, called Lagoon. It’s a grand old place though I haven’t been there in years. Esther and I would go and spend a hot summer day there. Esther gave me a tiny white t-shirt made out of this stretchy spandex material (it was for workouts) I was supposed to wear this shirt and no bra. The shirt was probably three sizes too small and it held my breasts in place fairly well. I tried it on and we looked at it together in the mirror. The spandex was pulled so tight that each individual fiber was pulled to its engineered capacity. The poor people at Nike did not design that material to bear such a burden. It felt like I was wearing nothing at all. The tips of my nipples stood out as much as they could and under the white material was a general pink hue that was my skin.
I was sure I’d be arrested for indecent exposure, but Esther assured me that I’d be just fine. The day we went was a scorcher. It was 103 degrees (39 celsius) for most of the day. My underboobs were instantly sweaty before we even made it through the front gates and the wetness made the pink flesh of my skin show through the white material. Also, the sunlight cast a weird shadow between my breasts making it so that my cleavage was nearly entirely visible. It was great to be free from a bra though and the thought of being paraded around certainly awoke my exhibitionist tendencies.
I know it might not sound like it would be possible, but I soon forgot how I was dressed. I’d been used to years of staring and honestly, there wasn’t any more or less stares. That’s probably not true, I just didn’t see them. There is a rapid boat ride there that soaks its passengers. I knew that going on the ride would be a bad idea, but Esther said this was part of the challenge. My nipples were hard with a combination of excitement and nervousness. I crossed my arms to hide it, but that made it worse. And of course, we got put in the round boat with a bunch of cute college boys. I noticed the stares then.
It was at this moment that I decided to just let it go. It was liberating. I let my nervousness go and I was determined to just be me. The ride was bumpy and my boobs bounced freely. The guys couldn’t tell what they were supposed to pay attention to, the ride or the free show I was giving them. There was a big dip and SPLASH I was drenched. I screamed at the deluge of freezing cold water and burst into laughter. I was drench. I quickly glanced down and my heart skipped a beat. The drenched shirt clung to my skin and provided ZERO coverage. I might have well been sitting there topless. You could see the darker pinkness of my large nipples, the tips were rock hard, pressing up against the shirt. They continued to bounce and sway with the movement of the boat. I could feel that I was wet in more ways than one.
I did nothing to stop it. I kept my hands down by my side and pretended like I didn’t notice. Everyone laughed and cheered together and I just got more and more drenched. The ride ends with a bumpy inclined ride back to the start of the river run. It was explicit. I pulled the shirt out and that helped a little. The constant bouncing made the whole thing just . . . pornographic. It was hilarious. The guys had to get out first and I noticed that many of them had raging boners pressing in their soaked pants. I’m sure their spank banks were overflowing with material that day.
It was great to be free. Esther and I went out to her car to dry off and ended up making out in the car. I took the useless shirt off. The car was sweltering but my breasts were still freezing from the cold water. The show had driven Esther wild. She let me change shirts then and the rest of the day was still relaxed. I still didn’t have a bra.
Our bodies are crazy things. Sometimes we have to learn to love them and have experiences with them that set us free. All bodies are beautiful. And remember, my brother is still out there . . . 😉
Hey! Buy me a caffeine-free diet coke to help fuel my posts. 🙂