In Praise of Breasts

I was sixteen when I got my left nipple pierced. It was just before I was due to sit an Exam and as I walked over to greet my friend JK who was waiting in line to enter the School, his face was shinning with uncontrollable laughter and disbelief. His look said it all: “you crazy bitch”. Very possibly he actually enunciated the exact words “you crazy bitch” at some point in the lengthy discussions that were consequently held about my nipples and breasts, but it is his face and not his words that I will always remember. People didn’t pierce their bodies as frequently then, as they do now. It was a novelty; an oddity.

I was busy “owning” my breasts really. Having worn a bra since the age of ten and carting the DD monstrosities around for some years on a very small frame, I had been sick to death of wearing granny bras and “dealing” with the oversized Mammaries I was endowed with. So I started going braless and I pierced my left nipple. Problem solved. I now loved my breasts. They rocked. They held attention where my words had failed. They gave me pleasure by merely existing as I walked down the street and allowed the material of my shirt to rub up and down with each step. These puppies got me where I wanted to go – bars, clubs, restaurants, backstage at gigs…it didn’t take much to get what and where I wanted with my tits on my team.

As time went on, I tended to forget about the effect they had on people. The initial rediscovering of them was no longer a novelty for me and they resumed service as simply a part of me – my chest.

Fast forward some years and I am pregnant with my first son. My ribs are hidden somewhere underneath a set of bowling balls harnessed by a bra that has the letter G somewhere on the label. Moving around has become an issue and trying soap in the shower without looking like a cheap rate porno has become near impossible. “You’ll lose them” many women told me, in warning tones…”don’t breastfeed or they’ll sag”.

Excuse Me? What the Fuck?

“Don’t breastfeed and give your child all the necessary nutrients that his small body may need because there is a chance that your pert helium balloon-like breasts might sag”. Shit off! Um, I think at this point, we are beyond worrying about whether these giant things are going to lose their battle with gravity. They are. It’s physics.

So I breastfed my son. As he grew, simultaneously, I shrank. By the time he was One year old, I looked normal. Small even. I only filled a C cup. I got both nipples re-pierced. A Celebration. “Hurrah!” I thought.

For about a week.

“I want my boobs back!” I yelled at NiceEx in horror. Unbeknown to me, he had already obliged me on this and I was actually pregnant with PoetBoy’s younger Brother, Elmo.

The breasts resumed their race for the Playboy Mansion once again, this time hovering at a respectable E cup.

Two more children later and my body, my breasts and I have been pregnant over the last Decade for over three years. Add to this breastfeeding times (allowing for overlaps etc) and we have been busy expanding and contracting for over six years.

I am proud of all that we have achieved together: A long a fulfilling career in cock teasing; bra buying and breastfeeding respectively.

A capacity for giving both pleasure and life giving milk.

A demonstrated capability to multi-task.

My breasts are Awesome. They don’t look like they used to, but nor does my face, my arms, my legs or my stomach. I am firm in my belief (if not in my breast tissue – come on, you were dying to make the gag yourself), that I indeed look far better now then I did on Exam day all those years ago.

My little C cup tits jump when I do…they bounce and merrily dance their way down the street as I walk. They bask in the anonymity of their smallishness. They congratulate themselves on their worth. They sneak sideways glances at the amazing children that they helped to create and nurture. They laugh to themselves at the surprising amount of men that seem to think that they are the breasts of a much younger woman. They feel lucky that they have no illness within them and that they were able to function well during their career thus far.

And if they get sad? If the smile and the bounce fade away? I shall buy them some silicone and they can go on smiling. They’ve earned it.

~ by Femme on July 24, 2007.