Lately I haven’t been impressed with my endowments.
My tits generally behave with the same maddening ability not to give a fuck that characterizes the rest of my obviously female bits. They’re like the roommate who is forever yo-yo dieting while you carry on in your balanced way.
Sometimes their big, sometimes they’re small. If I’m on hormonal birth control they are usually big-ish compared to non-pill size, but still vary in that range. If I ever have babies for real, instead of synthetic simulated pregnancies, I expect to join team D cup for more than a day or two. In fact, there’s so much cup variance in a given month, that the next person who tells me in glowing tones to get a bra fitting will be strangled to death with one.
I mean, I like my breasts. They don’t even take any sort of acceptance of unconventional beauty. They seem to think that pointing straight forward is a good idea, and I have just enough nipple not to be insecure. they’re a really pretty pale colour. But they do mean needing to own bras in several sizes, because I range from being able to slip a finger into the cup, to spilling out in that cheap stripper trick to look bustier. I also cope with padded bras, not to look insecure, but for a slightly better fit in my clothes.
I’m also broad shouldered, for a woman, which means they’re wide set. Forget just finding a band size that fits and my official letter, instread there’s all sorts of cup placement fussiness. and, TMI time, did I mention the small amounts of proto-lactation? Perfectly normal, and I think I take after my mother, who after three kids, lactated up until menopause. But, I’m pretty sure given the bizarre behaviour, thus far, if I reproduce also I’m gonna be one of nature’s milk cows. Or they’ll shrink down to As and go as dry as the Sahara, just to prove they are free spirited and unpredictable.
Despite tit problems, they’re also fairly durable and perky- while I’m not a big fan of someone trying to twist and remove my nipples, I really appreciate, during sex, having them compressed, wrung, slapped and squished until the skin blooms with a misting of little red dots, provided it’s from the base and on the meat (err, fat) of the breast. Although, although bondage fans have tried, they slip out of rope like bloody Houdini. And, grow or shrink, they bounce back without the sort of concerns that seem to dog weight loss. My breasts are thus far immortal.
And, hormonal birth control has one other thing going for it- they are now co-ordinated properly. Basically everyone with breasts has one that’s a bit bigger- humans are not symmetrical and right handed people tend to have slightly bigger pecs on that side. But remember how I talked about them going up and down in size like some sort of squeezey toy? Well, they used to do that on only one side too. It looked something like this:
Where’s your God now, bra fitting evangelists?!