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This ones a long one, but hopefully will be enjoyable<3
There have only been a few occassions in life that I wished I were born male and without the extra chest. I was fortunate to bypass the wet dream horrors and sporadic erections in class, but having breasts comes at a price, too.
Take for instance, when you're 10, budding like the flowers you still wear on your pink shirts, and your mom has the audacity to take her finger, poke you in your left and nearly squeal with glee upon the realization that yes, I was growing real life boobies just like her! No, girls, I never stuffed - we hip and au natural chicks left that up to the tall blonde butt shaker of the class. She always had a boyfriend; we still had our Barbie's.
My ladies came into life without too much impact. I remember admiring these new formations in front of the mirror after locking my door, and often comparing with my flat-as-the Grand Canyon sister. (Hers popped out around the age of 15, compared to my 12.) She was hopeless, no amount of chest puffing could make the real thing happen before it's time. Happily, at that age, boys were still more concerned about destroying the neighborhood peace and being the little bastards that they were, than chasing after the little women. We were not women, we were yelling, crying, cradle-playing on the swings, pink wearing, cheap makeup purchasing little girls.
Two years after my ladies made their first appearances, and long after I had stopped playing in my mom's lingerie drawers, I caught up with my mom. She's not dramatically small, but relatively speaking, she's not stacked. The first bra I bought, I slipped under a shirt, in it's pink box, and snuck into a dressing room. I didn't want my mom buying me those ridiculous lace and triangle things anymore. I was growing up. (Oh memory lane, *gag*).
The thing I focus on though, is that I don't have any complaints. No, no back pains, though sometimes I get indents from where my bra sits. I've never felt bad because I thought I was small chested, one guy did make me feel a little defeminie by declaring he didn't like "big boobs." Like I have control over it, right? Well, the future is looking bright. When I'm 50, and youth has fled my body, I will happily be sporting my super-strength-elastic boulder carriers and letting them rest on my tummy.
Hey, at last those eventual grandkids will get a couple cracks out of it, and that's not so bad
( the ladies )
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