Once, I had a dream that my breasts were made of hot dogs. I don't remember much else about it, except that I'm pretty sure I took a bite. I was about 9 or 10 and already about a C cup and my breasts were the bane of my existence. I hit puberty early and puberty hit back pretty hard. My fourth grade teacher sat me down one day and told me I had to start wearing a bra to school or I would be sent home. Some fifth graders had started calling me "butter breasts" because they would see me walking down the hall with my boobs bouncing. Despite already having my period and all the other signs of puberty, I was still a little kid. My friends and I still pretended to be the Little Mermaid and bras hadn't even crossed my mind.
And the boobs have never done me much good. I had glasses and braces and was overweight throughout middle and high school, so boys never chased me and I wasn't particularly interested anyway. Only in recent years I have found they give me any advantage and I would still trade for smaller ones if only to wear strapless tops. I never understand the fascination guys have with breasts. As Joe b says, even gay guys love them. Can anyone explain it to me?
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3 comments:
it is fun for men to rub their faces in them? they like to squeeze them? it makes them think of better, safer times?
They remind us of our mother. They are comfort and nurture. It is all very Freudian.
I would never do those things to my mother's breast.
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