According to many men and women bountiful breasts remain a wonderous thing. Blessed with them, I must say they get on my nerves; especially, during certain times.
This week, I loathe them. It’s funny, I have a very ample, natural bosom. I pulled the last bra from the drawer this morning, a demi-bra. Normally, wearing it adds a sashay to my step and encourages me to feel rather mixish.
Not today.
The rest of this post falls, perhaps, under the heading of too much information, read on at your own risk.
I slipped into the bra, really a confection of pink and white lace, tulle and satin, after my shower. My brow furrowed as I felt the hook-and-eyes tighten and the band pulled tighter than usual around my torso. Tugging the bra carefully into place, my breasts filled the cups generously. Too generously. On the best of days, I’m a rather full D to a small DD. This demi-bra cup measures DD. I feel as if I overflow it.
Watching in the mirror, I guide the straps to rest upon my shoulders and I stare at my chest. I see the prominence of my collar bones, the straps glide over them. My eyes follow the line of the straps, tiny bows covering their joining the stronger fabric of the cups.
My breasts seem lifted, overgenerously pressed into the soft fabric cups. They rise and seem ready to overflow if I move the wrong way. I take a deep breath and they rise. Through the sheer white fabric of the cups, I can see twin nipples, hard, pressing against the fabric.
It always happens. They grow extra sensitive. The nipples ache when touched. They remain hard, ready and waiting for some sort of stimulation. No matter what I wear, their needy state remains on display.
Inspecting the rest of my body in the mirror. I see the tiny, nipped waist and offer a prayer of thanks for good genetics. I look at the seeminly more rounded hips clad in a matching pair of boy shorts. I can see the tell-tale signs in my hips and abdomen, too.
This seeming enhancement of my figure, I know, means for me to draw men’s gazes. Meant to entice them into experiencing the pleasure of my body and theirs. Really, these biological changes try to force me to dip my toe into the mating pool.
Shaking off these thoughts, I dip, pulling on a pair of low-rise fitted denim capri pants. I allow myself a moment of enjoying the way they cling to my ass. Then, I tug a tighter than normal t-shirt over my head. The slogan on the white background educates everyone that, “This is a green tee.”
Somehow, I’m not sure they will notice. Would you?
Now playing…Danity Kane: Bad Girl (feat. Missy Elliott): Welcome to the Dollhouse [4:01]