Silence of the Sisterhood - part 9 - Bras & Breasts

Bras and Breasts

My breasts have always been one of my favourite bits of me.   However wobbly my stomach, however orange peel-y my thighs, I know I can be proud of my breasts. 

My favourite time was when they were exactly a handful, but by the time I started my pregnancy you’d have needed hands like spades to hold them comfortably.

They start growing remarkably quickly.  In the 4 weeks Shaun was in Qatar they had exceeded his grasp.   They steadily inflated like beach balls, ganging up on me day by day, whilst we played the War of Bigger Bras – they wanted one now; I refused to buy them something they would grow out of in another month.  I won.

Eventually, they started to believe themselves worthy of a more prominent role in my life.  Their first move was to come between me and Shaun whenever we hugged, their next was to harden up so that they couldn’t be squashed by a great cuddle.   Then they became slightly immobile:  you’re lying in bed, snuggled up to your beloved, fitted into the nook of his armpit .. Well, you used to be.  Now the Goodyear balloon is blocking any chance of entry to said nook, and the sheer weight of the bloody things (it now takes a crane to lock and load them into their M&S hammock) makes it impossible to swat them out of the way.

So you christen them the Zeppelins, Jimmy and Robert, try to make a joke out of it.  If for nothing else, it’s worth it to see the bemused look on people’s faces when you’re walking too close together and your partner asks you to “get Robert out of the way”.

And then a really weird thing happens.  Tragic, really.  In their final act of rebellion, this source of femininity, this ultimate erogenous zone, decides to go on strike and cuts off all pleasure sensors.  So now you’re not only fat, immobile and covered in red welts, but your favourite bit of foreplay is snatched from you (and bear in mind, full sex is no longer an option by now – more of this later).   Suddenly, they are no longer erotic or sensitive or the prelude to something bigger … “Get off them … now”.

They make you say horrible things like that.  They make you push your partner away when all you want is to pull him close.  They have turned into a functional object and all pleasure is forbidden as it distracts them from their new purpose of building the milk factory.

Yet more proof that God was a man, and something else the sisterhood have complained about silently.

Now can you imagine what sort of crazy world it would have to be to make a man scream “Please take my penis out of your mouth NOW” ?  No, neither can I.

Ain’t gonna happen.