On Having Big Boobs! Safety First!


An inadequate Tit-Holster (er, brassiere) can create a feeling of profound danger: One false move and we are talking Atomic Fallout here. Safety first tip, ladies (of either gender): Get one that moulds your slopes a treat!

Read on…

My mother was a small pear – and, indeed, had a small pair! Fine child-bearing hips, yes, but decidedly short-changed in the mammary-gland department.

Sprouting at ten, I more than made up for my mother’s short-fall – and, by my mid-to-late teens was, shall we say, generously endowed.

Or large as it is also known!

Not all over. Not in those days. Actually, I had a very good figure as a young thing.

But certainly abundant where, according to some, it mattered!

There are many advantages to being top-heavy: Being called voluptuous, for example;having an on-site toy (or brace of toys) to play with when in the company of the select few; having a cleavage deep enough to lose an entire Himalayan Expedition in…

But, in some respects, possessing a cup size which errs on the side of Cauldron of Plenty has its downside too. The frustration of trying to find a bra that fits being one very obvious one – and the under-wired, iron-girdered suspension bridge that usually results!

Another disadvantage relates to the ageing effects of gravity. Let’s be frank here: If you have a pair of poached eggs, or bee stings, on your chest, they have less far to fall than those of us carrying fleshy balloons – and one of the lesser known (to some) side effects of reaching middle-age is that one simultaneously loses a waist, gains an Equator and has bosoms which drop into a place where, bra-less, they are straddling that vast acreage of former waist flesh!

However, what are hands for if not hoicking the buggers up when they have a tendency to stray? Though I personally wouldn’t wear a bra in bed (in order to keep them under control), many do!

I am nearly fifty-eight and would not expect to have firm cheeky ones still, not being a huge fan of surgical mutilation for beauty’s sake. But what I have lost in teenage pout and pre-childbirth fullness, I have more than made up for in body-acceptance and earthy approach to matters tit-related.

My large handfuls have given pleasure to a small handful of men – though not all at once, you understand. They have fed a child for eleven months. They have been moulded in clay, sketched on paper, even painted. They have wandered, with the rest of me, naked along a beach (a year ago!) and have, over the decades, won me many an admiring glance!

I am happy with them! We have reached an accord, my boobs and I!



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