My tits and I

I think I’m going to take up karate. Or kick boxing. Or just boxing.

Listening to a podcast on my way home today got me thinking. What if I was ever in a position of compromise, and needed to defend myself? I don’t have any special skills, unless wiggling my nostrils counts?

My nunga nungas would only hinder my efforts, ultimately disproving the ‘you could knock someone out with those’ theory. Trust me, that would hurt me more than it would them.

Maybe I need to give you a bit of context. I have big jugs. Last time I got measured, they were a GG. Yes, two Gs. But they’re not nice, perky, porn star boobs. They’re sling ’em in your waistband, breast feeding without the baby, more stretch marks than a tubigrip, boobs. They get in my way, all day, every day. Do I hate them? Nah. Mr K certainly doesn’t seem to mind them either. They do cause me a problem though. Read further for the detailed insight.

I could run away. I can run; I’m a runner. I could gather myself, put my sprinting head on, and run. But boobs. I could not run without a sports bra. They’re like tennis balls in socks, and the top of the socks are attached to my body, and they bounce, and they swing, and they thud. They hurt when they are not warned about fast movement. I sometimes contemplate wearing a sports bra during sex… seriously, it’s crossed my mind.

Bralets? Those intricate, pretty, sexy, non-wired, non-supportive, sexy, pretty, lacey things? The ones you can see the models nipples through? The ones that Agent Provocateur sell? Yes, those super hot things. They might just cover my nipple and no more. No under wire = no, no, no go.

Picture this. It’s Wedding/Engagement/Ball/Party/Special Occasion season. You are looking for a new outfit. You go to ANY shop. There’s a pretty sleeveless dress. There’s a pretty off the shoulder dress. There’s a very edgy silk jumpsuit with spaghetti straps. Can you wear a bra with any of these items? Nope. So, can I wear them? Nope. Unless I tuck my tits into my granny pants and hope nobody asks where my extra muffin top came from… Don’t even get me started on sexy pyjamas. Lucky Mr K is regularly treated to lumpy leggings and an old band t-shirt. Hey baby, come get me 😉

They attract unwanted attention. ALL THE FUCKING TIME. On the tube, on the street, in the gym, when I run, when I go to the dentist and don’t wear a polo neck, when I have to tie my shoelaces; the list is endless.

My last moan. They make me hypocritical. They make me forgot all my feminist, strong, body positive views. I have said professed all of these in the past; don’t change your body permanently, don’t have plastic surgery, don’t conform, don’t hate yourself, don’t be jealous of other girls, be happy, be brave, be confident in your skin, be proud of what you have. But me? PLEASE GIVE ME TEN THOUSAND POUNDS SO I CAN CHOP THEM OFF NOW.

Let me know if you have the dolla and I’ll send you my bank details. Cheers chum.

How do you feel about your breasticles?

Your redhead.

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My tits and I

5 thoughts on “My tits and I

  1. Maia Tuitele says:

    My lord, in the land where my boobs were born, you’re a J cup. As for my girls, they’re a pedestrian B to C, depending on the bra. But I turned 49 this month, and so did they. Right now, I’d gladly swap for an A and look slightly less like a landslide.

    One of my friends growing up was a G cup (UK F); she was also short and pretty small-framed, so she was having issues by the time she was in her teens — constant back pain, inability to sleep on her back because she couldn’t breathe, fun like that. I envied her the attention she got…for about month. Then I really saw what she went through daily for it. There’s a point where it’s not a question of body image any more, and she was at it. She eventually got reduction surgery not for appearance but for her health; it was classed by her insurance (and therefore paid for) as medically necessary because of her back and breathing problems.

    I can, however, sympathize with you on the fun that is clothes shopping, for a different reason, especially since moving here: I’m 5’10”. Jeans that are anywhere near long enough? *snort* Coats with sleeves that don’t shoot up to my elbows when I extend my arms? *heh*

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    1. Oh! Where are you from in the world? J is a scary letter when it comes to boobs…
      I feel for your friend; I’ve luckily escaped the back pain, for now (touch wood!) I have friends who have gone for reduction surgery due to back pain. Who knew these bloody things were such a hassle?!
      I feel that pain also, I have a lanky 6ft friend who constantly has problems. Gap is usually the savour!

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      1. Maia Tuitele says:

        I’m from the US. It does sound scarier, but the US system skips E and F (hard to discern on a tiny label) and stops doubling letters after D.

        It’s easier for me to clothes-shop there, but still not much fun. Things for women are cut for an average height of 5’7″, so I’m forever thinking “Oh, that’s cute,” looking at the length, and thinking, “Too damn bad, isn’t it?” Most things, tops or bottoms, are 2 to 3 inches too short for me. I swim in most of my shirts, because the most reliable (and sometimes only) places to find longer ones for women are large-size stores. I buy a lot of men’s tee shirts, because they’re longer to start with, and men’s clothes don’t seem to work under the assumption that women’s do: If you’re tall you’re also fat, and if you’re fat you want to wear prints that would make blind people laugh at you in the streets. And still, I’m kind of resolved to the fact that I’m going to have to get someone back home to send me catalogs, order from them to ship to someone there (most clothing companies won’t ship overseas), and then pay the ridiculous cost to have it shipped here. Guess who’s going to be shopping for clothes once a year.

        Oh hey, another joy in my friend’s life I recalled: She had to give up at least two jobs I know of before she even started them because they hired her without thinking about what was next — uniforms with button-down shirts.

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  2. This is really far too much information for a mere man of a certain age.
    I hope it was supposed to be funny, because it made me laugh.
    Thank you for visiting Sound Bite Fiction.
    If you plan to return, please let me know, I’ll open a window to make room.

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