I never thought much about breasts! To be honest, not even my own. Except perhaps the year when everyone in my school was sporting lingerie and I wanted to fit in and wear one too. It’s another story that my mom who’s a trained seamstress told me in no uncertain terms that I didn’t need one and no amount of my wailing in the bathroom would change that.
So I have a love-hate relationship with breasts. Mine included! There are days, I wish I wasn’t quite as plump and there are days, I wonder whether I would look better if I was bigger! The first time I wore a strappy tube top, I kept tugging at it for the fear my top would fall down. When I looked at Pooja Bhatt baring it all many years ago on the cover of Movie magazine, I looked twice. When I discovered, I was gay – I spent time dealing with pretty much everything and breaking long held dreams and stereotypes.
Like not being able to dip into your father’s/husband’s wallet.
Like not dealing with whisker burn
Like not having someone hold the door open for you
Like not being always driven
Like not reading Mills and Boon
Like no marriage and kids
The one scenario that I didn’t quite envisage was one which had to do with suddenly finding breasts in my face. The size 42 kind! Not that size of any kind matters when you are faced with breasts for the first time that do not belong to you. I wasn’t sure what do with them. Perhaps nature had missed that education by me completely! However, freezing at that point was a complete killer to all the action in bed! I was paralyzed with watching a mound of flesh take a life of its own. It made me realize that staring/looking/appreciating cleavage and having to deal with cleavage were two completely different things.
In my limited experience, I guess making love to breasts is not something one learns. Perhaps like kissing, cooking or even writing, one gets the hang of it with practice, much time and many varieties! So what can one do with the mammaries? Suck, bite or perhaps trail the nipple! I get that now! I also figure now, what the Mills and Boons novellas really mean when they describe a pair of breasts like ‘peaches that fit in his hand’ because whoever said size doesn’t matter to lesbian women, got it all wrong! It does – in my case, the smaller the better!
What’s your story gurls?