The Burden of Breasts

Wouldn't you like to be the same weight you were in high school?  I think most of us would. Your boobs were perky, clothes hung right on your hips and guys had all this sudden muscle from the increased testosterone.  Except my ta-tas weren't all that perky (though they certainly didn't need as much help as they do now!) and I was considered fat in comparison to the other girls my age.  Now, I'd kill to be that size hehehe.


My "girls" became "ladies" at the ripe old age of 12, when I recall wearing a 38C bra.  I wore a training bra when I was 7, and still flashback in horror to the day in 4th grade when my DAD asked if I was wearing my bra before a softball game.  As a big kid, not only did I have to contend with nasty comments about being a "big fat banana" or being asked to do the "Truffle Shuffle" (I kicked that kid's ass, btw), I also had to deal with early-onset puberty.  Thanks to my flab, my body started producing sex hormones waaaay earlier than most girls.


As a result, the rest of my life became a double-edged sword when it came to the opposite sex.  Teenage boys and their raging hormones wanted to touch boobies, preferably big ones, yet they didn't want to deal with any of the other curves that came with them.  Very few girls were thin and busty back then.  So the guy who told me I was too fat to date would be the same guy who tried to grope me at a party.  Nice :-/


Bra shopping has long been a nightmare.  Those cute, coquettish bras advertised in Victoria's Secret only go up to a 38DD - after that, it's your basic full-coverage underwire.  If you're lucky, you can get a color besides beige, black or white.  Aside from that, those adorable undergarments are really only meant for "business time" unless you're a forever-perky A or B cup.  Finding a good bra that lifts, separates, and DOES NOT make you look like a 1950's pointy pin-up is tough, so when I find a style that works, I wear that bra until it falls off... literally.


My senior year of high school, my girls' PE class had to take swimming.  If you had to endure that special horror, you remember that there was NEVER enough time between getting out the pool, showering, and re-dressing for your next class.  It was a new kind of torture, having my next class as far away from the pool as possible, with only 5 minutes in between bells.  So, you've already had your Rubenesque body on display in front of people you'd never let see you naked (though, luckily, 3 of my best friends were in that class and the awkwardness wasn't as bad) and now you're mostly dry.  It's those pesky damp spots that make re-dressing quickly so damn difficult - you basically become a contortionist to get your bra on.  So one day, I'm twisting and turning and hurrying and sweating more, and I finally get one bra strap up.  Then in the middle of the other strap being pulled over my shoulder, it snaps in twain.  Oh, fuck me!  Since I'm not a little girl, there's no way I can allow my boobs to hang in the breeze all day long.  What do I do??  With some quick thinking, I finish dressing, hold my backpack in front of me, and get down to the dean's office.  Mr. Wayne, my dean, and I were friendly in that smartass kid - smartass teacher kind of way... maybe I could charm him into letting me go home?  


"Don't you have a class now, Anna?" Mr. Wayne asks, raising his eyebrow.


"Yeah, but could I chat with you a minute?" I ask, my face a shade of red only found on poisonous arrow frogs in the Amazonian jungle.  He looks suspicious, but waves me into his office.  I keep holding my backpack in front of me as I sit down.  "Soooo.... funny thing happened," I begin.


After I finish telling him that I'm pretty much in a mammary free-fall, he turns red.  The feeling in his office was a bizarre mix of awkwardness, embarrassment, bemusement, and bewilderment.  "And what can I do for you?" he asks, voice going up a pitch as he stifles a laugh.


"Just give me a damn pass to go off-campus so I can go home and change!" I plead.


"I'm really sorry for your unfortunate... erm... incident, Anna, but I can't just let you blow off a class."


"It's a good reason, Wayne!"


"Well..." he hems.


"Oh, c'mon, if a kid shit his pants, you'd let him go home to change, right?" I interrupt, looking him dead in the eye.


"If a kid shit his pants, I'd tell him to stay at home!" he laughs.  "I'm sorry, I can't let you go.  When's your lunch?"


So I had to drive home during lunch, hoist the girls into another boulder-holder and return to school.  Not my most shining moment, but I bet Mr. Wayne had a good laugh about it in the teacher's lounge...