On B(.)(.)bs

My breasts started growing when I was about twelve years old. The small lumps that appeared out of nowhere started to hurt. They were still small– other girls in my class were already wearing bras, while I have never tried one on. I thought there was something wrong with me until when I was a summer camp. All of a sudden, while all of us went swimming to the river, Svetka’s boobs seemed to have diminished by two sizes. Later in the restroom I caught her putting cotton balls in her bra. She asked me not to tell anybody and promised to convince the most popular guy Alexey to date me. After this I started to avoid him even more, so that if I saw him approaching me, I would turn around and instead of taking a path would scratch my way through the dense bushes. And once, when we all got dressed up to go dancing and he came up to us with a cigarette in his mouth, I stumbled and fell from my 10-inch platform heels. At that moment I felt my face on fire, I have never felt more ashamed of myself. And he was cracking up and not even thinking of giving me a hand. Literally.

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My friend Masha started developing when she was nine, so by the age of thirteen her bra size was 32D. Her mother used to say that our bodies were forming faster than our brains. I guess she was right, because at the age of 18 Masha got pregnant. Before pregnancy her bra size was 34DD, and while being pregnant her boobs started growing even bigger, which already made her look like a cow. They were not popping out bringing curves to her shape anymore, but were resting on her enormous belly-watermelon.

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When I was fifteen I was always jealous of other girl’s already formed shapes. While they were wearing tight clothes and deep décolleté, I was hiding under long skirts and bulky shirts. Whenever they put heels on, they looked sexy; when if I did, I looked like a girl who sneaked them out of her mom’s closet.

To get ahead of nature, I started buying push-up bras. My boobs looked fantastic in those and I was happy until one day while making out with a much older guy I felt his hands wandering around my face, neck, shoulders and going lower towards my inch-and-a-half-newly-boosted pieces of treasure. When his hands reached my breasts, I stopped feeling them, and I bet he felt only polyurethane. That was the day I realized that sometimes you have to compromise between looks and actual tactile feelings, so if you are going out on a date with a guy who will only be allowed to look at you, it’s okay to wear a push-up bra, but if you really like the guy, you might go with something else. When I started buying push-up bras it became extremely hard to stop; since everyone around was used to my bigger boobs, I did not want to startle them by a sudden change.

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One day I realized that the smaller the boobs are, the bitchier the girl is. I remember sitting in the library overhearing a conversation of a bunch of girls: “a boob should be of a small size, so that a man’s hand could cup all of it.” When I saw Valeria for the first time, I thought that this girl does not need a bra at all, but she was still wearing one I guess just to create an essence of boobs. She was literally flat. I have never met anyone as flat as her in my life. I think if she played soccer for a shirtless team, one could be surprised that she was actually a girl and not a super skinny guy. “One day when she becomes a mother she will have some sort of boobs”- someone in class once said. I always felt that this was the biggest psychological complex of her life, which was and still is the main reason I never saw any guy around her.

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At the age of twenty I went to the USA for the first time in my life. I loved it, I was living together with seven other Russian girls in Fort Myers, Florida and we became local stars there. That summer I had been working in California Pizza Kitchen and all I ate was pizza. I have never eaten that much pizza before; I could eat the whole medium sized pizza at once. My girlfriends were working next to me at Cinnabon, Dunkin Donuts, Mc Donald’s, Taco Bell. We would have our breaks together and share all our junk food; we took this food home, we ate it everywhere. As a result, I gained 7 pounds, Svetlana and Nadya gained 14 and Lilya was the winner – she gained 33. “A hippopotamus is coming back to Russia”- she prepared her boyfriend over the phone. I’ve always been skinny, and those 7 pounds did only good to me and this was the only summer when I did not feel underweight, but normal and sexy. And my boobs grew much bigger too.

Later I met Diana. When we just got to New York City we wanted to party, but we knew no one. Somebody told us to go to meatpacking district. We heard the music and stopped by the closed doors of a nightclub. We did not know that in order to get into the club we had to be in someone’s party, or what a “promoter” meant. Our only ticket was Diana’s boobs, which worked perfectly fine. She says sometimes it is hard for her to live with boobs of this enormous size and she wants to go for a surgery one day.

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I met Sandra at a bar. She is a 39-year-old with breast implants. She got them at the age of 24. She has waited for her boobs to grow, but the miracle did not happen, so she had to pay the doctor to perform the miracle. And he did a good job. They are just the right size, they look very natural, though don’t feel so when you touch them. On my question about a future motherhood, she said breastfeeding with implants is nothing extraordinary. The surgery made her feel more confident and she is happy she went for it.

 

My aunt always says, “Why do women care about how they look when naked in front of men? Why are we never happy with ourselves? Why figuring out what will they think about our bellies too big or breasts so imperfect? Let them sweat over their own shapes! And worry about themselves being too fat or too old.” My aunt is 51 and she has a husband and a lover. So whenever my uncle is being an asshole to her, her lover is always there. And he asked her to divorce my uncle and marry him. She has always been satisfied with the way she was, so even if there is anything imperfect, nobody notices that. Isn’t it better and healthier than surgery?

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