What a boob!

I admit it. I’ve been involved in drunken sexual experimentation all in the name of science.

I have at least four friends who have had breast augmentation – a boob job, fake breasts implanted, their tits perfected. I say at least because I've been caught out. The first girlfriend, I had no idea she had even had it done because I have a theory that everybody gets something. Some girls a pretty face, some a spectacular set of boobs. So it just never occurred to me that hers weren’t real.

We’d spent a night drinking red wine. Several bottles because we worked for a man who had unlimited funds and an outdoor cellar with plenty of wine on hand. Rumour had it the wine had frozen over the winter and was no longer any good anyway. We didn’t care. It did the job. Relieved our boredom and kept us chattering and entertained for hours every night after work.

So we were drunk and talking about sex, as girls do, and we got around to breasts when all was revealed. From then on all I could think was I wanna touch them. I want to know what they feel like? What guys feel? I knew her chesticles looked good, better than my soft and ever descending real ones, that had I had the choice would have been much smaller. Much easier to run with and much less likely to be the first thing that men looked at when they looked at me. But alas that was not the case and I grew to love them over the years.

My friend was down with me going the grope because she was a bit drunk and is good like that. I knew a male colleague or two had already had the chance to feel them and she's very comfortable in her own skin. So as we stood there in our clothes face to face, me with one of her breasts in my hand, and she with one of mine in hers, I could feel the firmness of breast that had eluded me all those years.

And while they certainly don’t feel natural they don’t feel bad. They're not little rocks. Rounded on top yes but the implant is pliable. Once it’s warmed up every morning that is. It would seem like just another chore in my day to have to rub my breasts into shape. But I guess I might find the time if I no longer had to fold them into my bra though.

It’s hard to get past the fact that fake boobs look good too. In such a visual world, no sag at the side in a sleeveless shirt and nipple not pointing somewhat south would be nice. Being braless without a sweat building up under them in summer would make me happy too. There's an American comedian who does a great bit about giving it to your woman from behind and knowing that you're really good if the titties are swinging around like a propeller. Every time I bend over and get a pendulum happening I'm reminded of his comedy.

African Jungle titties was what I renamed my girls after breastfeeding two kids! Well they were babies, I'm not one of those crazy ladies that feeds her kids breast milk into their toddler years.

Photo courtesy of National Geographic Magazine 1959

My other girlfriends have had their boob jobs more recently and all felt they had nothing if not very little to begin with. And they wanted to look different to men. I guess that if I felt I’d never had much breast then I might be envious of other women who have bigger ones. I just don’t look at women that way. It never occurs to me whether women have big or small breasts. Unless of course they're so big you can't help but wonder how much back pain the woman has? Punky Brewster had that problem and had a reduction from memory. 

I don’t identify myself as different to men because of my breasts. There are plenty of other reasons I've been shown to be different to men and most of them are less what a man sees physically and more the way a man perceives himself in relation to the role of his mother. 

I'm not silly. I  know men look at my breasts and I’ve gotten better about showing them off and not trying to hide them. I just never wanted them to be their sole focus. Two lumps of flesh under my chin more interesting than my face or my personality. More often than not blocking my vision of my feet and pulling my back forwards. The twin peaks as some call them. Well not mine if I'm flat on my back. More like two fried eggs each yolk trying to flee as far as possible under my armpits from the other.

Women love to call other women out for having had a boob job. As if they've done something wrong by trying to buy a place to stop their necklace from swinging around their neck when they walk. As if they're wrong for trying to draw the attention of men, when a basic need for many is the love of the opposite sex and/or procreation. As if women with fake boobs have some sort of secret power they don't have. With a bit of effort anyone can decorate a cake to make it look tasty. It's not about having fancy ingredients. 

If I’d paid to have bigger breasts then I’d need to have them on display at all times. After all, based on what I’m told, I think that’s why women get implants, to be recognized as feminine. And you don't buy a boat to keep it in the garage under a tarp.

What would you prefer? Bigger? Smaller? Or perfectly content with what I have?

ps When one friend recently had her boobs upgraded I asked her to request to keep her original set. And she did. The doctor put them in a little box for me and I will keep them as an antique for my daughter. One day she may be able to sell them on ebay as a collectors item. Like an original Mac Computer!