Rating: NNNNN
i never grew breasts — or rather, I started growing breasts earlier than anyone else in my grade four class. Then, just as I was on the verge of being able to fill an A cup, everything came to a halt. All around me, girls busted out into Bs, Cs and Ds as I looked on enviously, but my chest stubbornly remained just short of concave.I’ve spent the better half of my life feeling that there must be some mistake, that I was meant to have breasts. I resented women with breasts, especially the ones who said laughingly, “Oh my god! One day I just woke up and there they were!” I imagined myself flushing their heads down toilets at the same time as I also imagined being privy to their world.
Life with tits! Every eye would turn and a hush would fall whenever I entered a room. People would struggle to recover the thoughts my magnificent mounds momentarily dispelled from their minds.
As conversation slowly resumed, eyes would still dart furtively in my direction as people whispered, “Who is that beautiful creature?” Gathering their courage, one by one they would come forth to bask in the greatness of my amazing proportions, bearing offerings of drinks, candy, money, high-paying positions, odes scribbled on cocktail napkins and invitations to exclusive parties that only the fully busted may attend.
I finally decided to see for myself whether having a rack was really everything I imagined it to be. I borrowed a pair of full breast forms from the lovely people at Wildside, a store that, as they put it , “features sexy feminine fashion for him and her.” I wore them for a week.
The inserts are silicone-filled sacs. You stick them in your bra. Unlike breast “enhancers,” the full breasts are only slightly concave in back, meaning they only work if you’re pretty flat. (I had a friend with a B cup test them and they didn’t work.)
They look 100 per cent real, as long as you don’t wear anything cleavage-baring because they tend to stick out of the bra a bit. They’re amazing. They even come with a nipple!
They were massive. Well, to me. I was now a large C/small D. When I looked in the mirror, I was awed by the image staring back at me. This was the me I was meant to be! The world was about to mine. Before even leaving the store, I was beginning to wonder how I was ever going to bring myself to give them back.
Flouncing into the NOW offices shortly afterwards, chest thrust proudly forward, I readied myself for the hush, the awe, the free candy. But nary a stale Tootsie Roll came my way as the NOW staffers completely failed to notice my inflation.
Well, what do a bunch of queer alternative newspaper people know anyway? I huffed.
Undaunted, I took my breasts to a job interview at a trendy cocktail place. I’ve been unable to find a decent job to supplement my income since I moved to this godforsakenly expensive city. But I was certain that I would soon be mixing drinks and making oodles of cash thanks to my new pals. By the time I arrived without them for my first day of work it would be too late, and they could hardly fire me for it, could they?
The interview, I thought, went swimmingly. So I was shocked when I got a call the next day informing me that they had decided to go with someone else.
Slightly daunted, I took my tits out bar-hopping. For three nights.
By that point they were beginning to annoy me a little. Tits are heavy. They may be only a C cup, but I — a girl who prides herself on her posture — found my shoulders hunching. And crowds are difficult to navigate. An extra couple of inches and suddenly my chest was banging into everything, including people’s elbows. As they turned to apologize I reminded myself to pretend I had felt it.
I can honestly say that in three nights I paid for exactly three drinks and went home stinking drunk at the end of each evening. But I quite often get free drinks. I’m not uneasy on the eyes to begin with, and have often questioned whether people are buying me drinks to get me in the sack or in the hope that I’ll write about their band. Or maybe they’re just friendly. Now I had to ask myself if the tits (which I stuffed into a white tank top so they were as obvious as possible) had anything to do with it. Oh god, it was all too much to think about! Yes, I’ll have another.
I took to striking up conversations with strangers for the sake of the experiment, then heading for the bathroom mid-conversation, taking them out and returning to pick up the conversation where it had left off as though nothing had happened. I waited and watched their eyes. I did this to about 10 men and a couple of women.
Not once did I notice even a flicker of realization. My theory about life with tits was going to hell in a handbasket. Fast.
Frustrated one night at the Horseshoe Tavern, I took them out while sitting at the bar and handed them one by one to my friend Melissa before putting them in my bag. We were with two males. I then talked to them for a little while more and before leaving, and asked her to e-mail me and let me know if they had noticed anything amiss.
She sent an e-mail the next day to say that after intense questioning she had come to the conclusion that they had noticed nothing. I was dumbfounded.
A follow-up phone call to another friend revealed that another male had indeed noticed when I took them out on a different evening.
“What did he think was going on?” I asked.
“He figured it must be some sort of experiment or something. He did say that he found you much more interesting after you took them out.”
I don’t know what that means.
My boyfriend was not a big fan of the inserts either.
“I think you look better without them,” he said, shrugging and leaving it at that.
All in all, my week with a rack was a total failure. I had no problem returning the boobs after all. I should be pleased, I suppose, but I’m actually pissed off. Yet another belief — in this case a belief in the godlike power of tits — has been taken from me.
Now I have to face the fact that I might not be able to blame my lack of success and riches on my flat chest. Maybe I have some other short-comings to address.
Well, my ass is kind of big. So are my ears. Maybe that’s it. I need an ear tuck….
