View From The Top - Sex~Kitten.net

Even before I really knew what the fuss was about, they were right there, getting all of the attention - wanted or not. My breasts have been called everything: melons, jugs, tits, tee-tahs, headlights, a rack, the list is endless. I have had many nicknames based on my chest, such as 'lungs.'

Which of course, to a young woman, let’s say unnerving at best. You are, the instant they blossom, a sexual object. And when confronted with this in the midst of hormones, & the generally unpleasant experiences of junior high, it makes a girl confused, overwhelming, and yes, a bit angry.

For over a decade, I rejected anyone who made comments to them or about them to me, & anyone who referred to my breasts by anything other than breasts, was completely & permanently written off.

Even once I grew into holding my own ‘powers of sexuality,’ I rejected those crude or direct enough to comment on them. Usually I mocked them.

In bars, when men would come up, eyes locked on my chest & offer to buy a drink, I would take their chins in my hand, and lift their faces to meet my gaze & say “They cannot enjoy a beverage.” Sometimes I would take the drink, then tell them that my breasts no longer required or desired their presence.

When they would gaze upon my cleavage, with or without drool, and ask for a dance, I would state loudly “They cannot dance on their own you know.” Most would be embarrassed. Some would try to defend themselves “I was looking at your shoes!” I would cover their eyes, and ask them to describe my lovely footwear, no one was ever remotely close.

If someone would get agitated, I would kindly explain to the dolt, that women do not like to have their body parts appraised, let alone talked to as if individual . “After all,” I would ask sweetly, “Would you like me to address your penis as tiny?”

Every now & then, when a male is most rude & will not accept a polite rejection, I will again, resort to such tactics. It may seem cruel, but honestly, they are lacking in education, and you need to try to get past all their bullshit somehow.

Now that I am older, wiser, I am more accepting of the attention my breasts, now nicknamed ‘The Twins,’ receive.

I have discovered not just the power of free drinks, but the glorious satisfaction of having my breasts played with. In fact, I can just about achieve orgasm with just breast play.

And men who love large breasts will play with them!

But there are times when I realize just how much I am still identified by my breasts.

When my dear friend, Kat was diagnosed with breast cancer, and she told me that she would loose part of one, perhaps all of it, I was devastated. Naturally, I was concerned for her. And selfishly, I didn’t want to loose my beloved friend.

But there were more tears later, and those were all for me, all about fear.

It may seem completely selfish, and it is, but I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea of me loosing a breast.

And when we learned that even if her surgeon would be able to save part of her breast, or do reconstruction, she would likely loose all feeling in her nipples... Oh my god. Now it wasn’t just the simple vanity of not being ‘the rack in the room,’ it was personal.

To me it seems like having your clitorous removed. It’s that integral to my sex life. I’m not saying that I’d choose orgasm over life, but it’s a major thing.

First I fear being ‘just breasts,’ & now I fear the ‘what if’ of not having them?

Are any of you here old enough to remember the tv show Dallas & when the matriarch was diagnosed with breast cancer? Do you remember the reaction of the granddaughter, Lucy, played by Charlene Tilton?

Tilton (often refererd to as “Tit-ton’ for her proportions) played a scene in which she is ogled on the street for her large breasts & she freaks out. She yells at the dumb man, and has a panic attack of sorts, realizing that the breast loss is more than just flesh, it is femininity. It is a moment when ‘Lucy’ images the loss for herself. A young woman who normally enjoys such attentions, a flirtation, is suddenly hit with ‘what does being a woman mean to me?’ Is she just ‘buying into a society’s sick fascination?’ Or is it more?

It may seem immature to lament a breast, it may seem selfish to discuss this personal imaginary loss in light of a friend’s real situation, but it’s a very real thing to me. Selfish, immature, and perhaps deluded by culture, I will wonder about this issue for sometime.