I was off to a bad start. I was born with a rather large birthmark on my right breast. So from the very beginning my twins were noticeably fraternal. I was also a child with low key anxiety. Therefore, I grew into a teen who was always self conscious about her body and then into an adult who was very apprehensive about what people thought of me and how I looked. I just wanted to be more like everyone else and I clearly wasn't. I bloomed late. Like really late. This meant that my boobs didn't make a proper appearance (through my clothing) until I was about seventeen years old. Sad, sad times.
From fourteen to about seventeen years of age, one bee sting was the size of a large round grape and the other was the size of a very small plum. I would put toilet tissue, a neatly folded piece paper towel or one thin ankle sock in my bralette to even out the situation. This was quite stupid I'm sure, because it couldn't have looked natural and it still sounds lopsided. It was quite the daily plight for about a week until my sister, plucked me and told me what I'd feared all along, "That looks stupid, Jas. You can tell that it's fake." Keep in mind, back in the late 1990s only superstars had fake boobs. So, what you got was what you had. Hers were perfect and filled out every top just right. I looked like a walking hanger and when I wasn't concentrating on it, the universe brought someone in my path to tell me that glorious piece of news. Usually in the form of my mother.
Then one day, at the awkwardly beautiful age of seventeen, the strangest thing happened...I woke up swollen and in pain. I made my way to the bathroom showered and winced when I washed over my new found and very round C cup breasts. I gasped in amazement. Then closed my eyes tightly and said, "Thank you, God for not forgetting about me" and promptly ran my fingers over the curve of them. They were so big. My birthmark took a backseat in my mind. Every chance from then on I looked at them in the mirror, naked or not. They made everything that was me look so much better; My hair, my eyes, my neck, my shoulders, my tummy, most of all my vagina.
I wasn't the only one that noticed. First, my sister and then my mother of course. She wanted to know what boys did I have playing with them to make them grow so big so fast. She demanded answers for which I didn't have. How could I explain this wondrous miracle? She seemed highly upset, but I'd take it, because there was no way that anyone could take these from me. What she did do, was take me to the PX to purchase some quality bras which she sewed to fit my then small back.
Within the course of the year, they'd grown another cup size and then another still. I was a DD! I asked God to stop at this point, because my mom would surely kill me for having them or for her having to continue to buy bras that fit me properly. You know who else noticed? The boys at school. Having "Debbie & Darlene" (as I'd mentally dubbed them) gave me a new found popularity. First, with the girls and then with the boys. Everyone wanted to be near me or so it seemed.
Anyway, fast forward some odd years at about twenty, life took a toll on my girls. My eating habits were poor, as were my living habits and my sleeping habits as well. My fun bags had been touched a lot by then, because they were fun of course. I wore the worst bras EVER. They were just pure silly. I think most of them cost about $3 and I probably got them from Conway. A destitute college life will do that to a girl. Then a few years further into the progression of life, I had my one and only child at about twenty-five. During pregnancy I looked like I could feed a tiny village full of babies. Then I had my son and it was time to breastfeed. My breast started looking worn, natural and entirely unfun. I wasn't pleased. They cracked and bled from feeding my then human piranha. I cut him off cold turkey at three months old. I just couldn't do it anymore. I started trying to reconstruct my girls on my own. I plastered them with all the Palmer's Coco Butter Oil I could manage. I always massaged them too. I would wrap them with raw cabbage leaves until they looked steamed. Don't laugh too hard, I actually got this crucial advice from friends who did it before me.
My breast eventually shrank back to a full C cup and they lived there off and on for years. I was unhappy with them. Sir was a broker at the time and all the wives and girlfriends of his colleagues afforded fixed breasts. Everyone except me, it seemed had the best boobs that money could buy. I would perk them up with my arms when I'd try to look sexy for Sir in bed. He seemed to still accept them, large areola and all.
Then one day, in the back of my mind, I remembered my mother always telling me to buy the best bras, alter them and wear them even to bed. So I started to do just that. I bought the type of bras that she would approve of. Think Maidenform or Playtex and I wore them to bed every night. After sex I'd put my bra back on. I'm not sure about anyone else, but this totally worked for me. After a few months, I started to notice that they were more firm. So I continued to do things to promote healthy, youthful breasts. I would slather them with coconut oil, especially the nipples. I spent money on decent bras and got rid of them after a year. I only purchase bras with an underwire and healthy comfortable straps.
Don't get me wrong. My boobs still fluctuate. Having my period made them do a crazy dance from month to month. However, since my hysterectomy last year, they have calmed more and seem to be rejuvenated. They sit up better and are back to being a healthy D. Not overly full, but they are good enough for me and they still get a little attention. The only real problem that I have is keeping them separated so they don't sweat and smell like the back of an ear. However, a good bra and sometimes a swipe of deodorant solves all of that. Basically, all I do is take care of them and they in turn take care of me.
Love Jas.