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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o This part of my collection offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to o
o be typed therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s o
o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o
o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen Becker o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
The Boob Trap (commentary)
by Ellen Welty
Mademoiselle, June 1989
***
I remember 1986 as a good year because it gave birth to the
New Voluptuousness. It seemed like the dawn of a gloriously sane
new era. Kelly McGillis, Sigourney Weaver, Kathleen Turner,
Paulina, Madonna - a handful of starlit women had, but their
popularity, suddenly made it chic to be curvy. To flaunt one's
natural padding. To have full breasts, the slight swell of a
stomach, a rear like a little cushion. Just like that, the ideal
female form was no longer that of a human telephone pole. Women
relaxed.
But now it is 1989, and it is like the Night of the Living
Breasts in this country. Every time I open a magazine, go to the
movies or turn on the TV, huge tits spill out of the picture.
Frail-shouldered 14-year old models just onto pages with 47D chests
made of cement. Movies are mammoth mammary nightmares. Matters have
reached such a pitch that women are actually going out and BUYING
breasts: Surgeons are so busy augmenting chests that they barely
have time to lay down their scalpels and be interviewed about their
booming practices. Every woman, we're told, wants her cups to
runneth over.
What I want to say about the new breast obsession is this: It's
a lie. We small breasted women are not an endangered species. Hey,
look around: We're the MAJORITY. The hour has come to say,
yoo-hoo! Over here! One trillion small breasted women! Happy
women! None of us reaching for a silicone gun! Some of us look like
little boys, some like little pears, but the fact is, when we look
down and have an unobstructed view of our navel, we're not sad. We
are delighted that it would be impossible for us to balance a
chessboard on our chests! We're happy that Sports Illustrated
didn't tap up for its swimsuit issue - we were busy those days! And
we're tickled we don't need to heed the cross-your-heart ads on TV -
we can leave the room and do constructive things with that minute!
"Underwire"? We don't have to know what it means! "Lift and
separate"? Getouddahere - it sounds obscene and we want no part of
it! "Cleavage"? It's in Ohio, right?
Now don't misunderstand - I am not out to denigrate or ridicule
big-breasted women. It's those who declare a certain type of
woman's body "in" or "out" who are at fault. The underlying message
of the current big-tit fixation - that small breasted women are
somehow less sexy, less feminine and less fecund than amply endowed
women - is absurd, puerile and insulting to ALL women.
Besides, if we don't start exposing it or the lie that it is, my
friend Diane is going to lose it. She's flat, okay? And she's
beginning to buy into this big-is-better thinking: Wearing
extra-large men's shirts; sniping as she flips through fashion
magazines, "huh, HERS are fake, for sure." The other day she
gushed, "I think my breasts are getting bigger. Stephanie even
commented on it yesterday." Oh, good Lord, I thought, how can she
forget all the wonderful things about not being big?
THE WAY WE WEAR
Take clothes, for instance. When you're small breasted, you can
wear any kind of shirt or dress or jacket and it hangs sweetly, it
drapes right, it doesn't fit tight across the chest only to billow
below. If you have a tiny waist, people can actually SEE it. You
can wear a strapless gown or wear one with wisplike spaghetti
straps, without looking glaringly out of proportion.
In the winter, you can wear turtlenecks and tight sweaters
without fretting that your bulging chest is what all eyes will be
drawn to. And in the warm weather - ah, no summer was made for
small breasted women. No steel-wire supports in swimsuits for us,
no gauging if one without support will hold us in and up. We could
dive off the cliffs of Hawaii and our bikini tops would probably
stay on. We can sunbathe on our stomachs with our top undone and
not have a gathering of 14-year old boys circling our towel. Best
of all, we can go braless: in sleeveless, low-necked tank tops and
teeny little cut-off T-Shirts; in roomy cotton blouses with half the
buttons undone; in sundresses and shifts and fancy silk things. We
can feel the fabric against our skin, the breeze, maybe even the
warmth of the sun slipping in. We are unencumbered. Yes, our
breasts do bounce and sway slightly when we move, but not obscenely,
not uncomfortably.
We get to spend the season pleasantly reminded of our femininity
and of the sensuality of hot days and evenings. At a topless
beach, we look healthy, sensuous but not blatantly sexual. And we
small-breasted women can stretch in the morning sun, feel the sand
between our toes, and, without bra, trot, jog, tear - any pace we
want - down the beach.
ON THE MOVE
You see, there's much more than just the freedom of dress that
makes being small-breasted a boon. Think of how much easier and
more pleasant exercising is for us. We smaller women will never be
doing rapid-fire toe-touching exercises in aerobics class only to
feel the rude THUNK of our breasts against our chin as we bend
over. Because I'm small, even when I'm not exercising, I FEEL like
an active person, one tight little unit, with no awkward or heavy
baggage. I'm ready to go at a moment's notice. If I were
large-breasted, I would feel self-conscious every time I sprinted
for a bus (or jitterbugged, come to think of it), knowing 95 out of
100 people I passed would be watching my breasts heaving up and
down.
Of course, that's the crux of the problem with this
isn't-it-awful-to-be-big-when-you're-active stuff: not how
physically uncomfortable it may feel to the woman, but how uneasy it
must make her to feel people's eyes upon her. Having big breasts is
a lot like being very tall. The woman's a standout, whether she
likes it or not. She's almost awe-inspiring; to other people, it's
a little like setting eyes on Mount Rushmore.
Hey, I feel this way, and I'm not even sexually attracted to
women.
BOY TOYS And that leads me to a subject we all know a little
about: men and their feelings about women's breasts. The common
wisdom is that men like 'em pretty damn big and that we
small-breasted women spend our formative years crying alone in our
bedrooms, convinced Mr. Right will never love us because we're
teeny. And that even as adults we look down each morning and feel
waves of inadequacy course through us. Pshaw.
Oh, it's true we do have moments of wistfulness - especially
when we're growing up. Around the time my mother replaced my
undershirts with training bras, she made a few remarks I found
extremely disconcerting. She told me tales of how big chests were
all the vogue when she was dating, of how she used to weep as she
stuffed her prom dress with padding. "It's a good thing," she said
to me, "that your father is a leg man." Unbeknownst to her, I, at
the time, harbored a fierce ambition to be a Playboy bunny. A
friend and I had soaked up every bunny's form, on every page, in all
of her brothers 700 issues of Playboy. We didn't know what sex was,
but bunny-hood looked to be what being a happy adult was all about.
So I began to scrutinize my mother more closely. Kind of
boy-shaped. Not bunnylike at all. Wait a second, I thought,
scowling at her. Does this mean there's going to be some genetic
impediment to my wearing cottontails? Thank Heaven I grew up in
low-tech times - if I'd known about silicone at that moment, I would
have volunteered for the pioneer test group.
Soon after, however, it began to dawn on me that, where males
were concerned, in unexpected ways, I benefited from being small.
The sight of big breasts blew fuses in boy's brains. They'd rush
from their lockers for the chance to walk down the hall with a
big-breasted girl, but I suspect that for the girl in question this
must have been a lot like being loved for your money: You never
REALLY knew...
In a roundabout way, being small gave me a strong, anchored
sense of my femininity. No guy has or will be attracted to me
because of my breasts - or any one part of my body, for that
matter. Because of that, I consider my feminine appeal to have as
much to do with my personality and mannerisms as with my body.
And who says all guys prefer big breasts anyway? While I know I
can never be sure whether a man means it or is just being gallant
when he says "any more than a handful is a waste" (an icky little
phrase, however well meant), I frankly don't mind being in the dark
about it. I mean, who cares? I was once in love with a guy with a
concave chest, and I adored his chest because it was HIS. We are
each a package. Worst of all for large-breasted women, many men
treat them as if they and their breasts were some kind of public
property. I'm sorry well-endowed women have to experience leers and
crude comments because of the way nature built them; that all too
often men don't remember the color of their eyes because they are
stealing glances at their breasts. Men have nowhere to look BUT my
eyes. I have never felt that split-second violation.
SOCIETY SAYS It's also true that big-breasted women are targets
for more than lascivious looks. They are victims for stereotyping:
bimbo; earth mother; homemaker; matronly conservative; sexpot. For
example, take poor Susan Sarandon. She took off her blouse in
Atlantic City to reveal great tits and now people will not leave
them alone. Article after article about her mentions her breasts.
Compare her reputation to that of Diane Keaton, who can sound so
neurotic that you wonder when men with butterfly nets will come to
take her away. Look at how we think of her, with her tortoishell
glasses and voluminous clothes - flighty, but hell, that's an act,
she's intelligent, she's got it all under control. Diane Keaton is
flat.
Truly, going braless is not the only kind of freedom that
flat-chested women have. Just ask all the other lucky
small-breasted women in recent popular history who are known for
their beauty but ALSO for their brains, moxie and talent: Audrey
Hepburn, Katherine Hepburn, Lauren Bacall, Meryl Streep. You know,
things will probably calm down for Susan Sarandon sometime soon.
This current breast fixation has to wane: Society will get bored, as
it always does, drum its fingers on the table, and voila',
trendmakers will present us with another "ideal" female form we're
supposed to covet. I wonder if these movers and shakers might be
bold about it and embrace a variety of shapes. Be freeform. Extol
curves of all kinds. You know, real-life stuff. Sounds like it
could be chaotic. Sounds Sane. Sounds fun.