My Changing Chest

My Changing Chest

My pectoral appendages are changing and it makes me a bit sad. Gravity is doing what it does and at the ripe age of 27 I fantasize about getting a boob job. Until recently I was always satisfied with my tits. As a pre-teen and teenager I’d whip them out almost anywhere at any time. At a sixth grade (all girls) slumber party I was dared to streak around my friend’s basement. No problem. Lifting my shirt and flashing my sports bra (risky business for a twelve year-old!) at an Avril Lavigne concert? Check. That same year my friends and I goofed around on a copy machine after school hours and my boobs were playfully scanned on the apparatus. It was no big deal to me. They were my partners in crime. I even gave them nicknames: Teeny and Bopper.

As a freshman in high school I leveled up from elementary antics and turned to cyber shenanigans...I started taking naked selfies with my cell phone. I would kill to see the nudes I sent my high school boyfriend! My rack was at its prime then. I suppose they’re somewhere floating in cyberspace. Around that time is when my feelings toward my lady bits were at a peak. My mother, who’s modestly endowed, used to gawk at how busty my and my sister’s chests were. “Well, you didn’t get those from me,” she’d say with half admiration and half astonishment. For a petite girl I thought I had a generous-sized set of knockers because my mom always magnified them with her remarks.

I started noticing a change in my 32C’s around the age of 20. One day my mom made an observation when I took the short walk from my childhood bedroom to the bathroom, naked. She casually said something to the effect of “your boobs aren’t as perky as they used to be”. It was something that hadn’t crossed my mind before that moment. I was shocked to hear it. She planted a seed in my mind and I started to consider if they were, in fact, less perky. I chalked it up to my old lady just being dramatic. On another occasion I sent my mom a topless picture of me hanging out in the dressing room at work. I thought I looked cute. Her response was, “Your boobs are sagging and I don’t know why!” Still, I didn’t give it too much attention back then. But four years have gone by and so has the height of my girls.

There’s no doubt in my mind now that they’re not perched as high as they used to be. From what I can see it’s totally common for female bodies to make this change at this time in a woman’s life. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I regularly do pole acrobatics, which often find me hanging upside down without the support of a bra. Whether it’s due to genetics, excessive monkeying around, age, or some other unknown factor, my tits are where they are and I have to accept it because I’m not in the position to spend thousands of dollars on cosmetic surgery. 

It could be worse. Some women have postpartum breasts that they’ve had to get reacquainted with because they’re nothing like what they had pre-baby. On top of that I’ve heard breastfeeding takes its toll as well. I don’t know if I’ll ever go through with a pregnancy and experience my chest transforming to human milk jugs and then shriveling and shrinking when they’re emptied out. For now I’ll revel in the few days a month when my breasts swell due to having my period. It reminds me of the good old high school days.

When I’m feeling doubtful of how hot I am with my changing chest I look to women I admire who own their natural bodies. Lady Gaga, Tracee Ellis Ross, Donna Missal, the late Jayne Mansfield. Their breasts aren’t perky and I still find them sexy as hell. They’re strong chicks who make no apologies for who they are...physically or otherwise. They inspire me to embrace what nature has given me. I think back to what Kanye told Kim during a dress fitting on an episode of her reality TV show when she asks if her breasts would look better pushed up: “No, I like natural-looking because I grew up on ‘80s magazines...You look amazing.”

Teeny and Bopper look amazing too.

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