All About Boobs
by Michelle Montoro
There is a certain grandeur in the female breast. Magical and majestic in its essence. Coercive and manipulative in its presence. Perky or pendulous, abundant or meek, they should be appreciated for their power and their persuasion, their life giving force as well as their bounteous comfort.
Only half the human population is blessed (or cursed) with these anatomical powerhouses. And the feelings around them vary to the utmost degree. We who carry them love them and hate them from before we even have them. The changing nature of our relationships with our breasts continues for a lifetime.
We hide them away under layers of garments. Every single day. Strapped in, lifted up, pushed together. We search for clothing that makes them look smaller, makes them look bigger, makes them look shapelier, makes them look sexier. Rather than just embracing them for what they are.
If we become mothers, our breasts are a life sustaining force which demand respect. After child rearing has come to an end or if we never have children, we are eventually left with these annoying masses of fat and muscle hanging from the front of our bodies like pendulums that can inexplicably entice with hypnotic effects.
Unless, of course, we are among the unfortunate ones who are stricken with cancer in these masses of flesh, then…
