Back into my boobs

For a while I wasn’t happy about my new boobs. For those of you who are new to this blog, I recently had a natural breast enhancement. No surgery required. I’m pregnant and the boob job took care of itself.

I wasn’t happy with my breasts at first. They were more than a handful (no pun intended) and required new bras and new concern that I was popping out of my regular tops and dresses.

Today however, I made peace with my extra large friends and I have to say, I’m kind of excited about them. While I always enjoyed having large boobs, I now have the kind of the porn star variety. Turns out, it can be a lot of fun. I’m enjoying admiring myself in the mirror again. I don’t know how long they’ll last but I’m looking forward to enjoying them as long as I’ve got them.

N.Y. v. L.A.

Remember the contour bras and my befuddlement about them? Well, something else in the article caught my attention — the comments of a lingerie designer bemoaning the trend:

“My feeling is that these days, rather than someone like Janis Joplin being revered, idolized, it’s more about the shoe or the bag of the moment,” she said. “It’s about labels, names, branding. Everyone has their hair straightened, the perfect jeans, the right cellphone and accessories. It’s almost like New York is turning into L.A.; there is a lack of acceptance of natural self.” Though New York women do not appear to be embracing surgical implants with the same zeal as their sisters in the West … yet?

I lived in New York for ten years and periodically people would tell me that they couldn’t believe I was from Los Angeles and that I seemed “so” New York. I was always kind of insulted by that comment, thinking it was code for short, unruly dark hair, a little too neurotic, maybe a bit uptight, or really, just not that hot.

But maybe they were really just talking about my boobs.

Growing Boobs

I remember in fifth or sixth grade, there were a handful of girls who were more developed than the rest. In retrospect, they probably were an A cup, but the very fact that they wore bras at all caught the attention of us flat-chested girls and boob-obsessed boys. But, I saw some of these girls five, six years later, and they were still all A cups, or at the most a modest B. It was like these girls just reached womanhood early and stayed put.

On the other hand, there were also a handful of girls who remained flat at 13, flat at 14, flat at 15, and flat at 16. But miraculously, the summer between 11th and 12th grade, they became DDs. I’m not joking. I’ve seen this happen. Breast-enlargement rumors were flying around school.

I took an entirely different path. I just started growing, and growing, and growing. In fact, I think I was still growing when I was 18 or 19 because I have a distinct memory of buying a jacket freshman year of college that no longer fit across the chest by the time I was a junior.

Now, I don’t know if the busty sixth graders or the flat eleventh graders were aberrations, or if I am, but I’m curious to know what the normal breast growth trajectory is.

-DeeDee

Boobs and Sex: Some preliminary thoughts

This is first in what I hope will be a series of postings on boobs and sex.

I had sex on Saturday night. It was enjoyable for the obvious reasons, but one less-obvious perk was that it provided a wonderful research opportunity for this blog. This may be crazy, but, swear to god, I actually thought about this blog at one point during the evening. I mean, during the act of sex itself, I thought about blogging.

He was on top. His hands were on the bed on either side of me and his torso was pushed away from me, perhaps at a sixty degree angle or so. Anyway, because he was, you know, thrusting with gusto, and because his body was not pressed against mine, my boobs were bopping back and forth. I wouldn’t say it hurt or anything, but I felt myself becoming very self-conscious. (This was when I thought, “aha, blog time!”)

Now, I don’t know how much of my self-consciousness had to do with the fact that my breasts were moving about kind of awkwardly, and how much was really just a general discomfort with the intense intimacy of being stared at by my partner during sex. I met him only that night, which may have contributed to the awkwardness I felt. A million thoughts were running through my head:

Do all breasts move like that during sex, or only those that pass a certain size threshold? Is he enjoying the view? Is he specifically enjoying the view of large breasts dancing around? Why isn’t he making eye contact with me? Is it because he is enjoying the view? Okay, I’m going to look into his eyes. Is he in this position because it feels good or because he likes the way it looks? Am I thinking way too much about my breasts? Oh, that feels good. Do I actually like the fact that my boobs are jiggling? Why am I so weird? Should I blog about this? Wow, I’m crazy. Wow, he’s pretty hot. Oh, looks like I’m on top now.

Clearly, as I warned, it’s difficult to sort out the boob-specific thoughts from all of my other neuroses. However I do wonder if large-breasted women have common experiences in sex different from smaller-breasted women, and if their sex partners notice differences in having sex with small-boobed girls vs. large-boobed girls.

-DeeDee

BBB Field trip: I’m off to see the Wizard

I took a road trip today to do some research for your reading pleasure. I ended up somewhere over the mountains, way up high; my destination was a store I had heard of once in a lullaby. OK, I didn’t exactly hear about it in a lullaby but the place is called “The Wizard of Bras” so I thought I might try to play with as many puns as possible. But before I talk about my trip, it’s time I came clean about something.

I was off to see the Wizard for more than just research. It’s time for me to buy new bras because I’ve had a problem in the past couple of weeks. My boobs have been growing at an alarming rate in a way they never have before. I wish I could say that this was due to some magical pill I had invented or because those “I must, I must, I must increase my bust” exercises I did in the sixth grade finally paid off but the truth is: this half of the Big Boob Blog is pregnant. And, as a result, I’ve been popping out of almost every bra I own from expensive to cheap. I’m three months in and it’s time for me to get a handle on all of this extra boobage.

So, back to my wizardly experience. I knew I could not handle my new situation on my own and I’d heard those who go to see the Wizard leave with something more useful than a heart or a brain or courage: the elusive perfect fitting bra. So, I followed the yellow brick road across several miles and freeways until I found Oz. When I got there I was sort of disappointed; I was expecting the Emerald City and what I found was a hole in the wall on the side of the highway that sold everything from bras to feather boas to crotchless panties to a game called “Pin the Macho on the Male.” Oz was a little trashier than I thought. Still, their website said they carried some of my favorites like Fantasie of England and Wacoal so I figured I’d stick around.

Just like in the movie, there was a long wait to see the Wizard. I had to fill out a form with my needs and was told it would be 30-60 minutes before I would be served. Perhaps this is a tactic to weed out those not strong enough to face the Wizard? It didn’t matter to me. I write a blog about boobs and I have a reputation to protect so I wasn’t going anywhere.

When my name and number were finally called, the Wizard, (who turned out to be a petite blonde named Holly) escorted me into the back and got down to work with a tape measure. I explained that I had been fitted many times and that I wear a 38DDD but I knew I had grown a little bit. As it turns out, that would be the understatement of the year.

When the Wizard was through measuring and sizing me up with her eyes, she made her ruling. “I’m going to have you start by trying a 38G” she explained. That’s right, you read that correctly. A 38G. G as in girl. G as in grandiose. G as in GOOD GOD how did I ever GET so big? I remember my shock and horror when I moved up from a DD to a DDD for the first time. I enjoy having big boobs but I never wanted them freakishly big. This news was almost too much to take. . .and then the Wizard hit me with the kicker: “in the next few weeks and months, you’re only going to get bigger and bigger.”

I don’t know what I was expecting when I went in there but not this. After a few moments of shock, I gathered my thoughts and emotions and held my head (and boobs) high. OK, I said. I’ll try anything you’ve got. The Wizard disappeared and returned with a 38H. H as in the letter that comes after G. Why were the letters going up? Had I grown a cup size while she was picking out bras behind the curtain? The Wizard explained that she wanted to put me in something with room to grow. Fortunately, I was swimming in the H and we agreed it wasn’t necessary. . .yet.

I tried on a bunch of other suitors, many of which made me way too pointy. I told the Wizard I wanted more of a molded and less of a Madonna fit. Some of the next few were pretty but just too lacy. I was beginning to give up hope. Then, another woman behind the curtain emerged with the winner. Much to my surprise, it was a bra I blogged about just a few weeks ago: the Fantasie Smoothing Balcony bra. Only this time instead of a DDD or and E, I took home two in a 38G. If I couldn’t have my normal size, at least I could have an old friend by my side who was ready to take on my ever-expanding chest. As an added bonus, I also picked up an awesome black sports bra made by Anita.

When it was all over, I decided me and my boobs needed a nap. I woke up to find that my day wasn’t a dream at all and I now have not only a heart, brain, and courage, but the support I need to get though the next six months in style and comfort. I’ll keep you updated on my progress and my sizing. And even though I just cleaned out my bra drawer to make room for my new purchases, I’m keeping my name (3D) for now. There’s only so much change one boob blogger can take in a day. I may not be in Kansas anymore but I am just not ready to admit I’m in G-town yet.

-3D

 

 

Someone more into boobs than we are

This is really gross.  I am not even sure why I am posting it but this is a blog about big boobs so I generally include anything I come across that somehow connects to big boobage.

In case you can’t tell, it’s a picture of a guy who got silicon “breast” implants. . .on his leg. . .to beef up his tattoo of a BBG.  You can get a better look here.

via Jezebel

-3D

Another article about a big boobed gal finding her way.

I feel like I have read this article 100 times before. Or maybe it’s that I know a hundred girls like this one. Or maybe I feel connected to this article because I used to be this girl.

In a nutshell, the author has big boobs, isn’t so happy with them, and then goes and gets fitted for her correct bra size all the while agonizing over her size and lack of comfort with them. By the end of the story, she is still unsure of herself (but much better supported!), she won’t even reveal her bra size, and of course there is no picture to accompany the piece.

When I was in her position (I even went to Town Shop and Orchard Corset like she did), getting fitted for the right bras immediately raised my confidence level in my breasts, completely changing the way I felt about them. I hope that’s the epilogue to this story as well.

-3D

Undeniable

One thing I like about my breasts is that they are undeniably large.  Whether I am big-boobed or not isn’t really up for debate.  I am.

A few weeks ago I was with a guy friend at a bar and we mused at how the bartender wasn’t paying attention to us.  I joked that one would think that my breasts would attract the attention of bartenders, but in fact they rarely do.  The guy was genuinely surprised that my boobs don’t have much of an effect on male bartenders.

To be honest, I don’t really know if that’s true or not and actually, I don’t really think that bartenders ignore me any more than the next person.  I think I just wanted to call his attention to my breasts because I was hoping to hook up with him that night.  (We didn’t.  And yes, I realize that this is a bizarre way of flirting, and that if anything, I probably should have told him that my boobs DO work to my advantage, but the two of us have somewhat of a complicated dynamic that is not worth going into and whatever, that’s the path I took).   The point is, I knew this was a relatively safe comment to make because, as I said, my breasts are undeniably large.  It’s not like I’m a 34C, bragging about my huge tits.   A 34DD is big enough to joke about without sounding like I’m overreaching.

What’s even better, I’m not freakishly large.  No one points and stares and thankfully, I don’t have back problems.  And, as soon as I discovered the secret of wearing two sports bras while running, my breasts have never given me any significant physical discomfort.  I can’t do jumping jacks though, but really, who the hell cares?

So basically, I think I’m the perfect size.

-DeeDee

Something to look forward to

I just set my Tivo to record “My Big Breasts and Me” on the BBC.  It airs December 23 and might be a perfect way for this curvy jew to spend Christmas Eve on the 24th.

I’m curious, but I wonder if there is anything to be said about big breasts that hasn’t been said by either 3D or me to one another . . .

-DeeDee

A part of me I rarely think of

Someone at work complimented my nose the other day.  It was a strange compliment as my nose is a part of me I rarely think of.  My boobs on the other hand are quite lovely (if I do say so myself) and a part of me about which I think quite often.  I rarely get compliments on my boobs in public.  Why is it so taboo?  What makes then so different from a nose?

-3D

Form follows function

My last post on Halle Berry’s ginormous boobs got me thinking about the photo I saw earlier this week of Spice Girl Mel B, the one who recently had Eddie Murphy’s baby.

A lot of celebrities (and pseudo-celebrities) think boob jobs are the way to go but they’ve got it all wrong. My advice: just start having babies. The hottest boobs of all seem to come before and after a pregnancy.

-3D

“My Big Breasts and I”

There must be a reason we have so many readers in the UK. A reader points me to a television show in Britain called “My Big Breasts and I” which follows the lives of women with big boobs. According to the BBC, British women have the biggest breasts in Europe and the show “unearths the true and often traumatic lives of pain and misery that some young women endure due to their large breasts.”

Here’s some more info about “My Big Breasts and I”:

Britain is weighed down by the biggest breasts in Europe. The average chest size of a British teenager has grown dramatically over the past 10 years and is now a whopping 36D.

For some young women this is a cause for celebration, for others it can lead to a life of misery as they face bullying and physical pain. Thousands of teenagers – some as young as 13 – are now going under the knife in order to reduce their bust size and “fit” in.

My Big Breasts And I follows the lives of young women who have large breasts and differing attitudes towards them. Some have to go under the knife for medical reasons, as they suffer from osteoarthritis and curvature of the spine, while others undergo surgery to move down a cup size or two for emotional reasons.

The film unearths the traumatic, poignant and true stories about what it’s really like to be a young woman with enormous breasts in Britain today.

The show premiered last spring, I’m not sure how it did. It had some stiff boob competition, with other shows premiering at the same time called “Me And My Man Breasts,” “Teens Addicted To Porn” and “F*** Off I’m A Hairy Woman” among others.

-3D

The dead giveaway

When I was about 13 I had a really short haircut. Well, it was more like a really bad haircut that happened to be short. I hated my hair so I started wearing hats to cover it. I was lucky that hats happened to be in fashion back then so most of the time, they were just cute accessories.

But sometimes I liked to wear baseball hats which weren’t exactly cute, nor feminine. I have a vivid memory of wearing one in a diner in Florida with my sister and cousins. I placed my order wearing my hat and the waitress mistook me for a boy. It was incredibly embarrassing and reminded me just how much I hated my hair and how I couldn’t wait for it to grow back.

It’s funny now to think back on that moment. I must have had boobs, but I guess they were just a normal size and probably strapped in by a bra. I was probably wearing jeans and a T-shirt and I’m quite certain I didn’t carry a purse or wear any makeup. I didn’t even have my ears pierced. Maybe I really did look like a boy.

There is no way anyone would mistake me for a male today. No matter what I do to my hair or what I wear, my boobs are just too obvious; the dead giveaway that I am a woman.

I remember someone, I think a friend’s mother, once told me that she couldn’t remember her life before she met her husband; she claimed her life changed so dramatically when she got married and later had kids that her former life was unrecognizable. I thought the story was ridiculous (and actually a bit sad) but thinking about it now in the context of breasts, it kind of makes sense. My breasts are what make me female and I enjoy being female. My femininity informs so much of what I do and think and say and I can’t imagine a time when I didn’t feel this way or look this way. I can’t imagine a time when someone wouldn’t have picked that up about me.

For all the grief my breasts sometimes give me, I love that they are the outward representation of the person I am inside.

-3D

Nippleitis and Shame

So I thought I’d weigh in on the nippleitis wars.

Unlike 3D, I never enjoy nippleitis. Well, scratch that. I don’t think much of it if I am around good friends/people I am intimate with. But in any public or semi-public situation, and certainly in a professional situation, I’m always embarrassed when I discover that I am poking through my shirt.

It’s funny — it’s not so much that I notice people looking at me. In fact, I never notice people checking out my breasts. Never. I’m kind of oblivious to things like that. It’s more that I feel like nippleitis means that something is wrong, that a wardrobe malfunction has occurred and that I am being unprofessional/messy/gross.

I think my shame in nippleitis stems from the fact that as a kid, I was always kinda messy and my parents always gave me grief for not being put together. Although I have pretty much moved passed that, even now, I often feel that my clothes aren’t fitting right. For example, my boobs are not only large, but they are particularly large for my frame and so often my tops fall off my shoulders, revealing a bit too much cleavage and sometimes some bra as well. When that occurs, my first reaction is to be hard on myself for buying clothes that don’t fit properly or for not standing up straight or for wearing the wrong bra. Likewise, I tend to think my nippleitis also reflects my inability to appear put together — perhaps I could have avoided it with a better bra, a camisole or maybe I should never have bought the top to begin with. And so I get embarrassed and subsequently angry with myself for being so sloppy.

As I’m writing this, I realize that sometimes it just can’t be avoided and my nippleitis-induced self-wrath is a bit ridiculous. But no, I don’t think I will ever revel in my nipples.

-DeeDee

An “attractive breast”

Jezebel discusses an article about a plastic surgeon who has come up with the “perfect breast shape.” It’s pretty ridiculous although one of his findings includes the notion that an “attractive breast” is one where the nipple is “pointing slightly upward.” Maybe he read my earlier post about finding erect nipples sexy.

Use ‘em if you’ve got ‘em

DeeDee was over last night and we were talking about nippleitis. For those who don’t read us regularly, nippleitis is when, for whatever reason, a woman’s nipples are erect and visible through her clothes.

Most women will tell you that nippleitis is an embarrassing side effect of having breasts. I disagree. I think there is something really sexy about erect nipples. I also think nipple erections give us power over men, specifically when we are in professional environments. I like to gauge how men react to my big breasts in the office and I particularly enjoy making them choose whether to look at my breasts when my nipples are visible through my shirt or whether to look away. I like that I am forcing them to decide whether to act on a natural instinct, which I imagine would be to stare and enjoy, or a professional one, which would be to look me in the eyes only and treat me as a non-sexual being. I suspect that women of any breast side who dress provocatively in the workplace are working the same power play I am. I don’t do this often but once in a while it’s a lot of fun, especially because I tend to cover up my boobs in the office.

-3D

I’ve joined the human race

That’s how I felt the first time I wore a bikini — like I was finally experiencing a major part of life that had been denied to me for so many years. With a 34DD and a few extra rolls around my stomach, I had never been able to wear a bikini before, partly out of a discomfort at showing my stomach and partly out of a belief (largely true) that no bikini would ever provide enough support.

Enter Malia Mills.

I had heard about Malia Mills increasingly over the past few months, full-figured friends swearing that, if I am willing to spend the money, I could be a bikini-wearer. I checked out the website and confirmed that indeed, she did make bikinis for a DD cup. “Love thy differences,” the website proclaims. And while many of the models did have bodies of, well, models, there were certainly a few who had “differences” in their tummies or thighs.

I went to the Malia Mills store on the upper westside. The experience was, simply, delightful. The saleswoman was encouraging without being condescending. She showed me two styles that would fit a DD cup and agreed that the Bettie was the one for me. The suit uses some type of boning to provide support, without using uncomfortable underwire. Not entirely sure how it works, but trust me, it does. As the saleswomen were ringing up the most expensive piece of fabric per square inch I’ll ever put on my body, I chatted with them about my upcoming beach weekend and my plan to move to Los Angeles at the end of the summer.

I then hopped on the ferry to Fire Island where I strolled down the beach wearing nothing but my bikini. It was so liberating to not be forced to make accommodations because my body was different — I was finally like everyone else. And by everyone else, I mean — as I realized after looking at the other bikini-clad women on the beach — that all of our bodies have quirks. The only thing that was stopping me from wearing a bikini before was a lack of confidence (and, of course, my ignorance to the wonders of Malia Mills underwire-free super-supportive bikini tops).

A few weeks later, I received the following note in the mail:

Dear DeeDee,

Thanks for shopping at Malia Mills Columbus Avenue. We hope you enjoyed your midnight blue suit. Good luck with your move to Los Angeles.

Love,

The Gals at Malia Mills

Well, that is some pretty good customer service. Next time I’m in New York (sadly they only have stores in NYC, Connecticut, and Chicago) I will certainly go back. Perhaps I will even get one in leopard.

-DeeDee

Getting an ‘F’ in Biology

This was a great article in the Washington Post last year about having large breasts.  It’s sort of funny that the Post didn’t run a picture next to the article.  I imagine that would have helped the story a lot. . .

-3D