Sunday, December 9, 2007


I don't have big breasts.

My breasts are small, and I hate the fact knowing that if my breasts had been bigger from puberty, my life would have been easier thus far, easier now, or in any case easier. Easier from the expanse of swollen glands, I would be a much more powerful woman, more dangerous than I am now. A super villain.

My mom and her sister are slender Korean ladies, and before they got breast implants, they had small breasts too.

Once my mom held the open end of a teacup against the refrigerator while we were having lunch and said, "This would be a good size for you, a teacup's worth, not too much, a handful's enough, too big is too trashy," and offered to pay for half of an operation as a college graduation present. Her criticism was always part of lunch.

I thought about it too. I still think about it, the new found power I would possess if I had big fake breasts, opportunities more abundant for comfort and security.

I ultimately settled for a huge down payment on a car that's falling apart now, ten grand on a used Maxima that's seen a lot of miles.

Nice people say: You would only get more attention from shallow assholes, your personality would not be the same, you would not be as smart as you are, they hurt your back after a while, they sag, I'm a butt man, it's not a big deal like you think it is.

This does not change the fact that I know I have and have had to work extra hard with small breasts, to stay in shape, to look nice in the light, to hone my charisma, deal with the deficits of boys who pay less, boys who are lazy, who are controlled with mind blowing oral sex techniques but have beautiful physiques, lovely princes, stallions, scavengers, pisspies, louses...

I have to explain how deeply ingrained it is in me to think men are shit because my father was shit and how guys I dated when I was younger mostly turned out to be shit.

These things will make more sense with those facts on the table.

And to this day, even though I'm surrounded by nice guys now, finally, for the time being, I am still overly skeptical and untrusting, think that men are ruled by: large breasts, women who mimic mothers, consistent mind blowing oral sex techniques; and with the naive who believe they are smarter-simple manipulation using guilt underlying in realms of conditioned response.

Fun fact: Most of the boys I (have) like(d) most, and who (have) like(d) me, were thought to be gay by friends and family until their first serious girlfriend (though the sex is more mind blowing with them for some curious reason, which I have not figured out yet aside from the fact that they might be more passionate, but I hate to say that. It doesn't seem fair.)

They're prettier too, skinnier, dress better, and smell better: less like cologne, more like soap. It's a generalization, but I don't care. I've seen what I've seen, and know what I know from it.

Fortunately, they don't seem to mind small breasts as much, or maybe they're just into Asians and know that's part of the territory, part of the compromise for the spice, the enigma, the feeling of being a samurai, the slanted vagina.

That's okay. I don't like small penises. That's okay.

I will survive with my small breasts.

I will watch educational video clips on the internet to practice mind blowing oral sex techniques.

I will stick with mythically gay butt guys with Asian fetishes using guilt underlying in realms of conditioned response who aren't shallow, who care about my back; stallions, scavengers, pisspies, louses; guys who appreciate my winning personality and smile.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

This post is 4 1/2 years old, but I loved it. Small bust, big heart.

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