http://www.girlcomic.net/nov2k1/nov2k1_quickie_sara.php
Rack �em! - A Story of Breast Envy Sara Regezi tells us why staring at your chest is not a men only event. By Sara Regezi I am obsessed with breasts. Big, full, luscious, round, bodacious boobs, tits, melons, hooters, chi-chis, ta-tas, jugs, bazoombas; they occupy my mind constantly. And if you were 5�9", 150 pounds and swimming in an A cup, you�d be obsessed too. I was cursed, cursed I say, with a paltry pair of breasts. In a culture where big tits come in a very close third to mom and apple pie, I spend every day feeling, well, un-American. I was reminded of this, (like I need to be), recently at my friend Annie�s wedding. I was a bridesmaid, and although we�d had the dresses made to order, we were, thankfully, given the option to rent. When we went for the fitting I slipped mine on�fit like a glove, except that the bust area could hold an entire Yule log in addition to my boobs. "Well, to be honest," said Maya the dressmaker, "if I�d made the dress to your chest measurements, I wouldn�t be able to rent it again." I stood there, humiliated, the excess fabric billowing in the afternoon breeze. Her consolation: "But you can just stuff it, it�ll look great, really." Annie the bride, who is, incidentally 4�11" and a double D, thought it was hilarious. "Oh come on, it�s funny�think of it as funny," she said, as we wandered through the aisles of JoAnn Fabrics in search of fake sponge tits. See, I was the one person that was happy with heroin chic. Remember�the sullen chicks with flat chests? Bring back the waifs! I used to be more confident about my breasts than I am now. I used to think "Well, at least I know that if a guy pays attention to me, he�s not just looking to cop a feel." But that was years ago. I had role models back then in dancers, gymnasts, runners, and the like. My friend Allison took me to the ballet recently and suddenly they�ve all got tits. "What�s up with that?" I asked her. "Didn�t you hear? Ballerinas are getting boob jobs." That�s all my flat-chested sisters and me need. Waifs with huge racks. And because of the soaring popularity of fake ta-tas, the Club of the Small Titted is dwindling in membership. I had a personal friend recently defect from the Club when my sister, who is, incidentally, a D cup, informed me that our mutual friend Jan is getting implants. Jan, at 45, is beautiful and, I thought, confident and proud of her body. Turns out though, her boyfriend Jimmy is a Breast Man. With money. So he�s ponying up the dough and Jan�s gettin� some tits. I was so disappointed. I wanted to stop her, but her mind is made up. Hell, she�s happy as a clam. I thought of telling Jimmy, "Isn�t that like wallpapering your rented apartment?" But I think his philosophy is: might as well make it livable while you�re there. And hey, don�t get me wrong, I totally understand the mammary fascination. Hell, when I pass a busty chick there�s only the thin line of common courtesy (and the threat of arrest) that keeps me from grabbing for a feel myself. Let�s face it, it�s biological. We all came into this world sucking on a big breast�except for those kids weaned on formula, but they don�t matter because I hear they�re all in prison. After thirty-three years in my body I am thoroughly convinced my life would have been a lot different had I been given a decent set of grapefruits. Perhaps I would have been a soap star, or magician�s assistant. The world would have been my oyster. I recently read an interview with Bridget Fonda, who wore a set of falsies for her role in Jackie Brown. She also wore them, apparently, out on the town when she wasn�t on the set and said she couldn�t believe the amount of extra attention she got. Now, this is �ber-chick Bridget Fonda talking, and if these things get her ten times the attention she gets sans hooters, then you know my theory holds water�or saline. I�m completely impressed that Bridget didn�t just go get the obligatory Hollywood boob job. I like to think that if I too had four grand to spare, I would send it to Jerry�s Kids or something, rather than buy myself a new rack�my self-esteem buoyed instead by the fact that I was helping the needy. However�warm, fuzzy charitable feelings last, what, two, three weeks? New boobs are forever. ********************************************************************** ******************* I fully expect some dissenting opinions.<G> xponent Thanks For The Mammeries Maru rob _______________________________________________ http://www.mccmedia.com/mailman/listinfo/brin-l
