(Just a heads up, this post contains some explicit images.)
Most parts of the human body remain gender neutral.
Hands, for example. Both boys and girls have them. Legs. Arms. Wrists, knees, neck, collar bones, stomach, back, buttcheeks. Almost all parts of the body are common to both male and female of the species. When I compare myself to my male counterpart, there are a lot of ways we are similar. Although the length and size and girth and strength of our equivalent parts differ due to my feminine designation, the parts are the same. Thighs are thighs, mouths are mouths, hair is hair.
All parts are the same, save two – genitalia, and breasts.
And, since genitalia are tucked neatly and privately away inside our clothes, breasts are most obvious distinction between male and female anatomy.
Breasts are, as our culture tends to show us all the time, the part of our body that makes us women.
Yep, breasts = women.
Also, breasts can be round and soft. Voluptuous. Attractive. They are feminine at any size. In our culture, breasts are considered sexy. They are stimulating both visually and physically, and regardless of perspective they are considered sexual organs, part of our reproductive process. On a level of awareness that most people miss, they are loving and nurturing, almost divine in their ability to produce manna-like nourishment from nothing but water and breath.
Growing up, as it is for most girls, the arrival of my breasts was an anxious, exciting, butterfly-metamorphosis experience. I waited so eagerly. So impatiently. Whenever I would walk through the mall or the clothing section at the grocery store, I’d drag my feet through the lingerie department. “Hey, there’s bras over there, maybe we should look. You know, just in case.” I was READY. I was ready to need a pretty undergarment. I was ready to do that fancy clip-it-behind-your-back thing, and the strip-it-off-without-taking-off-your-shirt thing from Flashdance. I wanted boobs, and all the other fancy, womany, grown-up things that went with them.
Finally, after waiting FOREVER, my breasts started to come in. At the start they were little lumps pushing against the inside of my shirt, not visible from the outside of the fabric, but visible from the inside when I tucked my face inside the neckhole of my t shirt. (And yes, in the beginning I did that a lot. I was super excited, duh.) They grew slowly, they moved from little lumps to modest bumps,
then they stopped growing.
oh. my. goodness.
Hi. My name is Erin, and I am one of the founding members of The Itty Bitty Tittie Committee. (call sign: skittles)Read More