In February I got new boobies. I’m sure the immediate imagery is one of porn-star-sized melons. I hate to disappoint, but that’s not the case. Despite the fact that I used to criticize and stereotype women that sought plastic perfection, I now have a significantly different perspective on things. One I’d like to share. Here’s my story.
My mother contributed some solid genetics to my make-up. I have a small frame and a little waist, with some junk in the trunk. I’m was a pear. She also gave me my favorite part of my body…my hands. Weird but true. My athletic stature must have come from my dad though…the toughest thing my mom did was pick up her saxophone during band practice. Anyway, the one thing no woman on either side of my family was blessed with…boobs. Just wasn’t in the cards for me. It didn’t help that for years I participated in gymnastics and diving. Flat was what I had, and flat was what I rocked. When I got pregnant, aside from having a child, I was thrilled with the prospect of developing larger tits. Unfortunately, months passed, and although my belly grew, my boobs did not. I didn’t nurse, so for just one day after delivering I had rock hard grapefruits engulfing my sternum. And it was kinda cool.
Now I respect those who say more than a handful is a waste. But looking back, I think that’s a saying to make girls with zero chest appendages feel better. It’s sweet and well-intended, but I think just slightly more than a handful is lovely. Really small boobs can come in hand when you don’t want to wear a bra, but there are some down sides too. I always dated ass guys…they were my only choice. In an attempt to fit into certain shirt styles, I had to buy bras that increased my cup size by two. Expensive bras. My little nips and minimal mountains were always pushed up and squished together, and the tugging and adjusting to keep things in place was obnoxious. Not to mention uncomfortable. Having had some serious body image issues in my past, I always tried to push my discomfort out of my head and focus on the good. About a year ago, after my divorce, I decided I wanted to begin taking my activity and fitness more seriously, so I started CrossFit. God bless the things it’s done for my body, but with the loss of body fat came a loss of mass on top as well. I hadn’t imagined they could get any smaller, but they did.
So I began going to consultations. A creepy doctor, followed by a doctor with BIG ideas. I had to pay $100 for each consult but was willing to take the loss to avoid a body modification catastrophe. Then, I came to Dr. Robbins at Des Moines Plastic Surgery. A free consultation. I had low expectations. But after just minutes, the sky opened up and the sun shined down on me as angels sang. He was willing to give me exactly what I wanted…a tasteful and proportional contribution to my chest tissue. Plus he’s not bad to look at and has a fancy fish tank in his office. Who doesn’t love a fancy fish tank.
Dr. Robbins is an expert. He was very open about the way he wanted to perform the surgery, and the results he expected, but asked that I trust his size suggestion. See…you can’t just walk in and ask for C’s. It doesn’t work like that. They take tons of measurements, then based on your chest cavity they determine what it will take to fill out your skin and tissue, and get the desired results. So in a leap of faith, I put my boobs in his hands. Literally. The day of surgery I could hardly contain my excitement, and when I woke up and looked down to see lady lumps, my grin nearly split my face. The pain killers may have contributed to my good mood as well.
Following surgery, there was very mild discomfort. They were big and swollen and wrapped up like a set of swaddled twins. And get this…I got a registration card for my implants. It’s in my wallet by my drivers license…my boob license. I was careful to follow instructions (kind of), and gradually my mobility increased and my mounds settled. It was really hard to be so inactive for 6 weeks, but at the end, it was worth it. I heart my new boobs. They’re nothing excessive, and they’re still a little overly perky, but they’re beautiful. I don’t need push-up bras. I can buy the same sized bikini bottom and top. I can be motor-boated or titty-fucked if I feel so compelled. It’s nice to have options. Play them up and display a cleavage crevice, or keep it classy and comfortable with a simple layer of lace.
Once I got the go-ahead for activity, I was back in action at the gym. And suddenly my chest-to-bar pull-ups and my push-ups seem like a lot less work. And that wasn’t the only perk. I walked out of Des Moines Plastic Surgery with a “gift”. Apparently, if you spend enough money there, they reward you with free bait. Free laser hair removal sessions, free Botox or eye lash growth treatments, facials and microderm abrasion. They’re marketing geniuses. And the implant manufacturer pitched in some freebies too. A couple of viles of Botox for me and a friend. Don’t knock it till ya try it.
I don’t fit the standard fake boob stereotype in most ways. I’m not dumb. I’m not blonde. My goal in life is not to have a spread in Playboy or strip in Vegas. Many might attribute my decision to a lack of confidence with my body. Or a sensitivity to what other people think. And maybe they’re right. But regardless, I’m thrilled. I don’t suggest that every flat-chested woman get boobs. I think little naughty bits are beautiful. It was a long and carefully thought out decision for me and I know I made the right one. My man candy agrees.