Fahckmylife's Blog
Crap adult, OK human.


IMG_3280A little over a year ago I found a massive lump in my tit when I was in the shower shaving. It was beyond me how it had gone unrecognised considering its size so the shock that I experienced was super intense. The thought that I may possibly lose one, let alone have to undergo any kind of treatment for the dreaded ‘c’ immediately scared the shit out of me. Up to this point that I had thought of my funbags as nothing more than a hindrance but now I was faced with the fact that they might not always be there.

I have always had a weird and possibly troubled relationship with my tits. They started growing when I was about 8, very suddenly and very painfully, until by the time I was 9 that I actually could wear a bra. By the time I was 11 I was a C cup but tried ridiculously hard to hide my new shape. In an all girl school people frequently pointed out when I was wearing a bra, or that I had tits, and on more than one occasion girls pulled my top up against my will to check them out. To poke and prod and examine what they had yet to develop as if they were everybody else’s property more than even my own.

You’d think having large tits developed at an early age would be in some way beneficial. That if nothing else it would get you noticed. I suppose it did but when mixed with hormonal teenage boys with a general lack of empathy and the ultimate goal of purely seeing/touching them and my own naivety it was rarely the kind of genuine attention that was actually required. Even when I was young I was already distinctly pegged in a sexual way… simply because I had large boobs. They were my only attribute to many people and when you hear back that some guy (a total minger by the way with a supposed right to an opinion on my appearance) has said ‘nice tits, shame about the face’ you can’t help but nearly wish you could remove them with a belt sander.

So I suppose it took a semi-serious situation for me to think about how my tits were important to me. Part of my femininity. Part of me. Possibly being taken away.   And despite all the crap that goes with them and the fact that I knew that I was only a wobbling mass of cleavage to some people the thought of having them removed or cut terrified me. Would I still be me without them? Would I still be a girl if it came to it? What the fuck else would anybody ever like about me?

I am sure that most people have some kind of preference of aesthetic of boobs. I mean we all have preferences. Now I like tits as much as the next person but as of yet I’ve yet to come across any that I thought were ugly. That’s why I find somebody saying ‘nice tits’ as if it’s a seriously high quality compliment ridiculously stupid. Even assuming that this is based purely on size (which I think in my case it is) you might as well tell me that I have eyes. Yes, I have tits. Yes, they are big (I think that they are an F cup now because I lost weight). Yes, the bounce. That’s what big tits do. It’s really not a compliment. It simply shows that you think nothing more of me. Considering that this is something that has always come up, and to a point has made me feel like it is my only redeeming feature, I advise people to seriously think about whether it is a compliment at all. All girls know their tits. Most tits are nice. This is a fact. Your endorsement of them means nothing. In fact, it means you see nothing else.

It took me a while to realise that my tits appeared to be public property. They were a constant topic of conversations that people had in front of me, both male and female. You could see people staring at them, should I decide to show them off a bit, (something that I rarely do now because it makes me uncomfortable) nudge their friends to look and then expect me to just be OK with it. I’ve been (along with probably most other girls) groped and poked because people believe they are entitled to them. Entitled to comment on them. Entitled to touch them. A guy that pursued me for a while told me that he apparently knew I was out on the pull when he met me (at 11am no less) because I had a low cut top on. Yes, obviously I go on the pull at 11 in the morning and a low cut top is a guarantee of that. Go fuck yourself. Seriously. How I dress is no indication of anything like that. Just because you think ‘sex’ when I have my boobs out don’t project your horniness onto me. In saying that, I cannot wear certain things, no matter how much I like them, because of the way that strangers treat me. It’s a shame. If I want to have my tits out I should be able to.

In fairness, I don’t hate them. I hate the way they are treated. I hate the way everyone seems to feel to have a right to have an opinion on them. Realistic ally they are big sacks of fat. They seem more trouble than they are worth but they have helped shape me into a bit of a badass. I seem to attract people that are overtly interested in tits and in my experience the majority of these people are assholes. So I have plenty of experience in dealing with assholes and take less shit. It took a while to get there though and by my early twenties I was so pissed off with them that I started saving to get a breast reduction. It was only when I realised that they remove the nipple and move it, reducing if not permanently destroying sensitivity, that I decided against it.

I was terrified if the lump was the worst case scenario that I wouldn’t be me any more. That I wouldn’t be able to cuddle my child in a super comforting way, rest my arms between them to get warm or try on a corset. That my shape would be all wrong. That I wouldn’t be able to keep as much money in my bra any more or let anyone see me naked ever again. That I’d be less symmetrical than ever and that I wouldn’t be a woman.

I have never been so happy to hear the words ‘It’s just a big cyst’.

See the problem with my tits was never my tits. It was the way people reacted to them. The way people think that your appearance, particularly when it makes them think if sex, is the easiest and/or only way to define you. I am more than my tits. I don’t sit around discussing cocks, walk up to people and grab their crotches (well this one time….) or judge a guy on the merit of his penis. I might think about them but I think people are more than their bits. We are all more than that.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: