I Love Big Old Droopy Boobs!

No one had ever told me that breasts, especially large, heavy ones, are meant to dangle, that they don't grow straight out from your chest at a 90-degree angle and then hover there in a state of readiness for a teen sex comedy reveal.

Oct 11, 2012 at 4:55pm | Leave a comment

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If there are naked boobs around me, I am definitely going to look at them, or peek at them if ogling would be inappropriate, such as in a gym locker room or my office. Years ago, on a weekend vacation, a bunch of girlfriends and I got drunk and just decided to take off our shirts and compare them, so I know I'm not the only one who is sort of dying to see other lady's sets.

Before I really get into this, let me say that I happen to love fake boobs; if I had the money, I would probably get a pair of giant "Rock of Love"-esque circus tits because I think they are a fabulous expensive accessory that conveniently tells the world you prioritize fucking.

But the funny thing about the near-exclusive representation of fake boobs in porn and other media is that it creates this weird dichotomy where our Platonic image of breasts, what we see in our mind's eye upon hearing the word, doesn't actually bear much resemblance to actual breasts as formed by nature. Instead of seeing surgically augmented breasts as what they are -- a well-publicized exception -- they've become the default image of what a breast is supposed to look like, just through sheer market saturation. 

That's why we're so thirsty for images that remind us that breasts hang, that stomachs ripple -- because these images are reassurances that our own bodies are normal. 

As a budding pubescinista, I was pretty insecure about my large natural breasts. No one had ever told me that breasts, especially large, heavy ones, are meant to dangle, that they don't grow straight out from your chest at a 90-degree angle and then hover there in a state of readiness for a teen sex comedy reveal.

Men, I thought, expected to see these pop culture breasts emerging up out of my bra as if bobbing to the surface of the bathtub. I was terrified of the moment when they'd clumsily unhook my bra and my breasts would instead migrate suddenly downward in a manner similar to an unspooled curl bouncing back into place. When topless, I pushed my arms to my sides, attempted to smoosh my breasts together in a way that seemed TOTALLY CASUAL. Or I'd place my hands on them and hold them higher on my chest in the guise of playing with my own nipples during intercourse.

In retrospect, it seems so sad to have judged a body part that was just doing normal body part stuff, like hating a shoulder for connecting to an arm. After all, I was a young girl, and unlike with my chubby stomach, you couldn't even blame my breasts' refusal to stand at attention on some perceived failing on my part.

But that's the thing about body image -- it's not called body reality. What you see over and over and over again -- the taut stomach, the high, firm breast -- is what you measure yourself against. And my sagging tits, while natural, seemed not just abnormal, but actually worthy of ridicule.

As an adult woman, I have dealt with my body part-specific insecurities in "adult" ways -- that is, I worked that shit out in the bedroom. Every time I felt insecure about my chubby frame or my heavy natural breasts, I just kind of shoved them in a guy's face and, when he got a boner, figured everything was working out pretty okay down there.

Looking at pre-80s porn for the first time was a revelation for me -- all those women with parts in a reasonable facsimile of what I've got, flabby and pale and beholden to gravity and meant to be considered sexy. And the tits were fucking glorious -- all those huge, swinging, dangling orbs on 60s Playmates and Russ Meyer girls and vintage original burlesque dancers (Google image search Tempest Storm and thank me later). I realized that along with the clothing, the hairstyles, the music and the architecture, I was really into vintage tits.

And I don't know if sexual fetishization is the healthiest approach to body acceptance, but, by God, I love my big old saggy tits these days.

And now that I'm not worried about how they look, I've realized how much l really love the way they feel. My breasts are a major headliner in my current sex life, to the point where my ideal sexual encounter would involve a good half-hour of rough breast play before I even take my skirt off.

That last bit is also why I'll probably never actually spring for that boob job -- now that I love it so much, I wouldn't want to risk messing with my nipple sensation. And I never would have known how much I liked it if I was still afraid to take my bra all the way off in front of a man. (But if you are still nervous about it, just pulling your breasts out of the top of your bra can create a shelf effect that is quite aesthetically pleasing.)

So let's talk saggy boobs. Do you have them? Do you fear them? Do you have ridiculously awesome nipple sensation? Spill.