I was never one of those little girls who begged God to give her boobs. If anything, I desperately wanted them to stop growing. By the time I hit middle school, I was strapping them down into a sports bra that made it look I had a uni-boob around my chest like a tire. I was never psyched that I had big breasts. I liked wearing little boys’ T-shirts with overalls in high school and I remember looking down one day and thinking that I just wanted to be a little girl again—I didn’t want the body of a woman. I couldn’t get dressed without looking either matronly or slutty. There wasn’t really an in-between for me and my boobs. By the time I was 25, they were a 34G. Keep reading »
Simply Irresistible
Frisky Chatter
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