This piece was written and performed at Bedpost Confessions, a live, monthly storytelling show in Austin: Smart. Sexy. Stories.
I love breasts. Breasts, boobs, tits, bazongas, whatever you want to call them. Big breasts, ittie bitty breasts, perky breasts, torpedo breasts, I love them all. Breasts with little nipples, dinner plate nipples, clothes hanger nipples, and one of my personal favorites – inverted nipples! I like to think inverted niples have special powers. As an innie I have to say my nipples are a direct channel to my sexuality AND I never have to worry about my headlights being on! The wild variations of breast shapes and sizes are intriguing to me; I can find beauty in all of them. I love MY breasts, I love YOUR breasts! If your breasts are there for me to see I’m a-lookin’. I am no stranger to the struggle to maintain eye contact with the owner of a voluptuous pair.
Sometimes I stand in the mirror and admire my own. I can’t help but notice the imperfections; one is bigger than the other, there are a few silvery stretch marks and, ugh, a hair! What the HELL is THAT about?! What evolutionary purpose does nipple hair serve?! My variations of normal are noticeable, but I also see the general softness and porcelain curves. I see beauty, femininity and realness in their flaws. In my reflection I can envision my breasts inviting some poor soul’s tearful head to rest; giving comfort that only a bosom can provide. These things – these lumps of glorified fatty tissue – that my clothes accentuate, that my bras lift, that the public eye begs to see. I cannot change them, so I have worked hard to love them. I shouldn’t have had to work so hard.
I have always enjoyed the eroticism of my breasts. No better way to derail all of my thought processes than to cop a feel and end with a gentle pinch of the nip. At least that was until my fun-time bags became BREASTS. BREASTS. When I became a mom my breasts were no longer mine – or my husband’s – but were now subject to the dictatorship of a tiny human being who begged for them more than any man I have ever met.
I have to say though, I do think breastfeeding has given me some insight into the male erection – stay with me, here. Stimulation causes a fluid to build up which makes the breasts become hard until there is an uncontrollable climax. If that climax is interrupted, the discomfort of engorgement sets in – the female version of blue-balls; blue breasts, I guess? So then I sulk off alone to take care of it myself, begrudgingly attaching my pump. *err – err – err- err* And sure, it works well enough, but it’s just not quite as satisfying as the real thing. I feel for you guys and your poor blue balls.
So while this insight was quite valuable, these breasts were not just for fun anymore. They were for my infant, and now even my three (soon to be 4!)-year-old who admires them greatly. She often caresses them when she thinks I’m not paying attention, just out of awe and curiosity. She knows they have power. And now my breasts are all business. I’ve had doctors, lactation consultants, other moms – and as I became more comfortable – pretty much everyone in my general vicinity seeing and sometimes even touching my breasts. But… it sure ain’t sexy. It’s work! It is true love’s sacrifice.
My breasts are still fun for everyone, just in a different way. Whether it is my nursling feeding while simultaneously clutching and pinching the opposite nipple (seriously, Why?! WHY?), or my four year old telling the story of the time mommy went on the boat and her boobies went A-BOOM BOOM BOOM (no really, she has said this while bouncing my breasts weekly since our boat trip in August) or my husband trying to sneak in some time with them for himself, it is clear that things are no longer the same.
For one, my view of the eroticism of my breasts is totally different. I am now known to give dirty looks and swat at my husband if he so much as looks longingly at my breasts when I am preparing to nurse. It must be torture for him to have them so close, yet so far away. I know some people are into age-play and milk fetishes, – and honestly after some thought I kind of understand the draw – but breastfeeding is NOT sexy. Think of the sexiest thing ever combined with the least sexy, but sweetest, thing ever – like receiving the best oral sex you’ve ever had… while your grandma endearingly strokes your hair. Ack! THAT is how I feel when my husband attempts to caress my breast while my baby is nursing. *shudder* Oil and water, my friends. Or foremilk and hindmilk…
Did you know that breastmilk cannot be duplicated by science? It has antibacterial properties that can heal pink eye, ear infections, eczema, and sinus infections. That’s right, I put that shit straight in my neti pot! Breastfeeding reduces the mother’s chances of breast cancer and helps her lose weight. Breastmilk takes on the flavor of food, giving breastfed toddlers a better palate for fruits, vegetables and other healthy choices later in life. Not only that, it reduces their risk of obesity, diabetes and cancer. Best of all it calms fussy babies and it’s FREE. Breastmilk is fucking MAGIC. It’s not “ew”. I’ve tasted my own breast milk, and it is sweet, totally palatable. I’m pretty certain my husband has tasted it during foreplay, too. But who cares? Worst case scenario: it gives him superpowers. I bet you that after a night of heavy drinking, a shot of breast milk would alleviate a hangover. Hell, give me some rum and Kahlua and I will make my own White Russians. Party. All. NIGHT.
So this is what kills me. My non-lactating breasts are quite popular. Delightful toys for the joy of men and women alike! Titties, titties, titties! But whip out a BREAST for its intended purpose? Ludicrous! How dare you feed your baby in the presence of others, you might offend someone! Breasts and nipples, in my opinion, need not be covered solely because they have secondary sexual characteristics. The city of Austin agrees with me; I can walk through downtown with my shirt off and it is perfectly legal. Texas also has a lesser known law regarding my breasts (I wonder how many laws there are governing men’s bodies? Hmmmmm.) – and that law says that I can breastfeed anywhere that I am authorized to be.
Some people might say “Sure, but with a cover, because like, modesty, right?!” It is totally unrealistic to think that every baby will tolerate a blanket draped over their head. Do YOU want to eat with your napkin over your face?! I will cover my baby while she eats when all those bottle feeding perverts stop waving around their nipple dildos and cover that shit up.If I can freely use a fake nipple to feed or soothe my baby it should be perfectly acceptable for me to use a real one. Just as most people would be terribly offended by, say, a stranger’s penis wagging in their face, they would only be slightly more comfortable if someone were to wag a lifelike dildo in their face. So if you are not offended at all when I feed my baby with a fake nipple, you should probably only be a little uncomfortable with my actual nipple. And hey, we are slightly uncomfortable on the daily: like when someone crop dusts us with a rank fart, or they lean over to show their plumber’s crack – or even better – their whale tail we get uncomfortable, but we don’t tell them to leave or “do that somewhere else.” We say nothing; we giggle at our discomfort and move on.
So people say “WTF, Mandi, you just said there are deviants out there lusting after your breastmilk, don’t you want to cover those bodacious milky tatas up?!” I say “no”. Just like I don’t hide my feet for the sake of foot fetishists or refuse to pee in a public restroom to avoid people who like water play.
Nope. I will nurse with reckless abandon just as I have openly shared my cleavage all these years. I’ve come to terms with my breasts and I am reclaiming my fun-time-bags. While breastfeeding has changed my relationship with my breasts I am slowly starting to give them their sexual freedom back; letting them loose to sway as I walk around the house, pushing them up occasionally to show off a little cleavage, allowing a fondle or two and sometimes even asking for one. The best thing about my forever-changed breasts is that they are now so soft. Soft and comforting, like a mother’s breasts should be. While perky has it’s benefits I gotta give my breasts some mad respect. They were a sole source of nutrition, giving life to my children – all on their own – for six months, and they have continued to give them the nutrition and immunities that they need to be healthy and strong well into toddler-hood.
Besides, I can make soft and comforting sexy. I can walk around with confidence topless with tight jeans (my husband’s personal favorite) and feel like the sexiest woman on earth; soft silver-ridden breasts and all. Because they are what I’ve got and they are amazing. All breasts are amazing, and powerful, and worthy of respect. We cannot compare our breasts to each other because they are as diverse, if not more so, as the population of the country we live in. What we see on TV is not all there is.
So, if I ever do find myself comparing myself to those awful fashion magazines in the checkout line and feel dragged down by the fallacy of my “abnormal” breasts, I just remember my three year old saying “I want boobies like yours, momma, so I can feed baby sister!”… A BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!