She is described – of course – as being tall and firm (can this be any more cliche?) and as she walks toward him her overlarge breasts heave and sway (ugh) providing juicy tantalizing visual delights while his cock stands at attention.
I click away from my most recent venture into Literotica, disappointed. It has, thus far, been round after round of letdown. And the incessant focus on breast size (Big is BEST!) is one of the reasons why.
The Big Bazonga Narrative is frustrating and objectifying and is just one more reminder that I don’t need that I am not the “right” shape; but more than that, reading descriptions like the one above are a personal affront because they make me want. They make me want for what I don’t – and physically can’t – have, and it makes me wish – in a nostalgically dichotomous Wish I could go back / Never want to go back way – for What Was.
It’s not that I want, in any *realistic* way, to have large breasts. I’ve known several women with large breasts and I don’t envy them their back pain, their inability to function without wearing a binding bra, or the constant reminders they have to make for people to look them in the eye instead of staring them in the chest. And unlike the realm of male fantasy writing, Real Life dictates that most women with large breasts are – shock! gasp! – large women. Unless she has implants or carries a particularly unusual chromosomal cocktail, a woman who wears a size 8 is typically NOT going to sport DDDs. Size 18? That’s more likely.
I once worked for a company that spent a great deal of time and money collecting data. One of the things they determined, from a random survey (if you’re a stats person, you understand that ‘random’ is, in this instance, something to strive for if you want quality results) of thousands of women of multiple ethnic backgrounds residing in the US, was that the average woman in the United States:
- weighs 165 pounds,
- wears a dress size US 12,
- a shoe size US 8.5,
- and has a bust measurement that fits a 36C bra.
According to these statistics, I am both above *and* below average.
Below average, as in: 36C, I am not.
I am broad-shouldered, straight-bodied, and proportionately narrow-hipped. (Key word: proportionately) I have no waist to speak of; my torso is shaped pretty much like a rectangle, my full-height figure like an inverted triangle. I am – to use my mother’s apt description – “built like a linebacker.” I am solid muscle covered in baby fat, and while my frame could easily support D’s, I have instead been gifted granted cursed stuck endowed with wide-set barely-B’s.
Did you notice all the crossing-out of descriptive words? Can you tell I have mixed feelings about my breasts? o_O
At the best of times, I am ambivalent about the small wobbly appendages protruding from my chest. They serve no discernible purpose, but neither do they hinder my activities. Unlike women whose reproductive health is normal, I’ve never had to deal with period-related swelling or soreness. They don’t bother me, physically. And for the most part, I don’t bother about them. Physically or otherwise. I don’t like my breasts in any kind of active way, but I don’t hate my breasts either. For the most part, they are just there. They are like the mailbox at the end of my driveway. Not particularly attractive, but part of the landscape. Normal enough not to detract from the view, but hardly a focal point.
As I said: I am ambivalent about my breasts.
Except when I’m not.
When I’m NOT feeling ambivalent about my breasts, I am a jumble of emotions.
Because I remember what it was like to like them. I remember – before I got married, before I got pregnant (the pregnancy changed a lot of things, and carried with it many losses, beyond the loss of life) – when my nipples were sensitive. Responsive. When having my breasts caressed and nipples sucked during sexual activity felt natural. And right. I remember what it was like to have breast play turn me on. And, when I was close to orgasm, finish me off.
During my pregnancy, short as it was, I started having… Feelings. In my breasts, related to my breasts, about my breasts. My breast tissue swelled. I was tender. My nipples were hypersensitive. Sometimes to the point of pain, but the pain was somehow pleasurable for its purpose. Suddenly my breasts – everything about them – took on meaning in a way they never had before.
Then, in the blink of an eye, all of that was gone.
TO BE CONTINUED
I click away from my most recent venture into Literotica, disappointed.
*laughs*
Unfortunately, the people who supply all that free smut are often people who (for one reason or another) lack the kind of writing skills that allow them to present a story with which a wide range of readers can identify. In theory, they’re on Literotica to improve their skills, but as you’ve seen, that it not always the case.
I jut try not to let it affect me personally. 🙂
Tom Allen recently posted…Man Receives First Penis Transplant in the United States – The New York Times
I prefer Penthouse Letters, personally. At least those are FUNNY. 😉
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I get that Literotica is not stellar smut. I was actually looking for something in particular, but their labeling system doesn’t fit with the way my mind categorizes things. So I’d had more than my fill of “Oooh – GIANT BOOBS!” by the time I got to that point.
It’s funny because a friend told me I should write a book. And that, in these books, women were generally lean and had big breasts. I was wondering how I could align that with what I know, feel, or even with what turns me on!
I realised two nights ago, while watching people on the dance floor, that I like my women to have some meat on them. Too lean, and I am not attracted. Too fat and I’m not either, but given a choice between the two, I prefer some wobbly bits (tummy, thighs) to nothing to hold on to.
This said, in an actual setting, I think it’s more the way I feel around someone that is going to attract me to them than their looks. I think one of my biggest turn ons is someone who looks at me with desire.
And I don’t think I could write about desire with fake people. I’d have to base it on real life… to have actually experienced it. So chances are, if I ever get to writing that book, I’d write about normal women, big breasts or not, big butts or not. There is something really attractive about small breasts in my opinion. Something I’ll never have. I was probably 12 last time it happened to me. And you are right. I don’t feel comfortable not wearing a bra most of the time, especially not if there is any sort of activity involved (as in dancing or walking).
At least I now love my breasts, because they give me pleasure I never knew was possible.
I’m sort of glad I never knew his before, when my kids were small. I wonder what it would have been like to breastfeed them otherwise. A constant battle not to reach an orgasm? That must be awful!
Any how, forgive my irrational, all over the place thoughts. It is late, I have to sleep 😉
I’m glad you’re OK with your breasts most of the time. There is no reason why you shouldn’t. 🙂
Good night Mrs Fever! Chin up. You’re a beautiful soul!
I, too, am a fan of “wobbly bits” ~ Perfect Bodies are not alluring to me; I find beauty in imperfections and I understand that there are always stories behind scars.
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Physically, I am attracted to a variety of body types. I’m much more interested in what’s going on in someone’s head (and whether or not they are capable of getting into mine) than in whether they meet specific height, weight, or measurement requirements. My attraction to people stems from my learning of Who They Are. (It is for this reason that I nixed the swinging scene; I require connection, and Swingers don’t generally care to know you at all – not even your name!) But once I *do* know that person… Yes, a look that telegraphs desire is a powerful aphrodisiac. 🙂
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As for the Ideal Book Body: THIS is exactly what I meant when I said I clicked away from the Literotica story, disappointed. Because it’s a pervasive stereotype that infiltrates everything. It’s in the movies we watch, the books we read, the visual representations presented to us in advertising, and the erotica we produce. The “perfect girl” narrative – tall, lithe, big breasts, narrow shoulders, confident (but desperately needs a man!), thick-haired, graceful – is, to put it mildly, COMPLETE BOLLOCKS. And the “real women have curves” campaign, while intended to counteract this ridiculous vision of female-hood, is just as bad. Really? Real women have curves? Well, unless you’re counting my tummy as a curve… I must not be a real woman!
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Grrr–!
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I wrote up a storm this morning, and – like you – my thoughts on the topic were kind of all over the place. I think most women’s are. 🙂 You will see a bit about your breastfeeding question later on, so I’ll leave that conversation for later.
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Thanks for your lovely and thoughtful commentary, Dawn. Have a good sleep.
Oh, as for the cliché… yes, I have no way of identifying with a lithe woman any more. And I’m slowly becoming fine with it. 🙂
I never found literotica all that, so I’m not surprised..
if I want good ‘for adults’ reading, I know I can start right here on your blog. 🙂
Thanks. 🙂
I would say women are more critical of their appearance than men are, but I realize there are jerks out there that not only judge on appearance they let their opinions be known. I can adapt to lavishing attention on whatever body part calls for it.
I think you’re right.
I don’t buy into stereotypical definitions of beauty, partly due to my refusal to participate in commercial media. I don’t have television ads blaring at me every 7 minutes about how I need to dye my hair or lose weight or cover my wrinkles in order to be considered attractive. Sometimes I think Madison Avenue should be sued on behalf of all womankind.
I am very aware – pragmatically so – of my build, however. Being outside the norm(s) since birth, and having a mother who taught me that brains and brawn trump beauty every time, has made me see myself very much as I am.
But we all have our sore spots when it comes to our bodies. I’m no exception. It’s part of being human. 🙂
Yes, “emotional roller coaster” is an overworked phrase. But it fits this fine post (and much of life).
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The ups and downs aren’t so bad, really. It’s the upside-downs that jostle me the most. Corkscrewing is not nearly as much fun as the name implies.
I have never understood the modern norms of breast appreciation. To me, udders belong on cows ! MY ideal is something on the order of what Modesty Ablaze is so wont to display. Logically, one would assume that all females of Homo Sapiens would have essentially similar numbers of nerve endings in their breasts. When that quantity is distributed over acres of flesh it would be hard to stimulate many at once. When they are concentrated on, say an A Cup size, reaction to tactile stimulation would be (is !) much greater.
Modesty Ablaze is lovely.
I do not begrudge large-breasted women, nor do I envy them; I’ve known many in my lifetime and I know that size and sensitivity are not necessarily proportional. No two women are stimulated in exactly the same way, and no two have exactly the same acceptance or annoyance about their breasts, regardless of size.
Genetics can deal a convoluted deck. It’s not fair to women on either side of the size crap shoot to be exclusionary or make assumptions about ‘what works’ when it comes to erotic pleasure preferences.
But as someone who’s built small in that department and for whom breasts (my own or anyone else’s) are fairly uninteresting, I’m somewhat befuddled by the “Mmm… BOOBZ!” reaction some men have, and I will never understand why they think huge=bestest. Because… Why???
*scratching my head*