free stats Carmen's Web: My Breast Friends, part II
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
My Breast Friends, part II
My mother bought me my first bra when I was ten; a pink Care Bears bra that I cherished dearly. She bought it for me after weeks and weeks of whining on my part. I had watched an episode of "Who's The Boss", the one where Tony had to buy Samantha her first bra, and I was adamant to have one of my own. My small ten year old breasts felt wonderful in that bra and I wore it night and day.

At that time, I still hadn't had a real understanding of how private breasts were. Yeah I knew you weren't supposed to flash them, but I never knew that there could be shame associated with exposure. Breasts were just another part of your body, like your arm or something. I thought bras and swimsuits were decor, a privilege we girls had, not necessary coverage. Poor boys couldn't get as dressed up as we could...they HAD to walk around naked.

That summer, however, I discovered just how powerful breasts could be.

The local community poolhouse was gearing to open, an annual event for the kids in the neighborhood. We would stand outside its' gates and watch as they filled the pool with water. On that particular day I had gotten on my bike, rode around a bit, then went to watch. One of the girls, two years older, started picking on me. Her younger cousin had had a crush on me and I, not even realizing what it meant to have someone like you, never reciprocated the feeling.

So she started taunting me, and I ignored her. She kept on talking more trash, and I continued to ignore her. She came by my bike and pushed it. I was beginning to get angry (and scared...this girl was twice my size, vertically), but I didn't do anything. When she pushed me and nearly knocked me off the bike I just went bonkers. I knew that if I fought her I'd get the crap beaten out of me, but she was relentless. I had to do something.

I pushed at her with my bike, which prompted her to pull me off it. She pushed me against the gate and all hell broke loose. We just started hitting each other. At first it was a girly fight (slaps, hair pulling, lots of screeching) but pretty soon it got all raw and dirty and punches started being thrown. I had no idea what I was doing, but knew enough to know that if I stopped for a second she'd have the advantage. So I continued throwing punches.

The fight just wouldn't end. I didn't know how much time had passed. It felt like hours and my heart was pounding. I had no idea how long the torture would last, but I wasn't going to be the first to stop.

At one point she pulled on my shirt and ripped it. There I was, in my bra, for the whole world to see. She started laughing triumphantly; she had physically exposed me and, in her eyes, humiliated me. Little did she know how proud I was of that bra and instead of running in shame, I was secretly happy! I knew that there was no way I could've shown anyone my bra. Here she was doing it for me!!

I was, however, also really angry. Enraged, I should say. I didn't do it on purpose but something made me reach for her shirt and rip it. And there SHE was. Exposed. BRALESS. The girl stood there, breasts hanging out and if black women could flush she would've looked like a beet. She was 12, but had the full breasts of a 21 year old woman. I thought they were spectacular, big and perfect. She immediately recoiled, covered herself, and ran off. The fight was over. Victory was mine.

I took my bike and headed home. I was still a little frazzled. It wasn't my first fight, but the first one in which I fought back so ferociously. My adrenalin was still pumping. There was one thing I couldn't figure out...I couldn't understand why she had run away like that. Why she was so humiliated.

Her breasts were the first breasts that I can remember seeing. I'm sure I must have seen my aunt's or my mother's at one point, but if I did it didn't really mean anything. Breasts were was like having a nose or an ear. But when I saw this girl's reaction (and that of the boys) I came to realize that there must be something more to breasts.

When I got home my father told me that her mother had visited him to complain about what I had done. "These were my daughter's breasts, Doctor. Your daughter exposed my daughter! I found her sitting in our staircase, bawling. Do you have any idea how that feels?" My father told her that I would never pick a fight and that if things got so heated it must have been because I was provoked. He told the woman to keep her daughter away from me because he would not be responsible for what happened next time. (There was never a next time...she apologized to me the next day and avoided me for three years.)

That fight stayed on my mind for a very long time. Why was it that this big bully of a girl, who could have plummeted me to the ground if I weren't being so feisty and jumping around like a chihuahua, immediately ran for cover when her chest was exposed? She looked fabulous. If I had had her breasts, I'd have been walking around naked!! It was then that I realized how private breasts were and how they could be used to humiliate women.
Thoughts shared by Carmen at 9:40 PM
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Who: Carmen

xx-something egyptia-yorker who's spent over half her life stuck in two worlds not of her own making. unable and unwilling to fully embrace one identity over the other, she created (is trying to create) her own place in the world where people love each other unconditionally, irrespective of artificial boundaries, and where dancing merengue is as necessary to life as breathing air.

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