Tag Archives: breasts

The unfettered breast

Like many young women, I started wearing a bra when I was about twelve, and have worn one for most of my waking hours since then. In the last year or so I’ve picked up a lot of things online about more free range breasts – French studies suggesting breast firmness might be improved by being bra-less, and ideas that breasts need to move freely in order to function properly. It all makes a fair amount of sense. We did not, after all, evolve to wear corsetry.

For a few months now I have been experimenting, and I have noticed some things.

My first feelings of going bra-free were of awkwardness and discomfort – emotional, not physical. I felt exposed, even though fully dressed. I realise that I have been socialised to consider the unfettered breast a sign of loose sexual morals and availability. The idea that, anyone realising I had no bra would conclude that I am a slut and open to any and all sexual advances, was not a comfortable one. I have yet to go out in public without a bra, and this is a big part of why. I simply do not want the assumptions that could go with it.

Experience of attitudes to the female body have taught me that what I have on my chest are two objects of gratification for other people. I realised, in my unfettered times, that I feel very little ownership of my breasts and that’s something I’m trying to work on. My being comfortable with them should be more important than anyone else finding them pleasing, especially when we’re talking about people with whom I have no relationship at all and no wish to share my body.

The next realisation was that, in the absence of a bra, I become more aware of my posture. My breasts become less comfortable if I am slumped, or trying to fold in on myself. In a bra, I am often oblivious to my posture, but without one I need to sit or stand in strong, confident positions that support my breasts. Thus unfettering my breasts sometimes, has changed how I think about the rest of my body, and this has been a really useful process for me.

It took time and practice to feel relaxed just being around the house, fully dressed but without a bra. To be able to do that and feel normal, natural and acceptable has been a journey. I have learned that my menfolk do not seem to notice whether I am strapped up or not. Apparently it isn’t so obvious. I have learned not to feel demeaned by a more natural condition and to recognise that if I am not doing something in a sexual way, no one else has any right to sexualise it and impose that on me.

For a lot of reasons, I’ve never felt wholly present in my own skin, nor proper ownership of my body. I’m looking at small acts of reclamation, including how I dress and move, what I do, and do not do. I’d like to get to a point of feeling more present in my own skin, and more possessed of it – that in turn would help me hold better boundaries, and it would be an innately healing process.

I’m aware of an innate irony in writing all of this. Like the ‘naked men’ post of last year, a blog with breasts in it will get a lot of hits. Those will come from people online who were seeking objects of gratification, and who probably didn’t make it past the first paragraph. A breast is so much more than eye candy. A breast is part of a person, and to treat it as a separate object, does no good at all.

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Goddess Breasts

The arrival of breasts marks coming into womanhood and sexuality. Their importance in nourishing life is largely overshadowed by their sexual aspect, but both are critical for many women in their sense of being female.

Breasts can be anything from tiny nubs – the fried egg shape, the small plum, through to watermelon proportions. Being small has its uses if you want to run anywhere, but not all women with small breasts are comfortable with them. Being big might give you porn star fetish credibility, but they weight a lot, can cause back ache, get in the way of doing. Whatever their shape and size, breasts inform a woman’s sense of self and worth, and all the world seems willing to judge and make demands about how those breasts should look.

I had an ex who loved me flaunting my cleavage, until I got involved with him. Then he wanted me to cover up, keeping that part of my body exclusively for him. Another ex, had a second girlfriend (back in the days when I was exploring polyamoury). Her breasts were easily twice the size of mine, and he commented on that a lot, which did my self esteem no good at all.

I happen to like breasts. In terms of bodily beauty I’m with every classical painter who ever lived on this one, and every marketing director: Frequently, the male body isn’t that aesthetically pleasing. Breasts, on the other hand, are inherently lovely and pleasing to the eye. But by this, I do not mean pumped up breasts, I very specifically mean real ones, in all their variety, large to small, sagging to perky, in any combination. Breasts are femininity made manifest, and all of them should be celebrated.

Here in the UK, we’re in the aftermath of a French company putting industrial grade silicon into women’s bodies. Thousands of women have had their bodies modified with sub standard material that could harm them. Now, some of those women were no doubt having reconstructive surgery in the aftermath of illness or injury, and I have no argument with that. Most, I expect, did it because they felt the breasts nature had bestowed upon them just weren’t good enough. Too small, to please all those men like that ex of mine who considered breast size to be the sole measure of a woman’s worth. Too small to be a porn star, a pin up, or these days, a regular pop artist or movie star. Or maybe they had breasts that showed they had carried and nourished a child. Not so perky, not like the breasts of a woman who has not given birth. And we all know that women are not supposed to look as though they’ve reproduced, that’s not sexy. Real isn’t sexy. Plastic, fake, and impossible is sexy. Going under the knife is, apparently, sexy. Having your body cut up and reshaped to fit in with other people’s expectation, is sexy. Bloody hell!

Of course the big argument for breast ‘enhancement’ is self esteem and tackling poor body image. Of course, if we lived in a culture where breasts were loved no matter what their size or shape, there would be far less reason for normal, healthy women to seek surgery.

So here’s my question to all you pagans. What does a goddess look like? Does a goddess have porn star tits, of back breaking proportions and gravity defying magic? Or does a goddess look like a real woman? I know what kind of world I want to live in. It’s one of the reasons that when I’m writing erotica, I don’t go in for crazy bodies. I’ve never written a woman with breast implants, nor would I. I love the way lesbian fiction already tends to celebrate real women, I just wish the mainstream would hurry up and catch on.

Love the breasts you have. Respect the breasts you encounter. Never judge a woman by her chest, and if a man tells you your breasts aren’t up to scratch, take this as clear evidence that he isn’t up to scratch and ditch him right there and then. The answer is not to be cut up and redesigned.