Tag: Boobs

Boobs – Fake or Real?

    K Ghislaine

All of you readers have been such great sports over the past few weeks reading, commenting, and engaging in some pretty heavy topics that I have put forth.  So I wanted to lighten it up a bit for all of us, and tell you a little tale about me.  And this tale is all about my boobs!

I was a late bloomer, so late in fact that I had pretty much given up.  I was rail thin, with glasses and no curves anywhere.  And I stayed this way right up until the end of high school.  My self esteem was based solely on my personality and I was lucky enough to have the same social circle to take me from the high school transition right on into university.  I was surrounded by friends who were infinitely smarter than me, so being a flat chested tomboy, really didn’t seem to matter much.  Looking back, it feels so surreal that I was fortunate enough to have gone to a high school which focused on academics and not popularity.  My friends and I still laugh about how strange it was the the smarter you were, the more popular you became.  Bizzaro land for sure.

So, by now you may have figured out that my social skills may not have been quite like other people my age.  Surrounded by the smartie pants and absolutely no reason to talk to the opposite sex for anything other than friendship, because let’s face it, I was not the hot one, I entered into the summer before university completely unaware that something big was about to happen to me.

So let me take you back to that summer and share with you one of the most memorable conversations of my life.  I had noticed that my breasts had grown a little bit, but being summer I was often in tube tops, spaghetti strapped shirts and bikini tops so I tell you honestly, it didn’t dawn on me just how drastic my body was changing.  And keep in mind, all my female friends reached puberty between 11 and 14, so I was resigned to just being a skinny rail like my mom.

So here I am, riding a power lawn mower at our acreage (the one chore I actually enjoyed doing) soaking up all the sunshine, in a tube top, while listening to my diskman (yes we are going way back).  Oblivious and happy at the sweet naive age of 17.  On the front porch sat about 10 of my male family friends, ranging in age from 30 – 40 ish, all drinking beer, laughing and doing what guys do on a Saturday afternoon, shooting the shit.

Suddenly there is a commotion.  There is yelling, then laughter, then a few heated remarks and finally an eerie silence.  I hop off my lawn mower to go investigate what the dumb asses were up to now, and that’s when I noticed they were all staring straight at me.  Well, all except my step dad who was red in the face and looking anywhere but at me.  Then the guy closest to me (I will not name names to protect anonymity) mumbles something about my boobs.  My face goes bright red!  “What?” I ask.  He asks again, but a little louder this time.  “We have a bet going, are your boobs fake or real?”

And that’s when it dawned on me.  My boobs didn’t just grow a little bit, they were freaking insane, especially for my size.  I had gone from a small, shall we say barely B cup, to a DD in what actually felt like over night.  So thank you genetics for the very late surprise!  And I hope this picture will finally lay to rest the debate that I have been dealing with for just about 17 years now.

So if you’ve ever asked yourself if they are real or not… they are.  And you are not the first to ask, nor will you be the last.

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Embracing My Sex Appeal

    K Ghislaine

I have a certain look, a dancers walk, a sex appeal, and a quiet confidence.  These are things I fought for a long time to accept as a part of me and in fact spent a great deal of time fighting.  In my youth, I yearned for people to respect me because of my intelligence, my wit, and what I rationalized as real substance versus the superficial that I couldn’t control.  I never wore make up, only dressed up for special occasions and aside from having a stellar shoe collection, I’m still just a jeans, flip flop and hoodie type of gal.  I like being comfortable, understated and I could go on and on about just how much thought went into ensuring I consistently look and feel low maintenance.

Not using my looks or demeanor was always re-enforced with my friendships with both men and women.  I really wanted to downplay being seen as a threat to keep the girlfriends from taking my male friends away.  Or getting jealous that I was included in guys nights.  If you’re a regular reader, you will know this is an ancient problem as I am no longer one of the guys.  And with the women, I didn’t want to constantly talk about how cute I looked or how well I wore such and such an outfit.  It made me feel like they were constantly comparing themselves to me, and I never wanted anyone to feel bad around me.

I fought my sex appeal for well over a decade.  I buried my femininity as best I could.  Being just “one of the guys”, or assuming I was on equal footing with my peers, these were all aspects I embraced about myself.  I downplayed the visual cues I have little control over to be taken seriously.  I’m sure a large part stemmed from hearing time and time again that the men in my family really wanted me to be a boy.  As the first grandchild, I was born to be a leader, to go off the beaten path and create a new life, and new identity.  This was drilled into me, and celebrated whenever I showed positive direction away from the norm.  I got people thinking, to see new perspective.  But I did it without the aid of my face, boobs, or thin figure.  In essence, what I did was make things harder for myself, a lesson I have recently discovered.

Now I find myself coming to terms with the fact that using my looks to get my foot in the door, to open someone up to conversation or simply to give a warm smile that makes someone else feel good is more of the person that I want to be.  I am starting to embrace a new norm, a new, and much more whole identity.  And that is not without its own set of bumps.  Why?  Because I have now had to work on learning the balance game between flirting to get something and going too far with sex appeal without the comfort blanket of being young and dumb (so to speak).  And it’s a game that has been difficult to teach myself and know where I actually want to take it.  To embrace a whole identity that includes my outsides, in a meaningful, and ethical way.

So here I sit, finding balance between sex appeal, and an articulate, whole woman with a mission to educate and teach others.  Understanding that sexy can exist without dismissing intelligence outright. It’s no longer my burden to worry about how other people perceive me.  Instead it’s my prerogative to be complete, whole, and amazing both inside and out.

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Who Doesn’t Love Boobs?

    K Ghislaine

I am a straight woman who loves men very much, but honestly I think it’s universally accepted that humanity loves boobs.  Men try not to oggle at that rack walking down the street, and woman look on with envious eyes.  The mesmerizing effect that the chest is challenged by very little else.  It is the power card women have over their male counterpart, boobs trump almost anything.

And this is the very reason that they are feared.  That men in power have tried many ways to repress and keep women in their place, pregnant, and barefoot in the kitchen.  Muslim women covered head to toe in cloth, or skirts past ones ankles in Mennonite colonies.  I am not a feminist or perhaps not a writer of feminist material, but I am against repression of any kind and after much research I am lead to believe that religion has done more to repress the feminine wiles than anything else out there.

I understand that the topic is up for some debate, but there is much research out there by such authors as Baigent, and Jordan which debate the most effective form of repression in woman today.  Turning Mary Magdalene, from a historically accurate wife (Jesus), to that of a prostitute.  Religious men are so fearful of a woman’s power that they change history to suit their needs, in this case, keeping a very powerful woman below the men around her.

There is so much ancient script where woman could almost reach godly status in their tribe or village.  Woman played key roles in ceremonies and the management of their people.  Why did men turn from adoring their women, to changing history and mandating dress code as forms of oppression?  It’s an unfortunate reality that in the 60’s a law needed to be passed that if a woman did the same work as a man, she had to be paid the same.  The legal world had to step up and force the populous to give fair wages.  Our elected governing body had more common sense than the entity so many out there entrust their immortal souls to, the church.

The bottom line though is that boobs get their way in many situations and men have little willpower against it.  Religion has guided so many in the direction of gender separation that I am hard pressed to find a religious male out there who knows how the female should be treated.  Either the woman is forced down, or put upon a pedestal possibly out of guilt?  I personally have hidden my own chest many times as I wanted to be judged for my wit and not the cleavage.  So I suppose even I am not yet past religions hold on societal views.  I hope someday woman can be proud to use their assets to benefit both themselves and that of the people around them without shame or judgement.  For now though, as long as we keep educating ourselves and asking why do we do the things we do, we can gain a complete understanding and make the changes necessary to ensure equality.

If you love boobs too, and want to support my sex positive Patreon, check out BreakingAway!