Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Embracing the Third D - Epilogue

The call came.  JC Penney had my new bra.  The G.  The big freakin G!  Still daunted, still overwhelmed that my tits are actually a size G, I sheepishly went to the catalog department to pick it up. 

I was convinced that this was all a big mistake.  Big being the operative word here.   It had to be.  My name is not Busty McGee, so how on earth could I really have a G cup.  WTF is a G cup?   Who even knew the G cup existed?  It doesn't seem possible to me.  Granted, I know I've got the goods.  But a G?  I clearly can't get over it, so I chose denial.  It's a mistake.  Booby Bonnie was just a little too titillated when she was sizing me.  That had to be it.  Bored with sizing the usual 36 C's, she saw in me her crowning moment.  She was going to achieve boobaledge glory at my expense.  So she blurted out the first letter that came to her mind.  G. She gave me the Grand Teton's.  And when I received this bra, I was going to be swimming it.  It was going to be so huge, I convinced myself, that I would go back to Booby Bonnie tell her she was wrong!   I am not a G and I'll go back to my Triple D thank you very much! 

My bra was in a plain white wrapper, like I was buying something dirty.  And I felt dirty.  "G, G, G" I kept hearing in my head as I quickly walked out of the store and to my car.  "G, G, G."  It haunted me.  I came home, opened the package and looked at the monstrosity that lie inside.  It's black, and it's lacy, but it is ginormous.   I laughed when I saw it.  "No way is this going to fit," I thought out loud.  No way.  My tits are going to be dwarfed.  I'll feel tiny for the first time since I was picked on mercilessly by the boys in school for having no breasts whatsoever.  I was a late bloomer.  I didn't get my hooters until I was out of school, just my luck.  Dateless and Titless is what my nickname should have been in high school. 

Shaking my head and telling myself I'll try it on just to prove Booby Bonnie wrong, I put it on.  Damn her!  The bitch was right.  I'm a fucking G cup!  The damn thing fits like a glove.  I shimmied right into it and they looked proud, perky and a little smug.  I'm a G.  I'm a G and I'm slowly getting to a place where I feel less horror about it and more pride.  I'm a G dammit!

7 comments:

  1. I loved reading the saga. Thanks for sharing in spite of the difficulty in coming to terms with the great, grand, gorgeous and glorious!

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  2. Thanks hocam, I do love your choice of adjectives!

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  3. A few years ago, I lost a significant amount of weight and went from a C to a DDD. I didn't even know they MADE a triple-D, and wouldn't have, if I hadn't gotten sized.

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  4. I am an enlightened woman today! I never knew there was a G cup! I'm tempted to say I wish I had your 'problem' (I've always been overweight but have always been quite flat chested) but then changing all my bras would be quite expensive wouldn't it? ;-)) Following you now and happy to have found you through our FB group!

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  5. The grass is always greener @Joy! lol I've written here that my mom is very well endowed, but my sister is not. She didn't get the boob gene I guess. And when she makes fun of me for getting mom's boobs I always fire back with, "at least I didn't get dad's ass" I don't really think she has my dad's ass but it's my only line of defense! lol

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  6. What a fabulous development, Lalia! =) Love your writing style and I especially loved how the G cup turned into a source of pride for you. =) That's the way it should be! =)

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