I have bruises on me, which was a tad awkward when I went bra shopping today.

I asked Roomie how much she thought I paid for three bras today.  Her first guess was $60.  Which is so fucking cute.  $215 was the truth.  Roomie is adorable, but has never had large breasts.  She thinks that’s bad, but then she’d pay only $60 for three bras and I had to pay $215.

I would love to have cute little titties.  I would love to not have to wear a bra; which she doesn’t have to do.  I really do think she’s lucky; I’m not being condescending I promise.

When I was a kid I was worried that my breasts would get “too” large.  My mother always had “table” boobs, meaning they formed a table onto which she would often spill food.  She had huge breasts.  Huge.  I recall when I was a kid that they were a big freaky deal.

My mother had told me she had developed early (she started her period when she was nine years old) so I figured I’d follow in her footsteps.  I went away to summer camp one year freaked the fuck out that I’d start my period; I did not, thankfully.

Then I began to develop breasts relatively early.  When I was in sixth grade I was told I had “pretty big tits, for a sixth grader” by an eighth-grade pervy asshole.  My breasts were relatively large for my age, much to the chagrin of my step-sister, who was my same age but whose breasts were much later to develop.

And they keep getting larger.  I apparently have G-cup breasts now.  I know it’s because I keep not getting any thinner, but also because the size system has changed.  What was once DDD is now F and what was once DDDD is now G.  Different bra manufacturers also have different cup size standards.  By the way, gentlemen, the letters are the cup sizes, the numbers are the number of inches (in the US) around the ribs.

So I went bra shopping today because it was down to the wire (pun not intended).  I had to go bra shopping.  Embarrassingly, I had one bra I was wearing daily.  I didn’t have time to wash the bra because I had to wear it every day.  Yes, I’m fucking disgusting.  But considering how much my bras cost it was understandable that I had to put it off.

I really don’t feel like my breasts are all that big, but my judgment may be skewed by my mother’s enormotits, the size of which I now know I’ll never achieve (as if that’s something to achieve) because I’ve thankfully got my dad’s thinner (and great hair) genes.

Today I went into the lingerie section of Bloomingdale’s, where no one helped me and where I did not see any bras my size (which I thought was 34DDD at the time).  Then I walked into Victoria’s Secret for shits and giggles.  I used to buy bras from Victoria’s Secret about fifteen years ago, but found that anything that actually fit me (and my breasts were considerably smaller then) fell apart from the effort of actually doing the work of holding up breasts of any substance.  Until today I’d not walked into a Victoria’s Secret in a number of years.  The latest line of convertible (as in they can be changed from strapless, to t-back, to halter, etc.) Victoria’s Secret bras only goes up to DD.

I didn’t bother going into Frederick’s of Hollywood, mostly because it’s always struck me as tacky.  However, now that I think about it, they may cater to the surgically-augmented set, which would translate into bras that would actually fit me.

I went to Nordstrom, where one of the lingerie department employees took pity on me.  She could see that I was distressed and helped me find several bras in my (perceived) size to try on.  She also came into the fitting room to look at what I was working with.  This is a common thing, and it’s actually very helpful for the bra saleslady to see how things are fitting.

Up to the point when she came into the room I had tried on several ill-fitting bras.  I felt gross and began to question my size choice.  I measured my ribs with a provided tape measure – yep, still around 34 inches, and certainly not over.  I also began to question why anyone would want to see me naked or have sex with me.

The saleslady brought me several other bras within my requirement of black and nude “practical” bras and one “sexy” bra.  The saleslady was very nice and said things like, “That brand tends to run small” and other things that made me feel not quite so shitty.

The saleslady was nice enough to not question the interesting marks on my upper body.  The Vegan and I had what I can only describe as a fucking glorious night last night.  Fucking glorious.  I can feel my pussy tingle as I think about it.  Fucking glorious.  It always amazes me when I have sex that good because every time it feels like it’s more and better than I’ve ever had before, and at the same time I think it’s not possible that I’ve not already experienced all that I can considering my age and my, uh, vast experience.

Photo 32But then that’s one of the great things about fucking and sex and pushing limits.  So the Vegan is a biter and I have bite marks on my neck and shoulders and arms and the Nordstrom’s saleslady didn’t bat an eye that I noticed.  She just brought me other bras in sizes such as 34G.

I settled on three bras, one a practical black one, one a practical nude one, and one sexy one.

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