There is no denying that I am pleasing to the eye of some people. I am lush in my figure and lead by my bosom. I enjoy my bosom. It is something that I lookout for when I am choosing my clothing. I want them to look good for me. I have not gone as far as to name my breasts but I did consider it on occasion. I recall my encounters with Mauvaneen and her relationship with her bosom. She was slighter than me and had a lump on one of her breasts that was mildly worrying. She chose to name her breast since the lump existed and would not leave without invasive surgery. This essay, we are talking about breasts in some capacity.

Two of my exes were top-heavy like me. Or rather, they were heavier in the bosom than me. I did not mind it since I like a good cleavage shot but for them, it was a bother. Both had numbing in their shoulders from their bras. For years they chose to deal with it. When it comes to my main ex, it took some time before she chose to have her breast reduced to a D. She hesitated to go under the knife because of her relationship with her nipples in her sexual practice. Having the surgery could deaden them for life. But carrying the weight on her shoulders was worth it since there were other erogenous zones she could explore in bed. For my other ex, she chose to reduce in her 20s. She took pleasure in being able to buy bras off the rack like me. Both have enjoyed the surgeries and the shoulder relief. Both also chose to diet afterward.

Why? Because their breasts covered the size of their bellies. One ex mentioned that walking around without her breasts as the lead on her person made her shirts fit like tents on her. She loathed looking like she was carrying a spare tire around her middle. The other was on a quest to be a woman magnet. And she was hoping to avoid breast cancer since a lump was discovered while she was under the knife.

I have had a positive relationship with my breasts. My mammograms have not revealed a lump yet. For their size, I worry about it on occasion. But my breasts are a gift from my paternal grandmother. I mentioned before that my cousin was mildly jealous of my breast when they began to bud in my teens. She was a respectable size for her frame but clearly, the marketing of Western society was influencing her body insecurities. Since my breasts have been the topic of conversation for other reasons, I have chosen to lean into the attention being busty has granted me and enjoy it to the hilt when I am corseting. So let’s segway into corset wearing.

I love a good corset on occasion. Some of my favorite times have been in corsets. I have waxed poetic about choosing corsets in other essays and I am going to repeat that here: corsets are amazing! They give the wearer an hourglass shape and when worn correctly, change your posture to some capacity. On the downside, if synched too tightly they can limit how well you breathe and what you consume but for the most part, wearing one makes you aware of how you move. When I wear one, I am aware of my breasts and how I choose to enter the room. I am a breast-first walker. So wearing a corset makes that extremely fun. I enjoy the admiring glances I get when wearing my corsets. It is the few times that I look forward to people’s eyes moving first to my bosom instead of my eyes to some degree. I like an admiring glace or a gaze filled with a bit of jealousy but I will never enjoy an eye fuck from anybody. Alas, I can not control people around me but I can choose to interpret the looks to suit me.

Wearing a corset is an ego stroke to me. My breasts have been a focal point to sexualize me and I work to embrace that instead of viewing that space of objectification as a negative. I am not above some light objectification when I am encouraging it. Corset wearing is when I encourage it. I want people to look and enjoy the glimpse. They do not get the view I have from the top down. That view is delicious in my experience. I think my choice to enhance my breasts stems from the conflicting cultural norms around breasts that I have been exposed to.

I have been told in office spaces that my clothing, mostly clothes that gave a good cleavage, shot made my co-workers uncomfortable. I often found this odd since I have spent more time working with women. In situations like this, I was browbeaten into submitting to the person that held the purse strings. I loathed it since it enforced stereotypes that it is my problem that my breasts are sexualized when it is society that pushed that is forcing that idea on me and my personal proclamations of my sexuality.

I recently told an acquaintance that women are sexualized as soon as they leave the womb so claiming one’s sexuality is more a reclaiming than what you have been born into and forced to respond to. That is what enjoying my own breasts for being a natural bounty on my person means to me. They are beautiful and enhance me. Looking at my exes who had to cull their personal bounties for health reasons and other women that have lost their breast to cancers or other things, I am grateful to have my breasts every day of the week. They do not complete me but they are a part of my identity.

Taking adjectives out to ‘lunch’ to see what two cocktails does to their tongues.