How I Lost My Boobies RELOCATED

or
Why I Can Beat My Child
by
Mala

So I was standing in front of the mirror, naked as a jaybird, hoping like hell my mother didn't waltz her ass in the room. I don't know about those of you without West Indian parents, but in our world, ain't shit sacred. My mother will walk right in the bathroom while I'm taking a shower, bold as you please. "A fi mi 'ouse. If yuh nuh like e', gwan carry ya ass go whe yuh live..." is a common statement round these parts. Either way, my mom's sense of humor is just as jacked up as mine, so if she caught me staring at myself in the buff, it'd be jokes for days. Anyway there I stood, in all my nekkid glory and I couldn't help but think, "some boobies would be nice."

The reason for the close assessment of the goods is my birthday ain't even right around the corner, it's up the block and I'm barreling towards it at warp speed. I decided to take an honest gander at myself and decide if the body is still enough to brag about.

Here we go.
The feet are a tad long (mom used to say stop doing handstands in the house), but not overly so and they look good in heels. The legs and arms are thin but since I'm tiny, they're directly in proportion with the rest of my pixie frame. The stomach is flat, the waist small, the hips rounded and the derriere my prized possession. The head fits on nicely on the neck, although the ears could be judged as big enough to hear rice growing in China. The face has it's own exotic angular look and the eyes are expressive. However, the boobies are small. Like I'm hauling around acorns in my tank top. If it weren't for my nipples (that for all the world look like cb radio knobs) I'd be flatter than an open Pepsi left out in the sun
Sheesh.

I used to have uber-perky titties. Seriously I did. Perky like a coked up cheerleader at a pep rally. They were never big, but they were a solid B cup and they poked out like they were nosy and just had to know what was going on outside my shirt. Then I had a kid. Now don't get me wrong, I don't regret my girl, but that broad owes me cause she absconded with my tits in the first 8 months of her life.

For those of you that don't know, or those of you with dicks, when you get pregnant nature blesses you with mammoth mammaries designed to nourish the coming human kicking a hole in your back at 3 a.m. It's fantastic. By the time I had my daughter, I was up to a D cup and had PERFECT posture. I mean it. I walked with my shoulders back because I didn't want anyone to miss 'em. Then I was faced with a decision. Breast or bottle. Well my family is old school and the the idea of not breast feeding my child was simply unheard of. Besides, that shit is convenient like a motha. Baby starts squalling in the middle of the night, you can just roll over, pop a tit in it's mouth and go right back to sleep. Not to mention it's easier for the kid to digest, you don't have to burp out all of that bottle gas, it's healthier for them and there's a hell of a lot less baby spit up to clean. I know I'm getting all technical and shit, but bear with me. There's an extra added plus to the whole breast feeding thing too: your tummy goes bye-bye. No bullshit. When I compare the women I know who went au naturale to those that didn't, pound for pound, we're all flat-chested but nary a one of us have a paunch like our bottle toting buddies. Ha! Take that oh thou of ample chest!

Of course nothing comes without a price. You either have to lose the stomach and the breasts or keep them both. Unless of course you've got cash for a personal trainer and the willpower to do some crazy exercising hard on the heels of pushing a watermelon out of your crotch. Laziness generally wins out for those of us without nannies. Ah, to have been able to afford a wet-nurse. Anyway, I went with option A. I had to do right by my kid so tits for breakfast it was. Also, there was no way in hell I could countenance having a belly. I'm just too damn thin for that and it would have looked all kinds of wrong. That little girl attached herself like some kind of adorable leech to my front for the first 8 or so months of her life until she started teething and mistook my nipples for a chew toy. A-weaning we will go. And fuck that shit, it hurt. After many weeks and rock hard tatas when the milk ran dry I was left with my current dixie cups. The child took my boobs. I can whoop her ass whenever I want. She owes me.

I thought about implants (and sometimes entertain the thought when my brain is idle) but I just can't bring myself to seriously consider putting some foreign shit in my body - as if dick wasn't foreign enough. Then there's the fact that although I intend to live hard, die young and leave behind a beautiful corpse, Murphy has a way of fucking with my best intentions. I can just see it now, 70 years old with everything sagging except for the the D cups I purchased at the plastic surgeon swap meet. Nah. Not for me. Besides, people tend to forget when you age your skin loses elasticity and there'd be nothing worse than silicon going south and dangling from your chest, swinging back and forth like those stupid clackers we played with as kids.

*sigh*

I guess it could have been worse... I could have been ugly. I can get a push up bra for the tetas but nothing could have pushed up a grouse grill. Regardless, after turning every-whicha-way and managing not to get called a perv by mommy, I've got to say: It's looking pretty fucking good. I know young chicks that got tuck it and suck it, one chicken wing away from weight watchers. I'll stop complaining now, especially since I think stared at my bare bod long enough to wanna go diddle with my doodads.


- lookin good in the hood, respect my gang-starr - bitches!!!