Several women in my family are rather well endowed. My sister has a pair rivaling Dolly Parton. All my life I was warned that women with large breasts had to dread the effects of gravity. Instruction was given to always secure solid foundation garments to avoid having them down by my knees by the time I was 40.
As puberty approached I, like so many other young girls, began to wonder what Mother Nature would provide me with in terms of mammary tissue. I would alternate between what I wished for.
Did I want a big pair like my sister? That came with lots of attention and admiration, but also back pain and the future threat of sagging. Did I want small, perky breasts? Those left no doubt you were a woman but still offered you the option of going without a bra. In the end it didn’t matter what I wanted. Like everyone else, I got what I got. Deal with it. And like every other woman before me I did not appreciate what I had until it was gone.
When I was younger were glorious. Middle sized, not too big, not too small. High, round, and firm. I would lament that they were so dense I could not get them to move together to form cleavage. When lying on my back they would disperse, but still looked divine. Well, that’s long gone.
They aren’t sagging to my knees, but the density that gave them their shape bailed around the same time my knees lost their elasticity. As a result I can now get cleavage. I can also do shadow puppets with them. It doesn’t seem so much like the effects of gravity as a rearrangement of surface area. Now the moment that my bra comes off they immediately try to take cover in my armpits. I’m not sure if they have developed social anxiety or a shifting of tectonic plates. Thankfully men have also become slightly more mature, or at least more tactful. It’s been a while, but the last few partners kept the commentary to themselves when they had to scoop the girls out from under my arms. Or maybe they found the nipple peeking out from my axilla cute. Whatever, no one is complaining.
Overall, it’s not that big of a deal. I had to make some minor lifestyle adjustments. Putting on a bra now requires me to bend at the waist while pulling the cups away from my body. This causes the girl to fall out of their safe haven under my arms and into the bra. Then I can straighten up and adjust them. I still have the concern of cup spillage, only now it’s the other side of the cup. The silver lining to this is that I have an extra layer available when the under wire pops out. It has to go through a titty before it can stab my in the artery. And it’s made sports bras easier to find. Since they lost density they compress much easier. No more bouncing.
I guess that’s what aging is all about. Realizing that things change and sometimes it isn’t good or bad, but just different.