For The Love Of Breasts!

For The Love Of Breasts header image shows small boobs in a bra designed to bolster even the smallest of chest to have a cleavage. Set against a backdrop of hills, trees and townscape.

Breasts, boobs, fun pillows, tits. I’ve barely scratched the surface of names given to the flesh that graces chests and causes so much joy and/or angst, depending on the relationship a person has with their body. But this is a post about the love of breasts. Or more, my rocky relationship with them.

My appreciation of my itty-bitty-titties only flourishing in the last few years. I started to like them when I realised that Sir liked them. This positive stance improved when we discovered that the nipple pain he would treat me to was more delicious than anything I’d experienced through my breasts previously. I also enjoyed that others (consenting adults) found it challenging to see this pain exchange between us. This caused me to feel proud of them for the first tie in my (then) thirty two years.

Over the years that have passed my love of breasts has grown.

I appreciate them more often than not. The biggest turning point for me was a task from Sir. One that was initially self-set, before being adopted by him, and it is still brought into play sometimes. Recreating a topless picture with willing friends for Sir helped me to see that if I thought everyone’s breasts were beautiful then mine could be no exception.

Then I moved on to buying bras.

Actual grown up, matching sets of womanly lingerie. No more of the shame around not being big enough to buy them. There are actually shops that sell size 38AAA in anything other than flimsy white cotton. Whoop whoop! I was definitely levelling up in my femininity around this time. Reclaiming a part of myself which had been lost along the way somewhere.

And so it continued. Tasks, the Scavenger Hunt, sharing pictures on here which showed my external change the accompanying words documenting the important internal shift.

Feeling bright and shiny in my own skin, I stumbled across a tweet.

A woman who also sported smaller cups had discovered a bra that gave her the most phenomenal cleavage. Stunning, I thought, before DMing her for details. A few days later the postman delivered my new underwear.

I tried it on, got comfortable, took a picture and tweeted it. My breasts transformed into mountainous swellings, the valley between lay deep in shadows.

I may be an exhibitionist but I’m not a fan of attention, go figure! And I was completely unprepared for the influx of praise and validation that my seemingly vast boobs brought in. But, of course, they weren’t my boobs.

My love of breasts was about to be challenged.

The next day I felt low. The day after I was really wobbly. The next I started to loathe my body. The mean voice that has so often rattled around inside my head was having a field day.

  • “See, your boobs are rubbish. They only get likes when they look like normal sized breasts.”
  • “Your inferior chest make you less of a woman.”
  • “Ha, stupid woman. You thought your breasts were worth being loved?”
  • “Your tiny tits are so ugly you need special apparatus to make them desirable”

Each time I’d put on this bra the voice would quieten down.

Then when I went without the chatter would pipe up again. And so it went on until I noticed a correlation between the volume of self torture and my wardrobe. It was so bizarre. I don’t need positive external feedback to like myself, and ignore negative comments from strangers. But this cheering about my seemingly voluptuous chest caught me off guard.

And so this bra has lain at the back of my underwear drawer since. Until we had a shift around of furniture in the house. Rediscovering the bra after two years I wondered if I should put it back on, try it once more. Having lost more weight my breasts have shrunk further, but I’m happier in my skin. The energy that I have at my healthy (for me) size is exciting, and my body can do all sorts of amazing things. Add to that the fact my internal chatter is more easily challenged and set straight. So I popped it on.

And then I went for a walk.

I had some pussy pump pictures to take, and wondered if I could also snap some of my own rolling vista against a beautiful backdrop of fields and forests.

I’ve sat with this image for a while… Longer than intended, I meant to share this for Kink Of The Week! And in that time I’ve weighed up what it means to me. I finally understand what caused the distress previously. I am, after all, a woman who works incredibly hard to show up authentically in every area of my world. When I put this bra on I’m not doing that, I am faking bigger boobs. And so, when I am praised for something that is make believe I feel like a fraud.

Worse, people liked me more for showing up as something I’m not.

I did enjoy, and am grateful for, the attention the tweet brought, but it wasn’t me in the tweet, more an adapted version. And so when I returned to normal, I crashed and burned, just as my breasts had when I removed the bra. Self confidence crumbling in an instant.

Fortunately, Sir and FWBs (friends with breasts) have been on hand to help me set aside the self doubt. Loving the skin I’m in, whatever my size or shape, is coming easier again.

After all, EVERY body is beautiful.

And that includes YOU!

Have you had any experiences where you’ve attempted to bolster your self confidence and it’s had the opposite effect? I’d love to hear them in the comments below if you do.

Boob Day

For The Love Of Breasts explores some of the discomfort I feel around showing up inauthentically. You might enjoy this post, celebrating my authentic self? I am… Sinfully Me.


  1. You have lovely breasts with or without a bra. Self love is hard for many.
    Men have their own I securities the normal “I’m too fat”, “she is going to find me a nerd and she won’t like that.” And the big one “my cock is too small”.

    Growing up after gym class or sport practice the communal showers allow no modesty. What I call retractable landing gear. Unless aroused it’s anywhere from 1-2 inches. So compared to all the other guys I had a small cock.

    Until I had several lovers and no one complained about my size. That’s when I started to understand what my Dad said while I was growing up “it’s not the size of the wand but the magic in it.”

    1. Thank you for sharing your uncomfortable memories. I love your dad’s phrase, it’s more fitting than “it’s not the size of the ship but the motion in the ocean” which I grew up with. Either way, it’s very true!

  2. I have small breasts too, and I dislike anything with a “push-up” effect. So I get where you’re coming from on a lot of this.

    I don’t actively dislike my breasts, but I don’t like them much either. I tried writing about my ambivalence once. I’ll point you toward the post if you’re interested. But yes… Attention toward tgat body part — especially when being portrayed ‘artificially’ — is something that bothers me too.

    1. Ambivalence is the right word, and yes please, I’d love to read your post.

      Attention wise, I know that I post them a lot! But it’s for chuckles and bravery rather than thirsty posting. But being appreciated for who I am, naturally, is better for me than pretending to be something I’m not.

  3. I am a huge admirer of your boobs. Mostly because they are attached to a lovely friend who is willing to share them with me on days i need a smile .x
    That voice in my who shames me for trying to be bigger/ sexual ect was put there by the ex dick waffle. The one i recall most right now was the time i tried to wear something for role play sexual fun and he laughed and told me how positively stupid i looked no one would findd it sexy…
    Please to say i no longer hear that voice. I am sexy and other and proud and if you/them don’t like it .. vet out of my way. Xx

    1. The ex dick waffles have a lot to answer for. I was reminded of the way mine called me disgusting and laughed at me for hours when I shared a (very basic) fantasy. When we find our people and realise were loved because of who we are, rather than in spite of it, the growth can start. But, for me, this can only happen if I am authentic. And, as well as being one of my first slut’s buddies, and sharing your gorgeous self, I always find a thrill in the way you… appreciate… me! xx

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