My Bra Makes Me Smarter
My cleavage looks like a baby’s butt. My favorite bra highlights (or is it headlights?)this effect. There is nothing better then squeashed boobs encased in a contraption which vaguely looks like a doubled-cupped jockstrap.
I have come the realization that a man invented the bra. It is obvious he had a wild and kinky fantasy involving both pleasure and pain. His pleasure, my pain.
Through the years, I have experimented with all types and styles of this con”trap”tion. I recall my very first bra. My mother insisted it was time for me to wear a training bra. I was astounded. I wondered, “What were we going to train my “breasts” to do?”, “Will it hurt me?” and “How can these 2 pimples wear a bra small enough to cover them?”
Mom presented me with a handkerchief. I blew my nose. Appalled, Mom demanded to know “Why would you do such a thing?” Confused, I look at my mom and ask, “What else am I supposed to do with it?” Upon further inspection, I noticed my handkerchief had straps. Instantly, I felt my face turning scarlet from embarrassment as it occurred to me what I had done.
Feeling silly, I put the “Hankerjock-strap” on. It was a slip- on contraption. Bending down, I step my feet into the device. I begin to slip it over my legs and shimmy it up over my hips. Oh alright, I didn’t have hips yet.
Let’s see, where was I?….OH Yes!…I shimmy the device up over my “hips” and slip my arms through the straps. I decide to do a little modeling for my mom. Victoria’s Secret models couldn’t have strutted any better.
While picking a wedgie out of my ass, I twirl around for my mother, showing off my moves. Duplicating the professional models, I wiggle my “hips” while strutting down the “runway- hallway”. I look at my mother. She did not have the expression of admiration and pride on her face, as I expected. In fact, she had tears rolling down her cheeks. Finally, she burst out into laughter. She was clutching her belly and nearly fell out of her chair. I stood there blinking.
In between gales of laughter, she proceeds to tell me what was so funny. Shakily (and snickering) she reaches for me. She instructs me to pull my arms out of the straps and then she easily slides the “hankerjock-strap” around. Puzzled, I wondered why my shoulders blades needed “support”.
Laughing harder still, my mom begins to explain the hated device was on backward. Ironically, the fit was the same. I was mortified. To this day, I will never understand why my damned pimples needed any support. However, I did figure out what they were being trained to do.
My “boobs” were being trained to be smarter. Thanks to this valuable lesson, I never again put a bra on backward and my pimples figured out how to grow into melons.
Eventually, they grew and became nurses. 2 babies, who, otherwise, would have starved, grew plump as they greedily bit and played tug-a-war with my nipples.
The nurses have long since retired. They now hang out in equally annoying “support” bras. To answer the question I am certain comes to the minds of many of you….YES, my damned melons grew into deflated watermelons. AND YES! I have to pick them up and put them into the jock-cups. Funny how they now mold into the cups, much like silly putty when it is placed back into it’s egg.
Well, I need to call my health insurance company now. I am going to find out if they will cover my support bra. Obviously, due to the major health risk of gravity, I now am forced to wear this torturous device. However, I feel good knowing I have left my readers with a little more knowledge.
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My Bra Makes Me Smarter
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