I started dating when I was 14. His name was Michael. He asked me to go row-boating in a park near my house in Queens. I had a nice time, but apparently my mother thought I would date more if I had bigger boobs and blonde hair. She was in a competition with her sister who also had girls. It was competition to have he most beautiful daughter.
So there I was 15 and flat chested. My mother suggested I get something called “falsies”. Back then falsies were rubber boob shaped cups you put in your bra. On a warm day they were awful and you always had to have your bra on really tight or they would slip out. I didn’t really want them but I agreed not only to the falsies but to also get my hair dyed blonde..
My mother took me to the beauty parlor. Back then they used a lot of chemicals. Bleach was the main ingredient. I passed out on the chair on one particular hot day and I told my mother I didn’t want to do that anymore. She agreed but suggested I get streaks instead. I agreed becauseI knew how much it meant to her.She wanted me ready for the world!
One day my mother brought home my new falsies. I put them in and thought I looked good, but again it wasn’t really important to me. The focus on breasts in my family dated back to my Grandmother. She was famous for feeling my friends boobs to see how great they were. Her boobs were tremendously huge and hung to her knee caps. In my family big boobs meant a better husband in the long run, richer, more handsome, the whole thing.
So a week later my fake boobs got to go to a party. My friend Barbara Kivel had a birthday party in her basement. She invited boys and girls and we danced! I loved to dance and my friend Barry and I hit the dance floor. We danced the Lindy with my fake boobs bopping in my too loose bra. After that we went into a slow dance and I looked down and there was my fake boob on the floor. My eyes widened as Barry swayed me back and forth. I said excuse me to Barry and in one sweeping motion I stooped down and scooped the boob and disappeared into the bathroom.
The next hot rage in fake boobs was inflated boobs. I was 17 and the word around Bayside High was that these boobs were much better than the rubber cups we’d all been wearing. My mother was eager to take me to her Bra and Girdle store in Brooklyn to get me a pair. They pumped them up like car tires to a nice round B cup. Way bigger than my natural size. S0 I bought a bra that would “house” them and they fit perfectly inside. They were very durable and lasted several years until I was at a Bullfight in Mexico with my first husband. I was sitting and watching when suddenly I felt someone brush by, when normally my balloon bra would buffer that. One of them had popped and that was the end of that. No more fake boobs for me.
Since that time I’ve always been natural. My husband Don always told me I had a world class ass, which to me compensated for no boobs. He never complained. My advice to my sisters lacking in he boob department, find an ass guy.