Boob Garb

My new binder was cheap and didn't take well to two days of wear and a night of sleep. At least it made me feel less vulnerable with it on, but it'd lost any efficacy beyond that of a sports bra. I know you're not supposed to sleep in them, but this one had stretched out so much that it didn't seem to make a difference. I slept in a one-size-too-small underwire bra and bracami all throughout my teens - before became liberated in college, sleeping bare-chested like a good feminist! - so maybe my ribs remember the strain and don't get too bothered.

My bras were probably always a few sizes too small.

I have a vivid memory, somewhere in Target, about 6th grade, before I had gathered the courage to admit to myself that I really did need a real bra. There was a woman that passed me - or perhaps it was an ad on the wall. I only remember that, although the woman was pretty average-sized, I imagined to myself as though she were a drug addict that I would never let myself get trapped that deep, buying bigger and bigger bras like it was okay to let the infection spread. I was willing to let my body run wild for awhile, but I'd reign it in if it ever got that bad.

I didn't understand why she would wear that kind of shirt, either, one that flaunted the fact that she had breasts. It wasn't that she was immodest... I just couldn't help but wonder - why would she want to draw attention to something so awful? All the lines on her shirt drew attention to her waist, as though she wanted her breasts to look even bigger than they were. Things were bad enough for me already. We females had to deal with these burdens, I thought, but we certainly didn't have to publicize our flaws like we were proud of them.

From fourth until sixth grade, I owned only three thin white cotton training bras. They had no support and didn't do anything for shape, but I was too embarrassed to dare ask for something else. More than that, I had no idea what'd be worth asking for. I didn't want something padded - then I'd look bigger than I was, even if it'd have the plus of effectively hiding my changing nipples - and I didn't want underwire (who wants  to walk around with metal strapped to their chest?). I didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want the problem to exist. Knew it would inevitably continue to exist. Resigned myself to the struggle. I layered a second bra on top of the first when the need arose, and then added a third when I decided it still wasn't enough. That continued for a year until my mother noticed that there were no spares in my drawer and asked where the others were. She was rather aghast that this had been going on for so long and promptly got me new ones, but it was embarrassing and uncomfortable just to try them on. I refused to go with her to shop for them. 

Taking off that binder for my shower this morning, the chafing felt so similar to the sore marks made by the elastic on those three training bras stacked on top of each other. My 34B bras (my hard limit) and size "small" bracamis left the same angry red lines across my ribs. But whatever. It was better than the truth.

I used to fantasize about sex before going to bed, but especially as I've become sex-positive and developed sexual relationships, those dreams have lost some of their kick. Lately I dream about swimming alone in lillypad lakes with docks all around the shore, wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks, feeling the morning sun against my bare chest and the water rushing past over my streamline hips as I dive into the water. Sometimes my dreams are about a surgeon drawing lines on my body to mark for expulsion all that excessive, confusing, cumbersome gunk on my body that had overstayed its welcome before it arrived. Sometimes it's a partner laying their hands on my chest and actually being able to move them across it.... being able to touch me normally.

I put the stretched-out binder back on when I'd finished my shower, but it wasn't enough. Just like puberty, when three training bras were "not enough," and my teens, when four layers also never felt enough. So I put another binder over it. It still wasn't there, but it was closer. It was close enough for today.