under wraps

around the age of ten when i started to develop, my mother sewed for me a set of under shirts that were designed to push my newly forming breasts into my chest so that i could (or rather she could have me) go around flat chested, unbeknownest to the world that i was fast becoming a woman. to date, i don't know why she did that (to me and my sister). i think her justification was that it had been done to her by her mother. but all the more reason, i would think, for her to break out of that dysfunctional mold. whatever her reasons or justifications were, i grew up ashamed of my sexual self. for the next 2 years, i shoved and pushed increasing amounts of breast mass behind tighter and tighter fabric. i was finally allowed to wear a bra when the garment failed to serve any purpose. when the two misshapen and stifled mounds were too high to ignore. i didnot begin with a training bra like normal girls do. i began with bra size 38C. then began my struggle to hide these huge breasts from all that wanted to cop a feel. in the country of my birth, young girls are mauled and pawed on busy streets and alleys on a regular basis. and i attracted more than my fair share of attention from such perverse and mostly middle-aged hands. i am still trying to come to terms with these episodes from my past.
today, after losing considerable amount of the weight that i had doubtless accumulated as a result of various other family dysfunctions, i am a size 36B by some stretch. i live in a country now where big breasts are the key to any woman's personal and social success. so today, when i need them to flaunt, i don't have them. what tyranny of fate is this?