Climb Every Mountain - A Tribute To Large Breasted Women

I originally created this Hub because of my own struggles with being large breasted, which if you are that way,you know what I mean. But after all the wonderful comments from women of all sizes I decided to make it about all of you. So you smaller breasted ladies (and I'm jealous, lol) please look for the link to your own Hub Page with articles about the issues you deal with. I do hope you enjoy these Hubs and please let me hear from you. That's the only way I know what to ad to these Hubs.

God Bless
Diane

Before puberty hit, I never dreamed I would hate my breasts. But then, I never dreamed they would reach the size they are now. Before I had breasts, I, like almost every young girl before puberty, dreamed of the day I would have them and be a real woman. If only I could go back to being flat chested again.

To women who were given more than they were expecting from puberty, now must live with several pounds of fatty tissue resting on their chests every single day. They endure chronic back pain, pronounced indentations in their shoulders from bra straps and never being able to sleep on their stomachs. Not to mention the constant comments from Neanderthal men wherever you go who call them Headlights, Hooters, Congo Bongos, Knockers, Double Whoppers, Jugs, Double Lattes and that most affectionate giveaway of their breast obsessed intentions, BOOBS. This is no laughing matter for women with larger than average breasts.

Read on as I explore the world, my world of the large breasted woman through this web site.

A man walked into the Women's Department of Macy's in New York City. He told the saleslady "I would like a Baptist bra for my wife, size 36B."
With a quizzical look the saleslady asked; "What kind of bra?" He repeated; "A Baptist Bra - She said to tell you that she wanted a Baptist Bra, and that you would know what she wanted."

"Ah, now I remember"; said the saleslady. "We don't get as many requests for them as we used to. Mostly our customers lately want the Catholic bra, or the Salvation Army bra, or the Presbyterian type."

Confused and a little flustered, the man asked "So, what are the differences?" The lady responded; "It is all really quite simple. The Catholic type supports the masses, the Salvation Army lifts up the fallen, the Presbyterian type keeps them staunch and upright."

He mused on that information for a minute, and asked "So, what is the Baptist type for?"

She replied, "Oh, they make mountains out of molehills."

If you have wondered why, but couldn't figure out what the letters stood for, it is about time you became informed!

{A} Almost Boobs...
{B} Barely there.
{C} Can't Complain!
{D} Dang!
{DD} Double dang!
{E} Enormous!
{F} Fake.
{G} Get a Reduction.
{H} Help me, I've fallen and I can't get up.

At least some have developed a sense of humor about the issue that helps them deal with it without going crazy. One night my wife and I were lying in bed and she was having trouble getting comfortable. She turned to me and said “You know, sometimes I wish I could just unscrew them, put them on the night stand and screw them back on in the morning.”

Relaying this ingenious idea to her sister one day, who is 5’ 11”, 145 llb. with an E cup bosom, she said she had often thought of designing a similar Velcro model to solve her problem.

So fellows, please continue to enjoy the bountiful assets of your loved one. But please try to understand what she must go through every day of her life carrying these puppies around. She can’t walk into a room without feeling like her breasts get there before she does, she can hardly talk to a man without needing to remind him that her eyes are a little higher up than he is looking while he is talking to her.

Next time you want to get your girl a present, do her a real favor. Do some research and find her some places, probably websites where she can get clothes that will fit her. Let her know you really care about her problems and what she has to deal with every day. And if, when in mixed company, you are ever tempted to make some locker room remark about her assets to a buddy close by, remember, the DD police are always watching and listening.

For Trade: My Breasts For Yours

Yes, I have large breasts. Not excessively huge, but big, nonetheless. "A fine rack," you may say. "Big hooters." "Baywatch material." "Nicely stacked." "Melons." "Lovely grapefruits." Or my favorite, "TORPEDOES!"

The fact is, I hate them. Loathe and detest. Despise. I want them off my body and gone! Not only do they give me backaches, but I can't sleep on my stomach. I find it hard to kiss someone, as there's always this "mass" between us. Sex is impossible. I can no longer jog without giving myself 2 black eyes. My cat actually WALKS down out of the window onto my lap by way of my breasts! Unfortunately, I don't have much lap left. I have a hard time buttoning shirts, since those two buttons at chest-level are stretched tight and constantly break off and the rest are loose. I often find leftovers lingering there. And odd things, like leaves and Post-It notes.

Yeah, you're probably laughing at this point, but it's really NOT FUNNY! (Well, not unless you laugh at the fact that I actually have a T-shirt that my left nipple has *rubbed a hole in* I'm not talking a white, faded spot, though; I'm talking an *actual* HOLE in my T-shirt! You know, so my nipple can look out and see the world (and perhaps chase you down the street), thus mocking me even more.)

Guys, how would you like to have balls so big that you couldn't lay on your stomach or see your shoes when standing? Or jog? Or hug someone without them jutting into the other person, forcing you to lean over or else stand several inches away. Wait, stupid question, why did I ask? Forget I said that.

Girls with small(er) breasts, you don't know how lucky you are! Why in the hell would you want to *increase* the size of them?!? Especially with some gelatinous unknown substance in a plastic baggie, blech! Wait, stupid question. Forget I said that. But that's the reason I'm here!

I want to trade my large breasts for your smaller ones! Mine are pasty white, but I don't really care what color yours are, as long as they're comfortable and I can sleep face-down... and reclaim my lap. No reasonable offer refused. I'm waiting...

For years and years they told me,
Be careful of your breasts.
Don't ever squeeze or bruise them.
And give them monthly tests.

So I heeded all their warnings,
And protected them by law.
Guarded them very carefully,
And I always wore my bra.

After 30 years of astute care,
My gyno, Dr. Pruitt,
Said I should get a Mammogram.
"O.K." I said, 'let's do it."

"Stand up here real close" she said,
(She got my boob in line),
"And tell me when it hurts," she said,
"Ah yes! Right there, that's fine."

She stepped upon a pedal,
I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate came slamming down,
My hooter's in a vise!

My skin was stretched and mangled,
From underneath my chin.
My poor boob was being squashed,
To Swedish Pancake thin.

Excruciating pain I felt,
Within it's vise-like grip.
A prisoner in this vicious thing,
My poor defenseless tit!

"Take a deep breath" she said to me,
Who does she think she's kidding?!?
My chest is mashed in her machine,
And woozy I am getting.

"There, that's good," I heard her say,
(The room was slowly swaying.)
"Now, let's have a go at the other one."
Have mercy, I was praying.

It squeezed me from both up and down,
It squeezed me from both sides.
I'll bet SHE'S never had this done,
To HER tender little hide.

Next time that they make me do this,
I will request a blindfold.
I have no wish to see again,
My knockers getting steam rolled.

If I had no problem when I came in,
I surely have one now.
If there had been a cyst in there,
It would have gone "ker-pow!"

This machine was created by a man,
Of this, I have no doubt.
I'd like to stick his balls in there,
And see how THEY come out!

Every Sunday Father Donovan, a preacher at a small church in the little town of Juniper, MO, tried to make the Bible accessible to his congregation through his sermons.

On this particular Sunday, Father Donovan proclaimed, "If you ever feel adrift in the sea of life, just turn to the Bible for guidance. All life's experiences are immortalized in the good book, and it will help you find your way to shore."
After church Mrs. Francis approached the preacher and said, "Father Donovan, I don't think every life experience is in the Bible. Nowhere in the Bible have I ever read about PMS."

Father Donovan had never heard such a comment, so that night he sifted through the Bible to see if Mrs. Francis was right.

Next Sunday Father Donovan pulled Mrs. Francis aside after church and said, "I wasn't wrong last Sunday when I said that every life experience is mentioned in the Bible."

"Okay, Father. Where does it say anything about PMS?"
Father Donovan opened up his Bible and showed her a passage that read: "And Mary rode Joseph's ass all the way to Bethlehem."

I have had large breasts for about 20 years. I'm 32, so let's say, roughly, that my breasts were on their path to greatness halfway through the Carter administration. By the time Reagan was sworn in, I was officially stacked.

I first realized I had big breasts when I was about 12, in, of all places, a fish market on Cape Cod. For years, the fishmonger had been showing my buxom aunt marked favoritism. "This is for you," he would say, measuring out what she'd asked for, then, with a wink and a glimpse at her bustline, tossing in a few more shrimp or an extra fillet.

On this particular day, he threw a handful of extra shrimp onto the pile and, ignoring my aunt, turned his gaze on me. "A little extra nutrition for the growing girl," he said. Holy hell, I said to myself, I have big boobs, too!

By the time I was 13, I had a C-cup, and by the time I was 15, a D. Today, I hover between a 34 and a 36D, depending on whether I'm on the Pill, and, disgustingly, how much beer I've been drinking. Either way, they garner their share of attention -- wanted or otherwise.

There are times when it all seems quite silly to me, when I look at mine in the mirror and think, what a lot of excitement over two little -- okay, enormous--mounds of fat! Then again, there's the occasional moment when I'll pull an old cotton T-shirt out of the dryer and slip it, still warm and quite tight, over my head, the name of my old university straining across my front.

And as I happen to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I can't help but think of Teri Hatcher's line from that old Seinfeld episode: "They're real, and they're spectacular."

I know men like to think that women lie around all day touching and staring at their breasts. Well, every once in a while, in fact, we do. But aside from the odd afternoon interlude, most women don't find their own breasts especially sexual. Our breasts kind of have two -- well, four -- personalities. There is How We See Them. And then there is How Men See Them...

How We See Them

As fashion accessories. When I buy a dress, I don't consciously think, Wow, this is going to make all the men in the room want me. More like, How will it offset my best feature?

I know what you're thinking: Nothing low-cut was ever purchased in innocence. I swear to you, my breasts and I, we never conspire. We're just trying to look our best.

I feel about my breasts the way Audrey Hepburn felt about her neck. They're just part of my outfit, along with the right shoes, the right hose, the right earrings. All of which, of course, means nothing when confronted with...

I had lunch with 2 of my unmarried friends.
One is engaged, one is a mistress, and I have been married for 20+
years.

We were chatting about our relationships and decided to amaze our men
by greeting them at the door wearing a black bra, stiletto heels and a
mask over our eyes. We agreed to meet in a few days to exchange notes.

Here's how it all went down.

My engaged friend told us:
The other night when my boyfriend came over he found me with a black leather bodice, tall stilettos and a mask. He saw me and said, 'You are the woman of my dreams. I love you..' Then we made passionate love all nightlong.

The mistress reported:
Oh it was wonderful! The other night I met my lover at his office and I was wearing
a raincoat, under it only the black bra, heels and mask over my eyes. When I opened the raincoat he didn't say a word, he just scooped me up in his arms and we had wild sex all night.

Then I had to share my story:
When my husband came home I was wearing the black bra, black stockings, stilettos and a mask over my eyes. When he came in the door and saw me he said,

"What's for dinner, Batman?"

Unfortunately, breast cancer is a topic on every woman's mind. That's why I've included some videos below to give you some helpful information dealing with this topic. Please watch these and stay healthy.