Breaststrokes: Shotgun T*tties; A Guest Post

By Claudia Moss.

Before she identified us, as though we were standing in a line-up, her words a poke in the ribs, a shove to the shoulder or a definitive finger to the tip of the nose, we were nonexistent. Just twin mosquito bites with a dark-brown, unblinking eye on both sides of her chest. Not much different from her twin brother’s chest. And we were okay with that.

Yet, the moment shifted when Aunt Marion named us. Just like that.

Said it before everybody in the room: her oldest sister, my mother, my Aunt Suda, and my sister, all of whom had a “bosom.” That was Mama’s word for us. Maybe that’s why we caught her sister’s attention, us poking persistently through a white T-shirt, no training bra to tame us, considering Mama didn’t think us big enough to bother about hiding us respectfully away from society and its groping eyes. So, Aunt Marion opened her mouth and exercised her right to name us, as if God had given her dominion over everything under her gaze.

“Shotgun titties!” Everybody looked around, but there was no mistaking about whom she was speaking. We would have fainted and receded back wherever we’d come, if we weren’t smooched under tight cotton. The sound ripped into our preteen world and parted the curtain on everything that held no prior importance…until then.

Laughter fountained from every corner of our mother’s bedroom. We hardened in embarrassment. And as if her words weren’t enough, Aunt Marion made twin pistols of her hands and fired them at us. “Pow! Pow!” she joked, blowing the smoke from her manicured nails. “Bet those little peaks could hurt somebody in a traffic jam.”

That’s when she turned and raced out of the room, heading for her bedroom. Safe behind her locked door, we rose and fell on her chest for several long minutes, her belly trembling, until she could pull herself together. Then, she domed us lovingly under her palms, although the seed had already been planted. All we thought about from that moment on was how to get into the cup of a bra. With white pads. Obsessed, we were willing to do whatever to be larger and favor two perfect pyramids under blouse or dress, preferably her low-cut ones.

If other girls could boast of having to adjust their bra straps, their titties nestled daintily in A cups, then Mama should do the same for us. She owed us that. Didn’t she know her baby sister had already poured the cement for a major complex?

After that, we couldn’t go anywhere or meet anybody without studying her chest. Did she have boobs? Titties? Bump? A rack or a bosom? Floodlights? Flashlights? Candles? Party hats? Raisins? Breasts? Sugar babies or teats? Maybe, like my teacher Mrs. Ferguson said, “sugar teats,” molasses in cloth, like the slaves used to keep the babies quiet on the railroad to freedom? Every word I’d ever heard to name us seemed better than “mosquito bites,” though “shotgun” still left a sour taste in our mouths.

Months afterward, Mama eventually stood in Sears and Roebuck with a woman older than her measuring us, top and bottom, for our first bra. Why they insisted on referring to it as a “training” bra was a mystery? What was it supposed to be training us to do? Not be visible? Not show our nipples? Quit being so noticeable for hands other than our own to palm us? We never learned the answer to any of this trivia; the only thing we did learn was Mama’s commandments: “Keep these bras clean. Don’t go showing off at school. And, never come out of it for anyone, definitely not boys.” We tingled all the way from downtown to our front door.

And, would have promised Mama anything only to get behind our bedroom door, strip, slip on a delicate bra, one behind the identical other, adjust and readjust the straps, and admire our creamy brown skin against soft, white cotton. She smooched us together, her hands making us strain to form cleavage, what we admired most about the women in Uncle Junior’s girly magazines.

But we stayed “tee-notchy,” our Grandma’s word for little, for years afterward, no matter what she did to make us bigger. We might have gained a tad more plumpness when a new girl appeared in our class the year after we tired of being suffocated by bras every moment of the day, except nighttime. (And, sometimes she’d sneak and wear a bra to bed, sweating us horribly, until, gratefully, Mama caught her and made her stop, saying she was wearing out too many bras and money didn’t grow on trees.) Anyway, she was a big, peach-colored girl, country, although she came from the North. Name was Cathy. Cathy Robinson.

Her claim to fame was the song she taught the girls in our class. “I must…I must…I must increase my bust!” She crooned it as if she were on Broadway. Her hands flew over her own huge titties, massaging them like they had to hear as well as feel the song. We liked the ditty at first. And then it got old, unless somebody else was doing the massaging, and then it started too much stimulation in lower places, not to mention news getting back to Mama we was being felt up in public and she was being fresh to let it happen.

For all the times we stared proudly back at her from the dresser mirror or the bathroom mirror, who’d have guessed that one day we’d contemplate being enlarged so as never to slip down her stomach as if we were on our way to her navel? We might have started out as shotguns, but we eventually found our way to C cups that favored little brown balloon boobs. Just didn’t know we’d take a whole half of a lifetime and a baby to do it!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

This wonderful guest post is provided by the incomparable Claudia Moss, author, radio personality, speaker, dancer, and all-around AMAZING WOMAN! Please share your thoughts here, BigBodyBeautiful friends, visit Claudia’s links below, and revel in the power of another woman squarely in her body and lovin’ it!

Claudia Moss

Advertisements

23 thoughts on “Breaststrokes: Shotgun T*tties; A Guest Post

  1. Karla

    Claudia really put a hilarious and cool perspective on one of womens greatest assets! As I was reading I was reliving moments wearing my first “training bra” and I remember telling my friends I was training my skin… I wonder what they were thinking! Would love to see more of Claudia’s posts… very, very clever.

    Reply
    1. BigLizzy Post author

      Karla-honey!

      Thank you so much for stopping by and reading Claudia’s post. She’ll jump in and respond, too, I’m sure. I was doing the exact same thing and trying to remember when and at what age, people started making comments, whether positive or negative about my boobies. I was FLAT as a board until 17 when I “became a woman”, as one of my family members so artfully put it. I do remember the boys teasing me about my lack of anything resembling breasts. But by then, I was already living on my own and so over high school. In fact, I was already working full time and out in the real world so the high school “children” just all seemed like idiots to me. Anyway, yes, Claudia is the shiz, isn’t she? I just love this mama so much and am so pleased she picked BBB to showcase some of her talents. I love you, friend. Thanks again for hopping over and leaving your thoughts. Hugs and kisses to you!

      Reply
      1. Claudia Moss

        Evening, Lizzy!

        Helloooo! Hola! What a delight to finally be here—as I have been going and going all day, tackling one thing after another—to find everyone’s comments! I am deeply honored and blessed that everyone paused from busy schedules to take the time, which is our most precious commodity, to read my work and, blessedly, to leave a comment!

        Thank you! Muchas gracias! Grazi! Merci! Sim obrigado! Danke!

        Like you, Lizzy, when I was 17 years old, I was flatter than a board. My breasts were more like sidewalk flat. They literally gave new meaning to nonexistent. smiles And boys found some rather colorful ways to express their dislike. I mean what else were they going to look at in math class? 🙂 To put words to my phenomenon, some of them started saying, “She has some meat and no bread.” I never really understood that one…just figured I was lacking something upstairs and downstairs as well. lol

        I give you a sweet, humble thanks for giving me this warm, wonderful and nurturing space to share my creative work, Lizzy! My soul sings!

        I love you!!!

        Claudia

    2. Claudia Moss

      Thank you, Karla!
      I was inspired by Eve Ensler writing creatively about women’s views on the vagina. “The Vagina Monologues” intrigued me so much until I thought about the beauty involved in capturing the voices of our breasts! Writing in the perspective of the breasts makes me ssstttrrreeetttccch…and I love the imaginative stretching needed to change the usual shape of a concept into something different, something that hasn’t been written!
      And you are so right!
      That first “training bra” was my pride and joy! I washed it 99 ways from Sunday to keep it brand new.
      I’d love to share more of the monologues with you and everyone here! 🙂

      Reply
  2. mariner2mother

    Wonderful!! I think I outgrew my mother’s padded bras by the time I was 15. She was always a stock A cup. I bloomed from a B into a C and then a D by the time I got out of college. When my son was born and my milk came in, I remember looking down at two pasty watermelons. We have a picture of me holding the little man while he was still in the NICU and his little head was smaller than one of my watermelons!

    Reply
    1. BigLizzy Post author

      Susan! OMG, I LOVE your reply here, honey. Two pasty watermelons! I am rolling on the floor; that’s so so adorable! Isn’t it funny how our breasts so shape our experiences here and how they become such a big (heh, heh) part of who we are and how we relate to the world? When my milk came in, I was knocking over furniture (they were so huge). LOL! I guess the 62 pounds that I gained with my daughter, Shelby, was part of the reason, but man, “what big knockers!” (That’s a little nod to one of my all-time favorite movies, Young Frankenstein) Thank you so much for stopping by, having a read, and leaving your awesome comments, darling. 🙂

      Reply
      1. BigLizzy Post author

        Hahahahhahahaa! I knew YOU would get it!! One of the best movies EVER!! Here’s another one: “OOf! He’ll have an enormous schwanstooker…” Buwhwhahahahaa!

      2. N℮üґ☼N☮☂℮ṧ

        Liz, I laughed out loud, loudly when you wrote:

        When my milk came in, I was knocking over furniture (they were so huge)

        It reminded me of the time my milk came in. I was sitting in my rocking chair, getting ready to nurse my daughter. My mother, who was visiting from out of state and helping me during this time, was sitting across the room on the couch. We were in the middle of a conversation when I pulled out one of my girls and proceeded to nurse. The look on my mother’s face is a look I will never forget. It was the look of utter shock. 😀 Shock coming from a woman already well-endowed? LOL

        I love this new series. ღ
        Victoria

      3. BigLizzy Post author

        Buwhwhahahahaa! So glad you got a chuckle out of that, Victoria. I LOVE your nursing story. You just whipped a girl out and went to business. Hahahaha! I can soooo see your mom’s face. The shock of it all! Thank YOU for the laugh, sweet lady. I’m in love with your blog/web site, by the way. Such cool stuff. Thanks for stopping by and commenting. Claudia should be around sometime soon to reply to everyone. 🙂 Hugs!

    2. Claudia Moss

      Oh goodness, Mariner2mother!!

      Thank you so much! I went up the Breast Scale much slower! 😀 Mine just recently left an A cup to visit a B cup, and this is my 55th Thanksgiving! But I tell you the tables TURNED when my only son was born, when I was teaching observant ninth graders twenty-seven years ago. Talk about watermelons—I must have had nicely ripe cantaloupes or good-sized coconuts. Now, mind you, for ME, that was a HUGE deal, basically front-page news!

      I was so incredibly proud to have boobies! I’m slighted, cheated, now that I reminisce, since I should have been in line for a party! I had arrived, and every milestone should be marked with cake, at least!

      That is an adorable memory: the tiny little head at the tip of the breast, the miniature nose there, looking as if the baby is suffocating!

      Mariner2mother, you should know I will be writing about what happens when we are thinking about baby and our milk is in! Ooooooooooh no! Do they really do that?

      Simply stay tuned…if you’ve never delighted in the birthing experience! I do solemnly swear it will be precious, gentlemen. After all, I am the mother who skipped into the hospital, singing, “Hellooooo! My name is Claudia Moss and I’m pregnant and I am so happy that my baby will be here soon and my back is hurting and I had a pink showing already earlier this morning and did I say I was soooooo happy?”

      The nurse ran to get her nurse friend who struck out to retrieve another to take in the sight of me: hand on hip, a Christmas smile across my sweaty face, a pregnancy band around my neck, one flat shoe tapping, husband behind me carrying my overnight bag, chipper as a three-year-old in oatmeal-raisin cookies behind the grinning eight-month-old’s high chair!

      Memories! You gotta love them!

      Reply
  3. Daile

    I was always terribly desperate for ‘boobs’ of any shape, size or description! I was a late bloomer was well behind the other girls in my school. I always felt bad about it, but when they came, they were perfect! I hate how they fluctuate based on my current weight but I do love them. I will never be a big busted girl, but I make sure to work with what I have got and never take them for granted! Great post, especially during October which is Breast Cancer Awareness Month! xxx

    Reply
    1. BigLizzy Post author

      Daile!

      Hi, honey! You’re not alone. I was also so, soooo desperate for mine to come in, because all around me were girls who were already well-endowed. I was pretty flat, like an A-cup. It’s hard to believe that I am now pushing a couple of Ds around, but like you say, it has much to do w/ how much weight we women carry. I’m loving that you love and appreciate your “girls”. That’s awesome. Thanks for reading and commenting, my friend!

      Reply
    2. Claudia Moss

      Greetings, Daile!

      “I was always terribly desperate for ‘boobs’ of any shape, size or description!” That is so rich! Practically toppled out of my seat giggling. We are kindred souls in that category. I know I prayed for mine to please come in…please!

      Really, I didn’t learn about the fluctuation thingy, until M U C H later—that they could race the Breast Scale based on a minuscule something like body weight! But they do! Here, here! Let me recall last year, when I began eating and eating and forgetting to exercise more times than I returned to the eating and the next thing I knew I was wondering when the Invasion of the Body Snatchers had slipped in and gotten away with my svelte body! Call The Law! I don’t care who you call! Just get somebody here NOW! Somebody, aliens most likely, had taken my body and left me with…with..catch your breath, Claudia…with…her boobs!! (Mouth open wide to work on not hyperventilating!)

      No! Just kidding…I love me and my beautiful breasts! I do! 🙂

      Reply
  4. N℮üґ☼N☮☂℮ṧ

    Claudia, this was so much fun to read. “What were they training?” I had a hard time trying to stop laughing. When I was just entering high school, around 14, I had a slumber party with some of my girlfriends. We were all laughing and joking about our ‘girls’. My good friend, Debbie, was still rather flat-chested at the time, but she had a great sense of humor about it.

    She shared a joke she had heard, and I will paraphrase it:

    A young, distraught woman (concerned that she had not developed breasts yet) came into the pharmacy, and asked for assistance from a female clerk. The distraught woman raised her top, exposing her bare chest to the clerk and asked:

    “Can you help me?”

    The clerk looked at her chest, then uttered:

    “Isle 7 — Clearasil.”
    ————————————
    Thanks for your hilarious post, Claudia. It was a great story. 😀

    Reply
    1. Claudia Moss

      N℮üґ☼N☮☂℮ṧ—

      Hello and how are you? Oh my goodness! That is absolutely HILARIOUS!!! I loved that one! Poor darling didn’t even have the words to describe the condition, and all she could do was lift her shirt! The answer is going to have me screaming for the rest of the evening!

      Thank you so much for sharing that one!

      Isle 7….no, not Isle 7!!!

      You are most welcome! I appreciate you and everyone else, and I’m just having SUCH a great time tonight!

      In the company of my sisters,

      Claudia

      Reply
  5. astraltravler

    Dear Claudia,
    Thanks for sharing your Fantastic story. Funny the things we remember, as I too was purchased my first bra from Sears. In fact it had a little pink butterfly in the center. I agree why is “our” first bra called “training”?

    Reply
    1. Claudia Moss

      Evening, Astraltravler!!

      You are so welcome! And I thank you, too, for stopping in to read the sketch! Yes, memory is a magic thing. Sears & Roebuck had the market covered where “training bras” were -concerned, no doubt. 🙂

      But now that I think about it, Astraltravler, the bra might have been “training” our breasts to never drop, droop or dangle…ya think? I have a son so you know what I’m thinking: are they yet dubbed “training” today?

      Have a spectacular Thursday!

      Claudia

      Reply
  6. Claudia Moss

    Buenas tardes, Anastasia,

    Me encanta tu nombre!! I love your name! It connotes the Disney classic that shares the same name. Thank you so much for your kind words regarding my writings. It is my honor to be here and my blessing to have met you as well.

    Amor y Luz, Mi Amiga tambien,
    Claudia

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s