a bosom bodacious
September 26 
It would be hard to view this little minx as anything other than one consumed by an unholy underwear obsession, given the prevalence of my various lingerie lingerings over the past week.
Curiously enough, today is no exception...
Indeed, I find myself focusing on a frivolity most fundamental,
The Little Black Bra.
Bold and bodacious, beguiling and bewitching, she is the sort of support every girl,
and her girls, need.
Indeed, I have several of the contraptions.
Yet none so amazing as the newest member of my boudoir.
Perhaps you may have met her, this fascinating creature, Olga the Traveling Bra.
She is black, Indeed. And not only does she lift you up when you're down, she'll take you on an adventure.
It was evident, upon our meeting that she would find comfort here in my well pampered parlour and, in her titillation, she has bestowed on me an award.
And my cup runneth over, dear reader.
Indeed, both cups.
As I write, a pair of 10B's burst their banks in udder joy!
For it appears I am Bodacious!
Yes, remarkable, prodigious, audacious and gutsy.
Uplifted by such generous support, dear Olga and the illustious Bodacious Blog Award creator, JOolian, My Girls and I would like to thank you.
I do like to keep them happy, My Girls.
For indeed they are worthy of my attention.
They have served me well.
I would kiss them if I could for I adore this bosom bodacious.
So taken by them, I will often slip my hand into the warm depths of my brassiere and give them a little squeeze, a little, "Hello! I love you," fondle, perhaps even a tweak of the nipple, and always a gentle cupping.
Sometimes I forget that we're having drinks at the Cottesloe Cafe when I do this and I've watched as mothers cover their children's eyes, my husband reminding me, as he rearranges his trousers, that breast cupping in public is lewd and inappropriate.
But the squeezing, cupping and fondling behaviour is my way of saying thank you.
Thank you to my girls.
They've been good, these girls of mine.
Despite the swelling funbagginess of two pregnancies, the tweaking, pulling, sucking, stinging, sweet nourishing provision of breast feeding, a subsequent but short lived period of deflation, and the inevitable passing of the years, they have remained upright and earnest.
It is fair to say that they have never let me down. They are still as perky and pliable as they were when I was 18.
They are an enigma. Indeed, they are the Dorian Grey of Breasts.
To be honest, I haven't always loved them.
In my youth, I spent years wishing for a larger pair, ogling and idolizing the heaving chests of my schoolgirl counterparts and the inevitable boy-pulling power their pouting bosoms had over my tiny titties. There were times spent at the beach when my comparatively flat chest, sensibly devoid of helpful tissues and other padding implements, was left to fend for itself, its pair of mediocre mossie bites holding little fascination for the entourage of boob hungry, hormone fuelled teenage boys.
"Oh, stop worrying," my mother would chide, "They'll get bigger. You wait and see."
They did, of course, but the swelling of pregnancy brought the ampleness of a different and fruitful kind.
There was an Earth Mother quality to them now, fertile and fabulous. Inevitably, however, my swollen tummy overshadowed them and they just sat there above the action, comparatively small again next to the fecundity that was blossoming beneath.
Breastfeeding filled them with pride.
Resplendent in their new role, the delicious tumescence, while exhilarating, came filled with obligation.
Of the lactating kind.
Sucking babies, sore nipples, maternity bras.
My bouncing breasts were not what I had wished for, dear reader. They came laden with committment.
And milk.
Children grow and, predictably, the breastfeeding came to an end.
My breasts had performed well and, quite exhausted, sat back and took a break.
It was a Sabbatical.
Good Lord! I thought they had died.
My girls literally turned up their mammarial toes and shrank into oblivion.
For a whole year I was mortified by my reclusive breasts who, quite unashamedly, had begun to resemble a pair of deflated balloons with a marble in each end.
I am certain that when many women consider breast augmentation, it is at this miserable stage of proceedings when there is, quite literally, a death in the family.
I mourned their loss. I grieved for twelve months.
But miraculously, and with something akin to paranormal reactivation, my girls experienced a rebirth and, like a pair of fleshy Lazarus, rose from their state of expiration to once more fill my bra, my pretty, lacy, minxy bra in such a delicious heralding of their reincarnation.
They've been a pair of saucy tarts ever since, broadcasting their beauty on the pebbly beaches of Santorini, peeping cheerfully from corsets and bodices and all manner of unnecessarily provocative garments, often simply offering quiet support in times of unholstered need.
They receive as much love as they have given, more than their fair share of attention and a lashing of delicious embellishments worthy of a pair of lovely jubblies.
Indeed, they are pampered
and I've grown to love them.
But have they grown?
Does it matter?
Let's just say they're proud and pretty.
And perky!
Indeed, it's a veritable storm in a B cup!
And I'm loving it!
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Reader Comments (37)
Dear Minx, I have always thought that more than a handful is a waste.
I'm not a carnie, though.
Carnies. Circus folk. Nomads, you know. Smell like cabbage. Small hands...
I see where you're coming from, Eddie...
Thank you for your support, anyway, dear man.
It's great that you're keeping abreast of the situation!
xox
I can't even read this post. The screen is all fogged up.
I'm so glad you haven't artificially inflated them, Minx. You can't beat a ripe little pair of home-grown tomatoes. And small is sexy in a virginal way.
The deflation is astonishing isn't it! Indeed just over a year after I stopped breastfeeding - having looked at myself slowly dropping, and trying to convice myself it had all been worth it, up they bobbed again. Hello girls. Yes Virginia there is a Santa Claus.
Amazing that it's a secret isn't it. Go Minx go!
This is the breast post I have read all week.
I mean...BEST. Best post.
Hang on Whit,
I'll just wipe it with - my breasts!!
Oh dear. I'm sorry, they're getting silly now with all this attention.
I shall put them away.
Ok, gone.
You can read it now...
xox
No, dear Gorilla Bananas,
Each to their own, but it's just not my (fun)bag, baby!
I like the sun ripened goodness of my cherry tomatoes.
xox
what a titillating post which made me laugh. A good job too because it was quite nippley here and the laughing warmed me up.
Like Hamlet I have often pondered the most difficult question to beset the human mind. Although small ones are more juicy are big bouncing bosoms best?. My research continues.
I will be posting a breast story of my very own next week.
XXX (one for each of the girls and yourself of course)
UN
Dearest Michelle,
I remember looking at myself back then, deflated in so many ways...
The reflection was really quite miserable.
My breasts had literally fled the scene.
Yet after some time, and as if by magic, they reappeared!
Indeed! And in splendid form.
Yes, and there is a Goddess...
xox
Oh my dear Lord Likely,
I'm so glad you are titillated by my saucy tales!!
Dare I say, one must keep abreast of such weighty issues!
xox
Ah, my dear Uncle Norman,
It is a subject worthy of your deepest and most thorough examination.
I do wish you well in your explorations.
Your deductions are sure to titillate the entire community, for it is a most subjective issue!!
Hmmm, I dare say, one has to make the most of what one's got...
While certainly I am satisfied with my own elegant pair, I have often wondered at the jubilation and inherent jollity of a bouncing bosom...
I shall look forward to your post on the matter, of course!!
Your bosom buddy,
Minx
xox
This is the very best post I have read anywhere since returning from holiday.
Your breasts sound lovely. Perhaps they should have their very own blog? Is this blog big enough for the three of you? I'm not so sure...
Anyway, I'd like yours to be best friends with mine, if you're willing. Mine would bring different things to the relationship. Nice, but different. We could take them out on a playdate.
xxx
Darling Amelia,
I am so glad you have returned from holiday full of bounce and vigour! I have awaited your return, and the imminent announcement of good news, with bated breath!!
I know inherently, dear friend, that our breasts will make the very best bosom buddies. I feel they have much to share, about life, the universe and everything...
Ah yes, there is a wealth of chortling to be done over tales of exposure in Santorini, deep embarrassment in Thailand and sunburn on the equator. Yours will add dimension by sharing chilling tales of the midnight sun ...
What a lovely jubbly friendship!
I will organize that play date!
xox
and with or without an ample breast my dear you would be as bodacious as they come.. i do so love this..... a sister in the b cup club.....
Bra-vo my dear, BRA-vo! Indeed - you are a girl after my own heart. Love, Olga
... "burst their banks"??! ... yeah!!
Note to SELF: Never open THE DOMESTIC MINX's blog when there is the slightest chance that a CO WORKER and my OFFICE MANAGER decide to walk by....and at the exact moment the perfect little black bra appears on my monitor....
I loved this post .... and your breasts are FABULOUS.
I absolutely adored this post. I've grown quite fond of mine over the years! We've had our ups and downs but it has been a loving relationship overall ;-D
Indeed dear Paisley, my sister in all things bewitchingly B,
We small cup girls have learned to amplify our bodaciousness in alternative ways!!
We have learned to think outside the cup!!
Hee!
xox