Member-only story
Wise Women
The Women Behind the Boobs
If breasts could talk
Boobs. When you’re young, you flaunt’m. When you get older, you push’m up.
On my walks along the lake, I always see college-aged girls wearing tiny tops and mom jeans. It’s a cute look. The appearance of so much flesh is jarring at first, but then it reminds me of when I wore two bandanas tied together as a shirt to my college classes. Whoa girl. Youth is bold.
I purchased the tied-together bandana shirts for five bucks each, from a store located on the first floor of my apartment building. A woman named Sue owned the store. She was pretty badass. Sue was a Hell's Angel type who’d had her boobs removed in protest to having boobs in the first place.
Sue made her money modeling when she was young. You could see the echo of her gorgeousness in her violet eyes, her long shapely legs, her thick black hair. Every day, she wore black, paper-thin, band t-shirts tight, so there was no mistaking her flat chest.
Sue always made you feel like a fucking rockstar. She loved young women. She celebrated our youthful beauty so we shopped at her store, and we bought her tiny revealing clothing, and she whistled when we modeled it for her.
