My Small Boobs Get a Big Head

Thanks, Itty Bitty Titty Bra for almost ruining my life.

Christine Stevens
May 6 · 6 min read
Do you like the way I’ve done my hair? (Adobe images)

Women like me, I’ve met a few. We have A or AA cups and regular bras hang on us like baggy pants.

You know where we buy bras that work for us? In the girl’s section of Target. That’s where I buy bras that don’t fit me like baggy pants. These ones at least cling snugly to my skin, even if some of them have little hearts and princesses on them. And even if they don’t, they somehow make me feel like an eleven-year-old girl, not a woman.

Then came the Itty Bitty Titty Bra.

I threw away all my girls section Target bras, know why? I got the Itty Bitty Titty Bra. Cue commercial music and begin enthusiastic narration, by me!

Did you know, this product is made by women, for women? All other bras are made by men. I don’t know if they meant those lousy manmade bras to be used as jockstraps, but they never worked as bras for me, because I am a small-chested woman.

Being an A cup, my bras always have an enormous gap. An empty space like the hole in my ego from being flat-chested. When I heard about a bra that does not gap, pucker, or slip, how could I resist it? What I didn’t know was, this bra was going to go straight to my boobs’ head.

I got my Itty Bitty Titty Bra in the mail. I put it on. And honestly, it was a revelation. There was no space between the boob and the top of the bra. It was snug. Like a bug in a rug. But these bugs had been actually been scooped and lifted up in their new rug. I looked in the mirror. I heard this sound.

“Oomph!”

Wow. I looked in the mirror again. There it was again. Another “Oomph.”

But no oof!

It was oomph without the oof! A revelation.

No bunching or poking! These were basically like yoga pants for tiny boobs.

“We rock, Christine,” said my boobs, after they were done oomphing without the oofing. “Let us go out and rock the world.”

“Well, maybe tomorrow, boobs,” I said. “I got work to do.”

“OK, maybe tomorrow,” they agreed. But I could tell my boobs were angry at me.

Later that night, I fell asleep at my laptop, trying to get all these deadlines done.

“Never mind her,” said the one boob. “She’s always working. And she’s no fun.”

“She won’t even notice we’re gone!” said the other boob.

And off they went.

Itty Bitty Titty Bra! What have you done!

When I woke up, there was this cheesy guy.

“Hey Christine, takin’ a little nap, huh?”

“Huh?” I said. I looked outside and it was morning. I was still at my little kitchen desk.

“That was a great night, babe,” said Cheesy Guy. “Thanks. I’ll DM you.”

He gave me a little peck on the cheek. And then he winked.

“WTF,” I said. “Did you just wink at me? Who are you?”

“You’re so funny, Christine!” said Cheesy guy, and he pointed at me. You know, point, point, like a cheesy game show host pointing. Then he walked out the door.

“I’ll DM you back!” I called after him. “As soon as I get to the bottom of this.”

Alright, Just So You Understand The Magical Premise

The titties had taken part of me…of course they had, otherwise, what would Cheesy Guy have just stuck his cheese dog in? My itty bitty boobies?

No, sorry small chested folks, even if you buy this wonderful yoga-pant-for-the-boobies bra, you will still be not qualified to perform that certain act known in some sophisticated circles as the titty fuck. Still not happening. No way. The Itty Bitty Titty Bra is not a miracle worker.

So the Itty Bitty Titty Bra took this kind of ghost of the rest of my body, to do the “carnal relations” with, but it was the itty bitty titties that did all the talking.

“Hello handsome!” they said to Cheesy Guy at the bar. “Ooomph!”

And they spoke with a confidence that my boobs had never spoken with before, because, as I said earlier, no gaps, no pinching. No low small-boob-self-esteem problems.

Well, you can imagine how the rest of the night played out. My itty bitty boobies danced with Cheesy. They pranced with Cheesy. They joked and they poked and they smoked with Cheesy.

Then the itty bitty’s Cheesy guy was in my bedroom, and we were about to have carnal relations. That’s when Cheesy thought he would sexily remove the itty bitty titty bra.

“Let’s just unsnap this bra,” he said.

What!

My itty bitty titty bra’s eyes bulged right out of their head.

“No fucking way, dude. You’re not taking off this bra. It is the source of all our power.”

Then, and this was really weird, my boobs opened their mouth and snarled two sets of really mean-looking teeth at the dude. I had no idea my tits had teeth! And such mean-looking sharp ones.

“OK!” said the guy, taking his hand away like it had been bit. “Leave the bra on. Let’s bone!”

And bone they did. I have absolutely the vaguest recollection of it now, as I drink my coffee and take aspirin for that transparent part of me that went along on the Itty Bitty Titty’s adventure and is now hungover, and weirdly….sore down there.

Alright, Itty Bitty Titty Bra! We Need to Talk!

I took off my Itty Bitty Titty bra and I held it up over my apartment balcony ledge. Yes, I live on the 19th story of a 20 story high rise in Westwood. Traffic was zooming back and forth far below. The Itty Bitty Titty Bra squealed and begged.

“Please don’t! We’ll be good,” cried the bra. It had like two voices, one left cup, one right cup, which were nearly in sync, but not quite, so it sounded like it was gurgling water when it spoke.

“Well, you have to promise to be good and not go out on adventures by yourselves that I’m not privy to.”

“Oh, now Christine, I think you were privy to more than you’re letting on,” said the left and right cups, looking at me, squinting. “Did you really block it all out of your mind? Yes, he may be Cheesy, but he had quite a big cheese dog if you recall.”

Hmmm. I vaguely recalled his cheese dog. Maybe not. But I was sore down there….gasp! That explains it!

“No, from now on, I’m calling the shots around here,” I said.

“We promise,” said the gurgling bra cups.

But I had a vision of them breaking that promise, over and over again, and leading me astray with the vanity and the power that the corporation had tried to sell me — all gussied up in a woman’s empowerment package. And me getting sorer and sorer down there, thanks to the bigger and bigger cheese dogs that my voracious boobs would crave. They had tasted blood, see, and now they would want more. I once heard about a dog that got into a field of sheep. They had to shoot the dog after that. He would be impossible now that he had tasted so much blood.

“I don’t believe you,” I said. I dropped it off the balcony. I watched them plummet to their death. I’m in charge here, people. Not my tits.

Back to Target, tomorrow, I will go. But I will enter that girls section not sheepishly, and not ashamedly because now I know. I am the boss of my boobs, and not the other way around. I’m more than just a shapely boob! I’m the other stuff behind and inside the shapely boobs! The strong powerful woman inner me, even if she does have to wear an eleven-year-old girl’s bra.

I’m glad my boobs had their fun and go a little taste of what it could be like if they were real womanly boobs and not little girl boobs. But too much of a good thing… makes you sore.

These darn things are just gonna have to make do with Target!

Sex and Satire

Who says sex can’t be funny?

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