Tag Archives: breasts

Dear Good Men Project- On Penis Size

Dear Good Men Project,

I thought I would rewrite your breast size obsessed article, from a female and penis sized perspective, just to see what happened.  To be honest it’s not an article I can see a woman ever actually writing (I’d like to think we are not that shallow, but I know some of us maybe are, so I am not making this point explicity by you know writing it as a typo), but then what would I know, I used to have big breasts and therefore a “small mind” and am only useful for “transfixing men with my obvious womanly attributes”.




P.S We really aren’t as obsessed with Penis Size as you think we all are. From my perspective it is a definitely more male preoccupation than a female one  (There is a saying about breasts “more than a handful is a waste”- well maybe “more than a mouthful is a waste” too yanoo. 😉  Just sayin’)

If the woman you’re with thinks you need a different cock, maybe you just need a different woman.

This is for the lesser-endowed men of the world: the men who were dealt too lightly by Nature, who wondered at some point or another if they should correct the injustice through the skills of a plastic surgeon, or at least invest in an arsenal of cock enhancers.

Despite the typical female well mostly male actually I reckon  preoccupation with cock size, there are some of us who wouldn’t want you any other way, who see sublime perfection where others see absence.

Maybe we’re just not as vocal as some.

We’re not the women in the swimming pool who whistle misandrically (is that even a word?!) from the poolside at you in your Speedo’s as you swim your lengths.

We’re not the ones throwing themselves at you at the party. Or your friend’s wedding, countless drinks in.

Maybe we’re the ones quietly taking you in from five tables away. Listening to your voice. Your perspective. Your sense of humor. The witty way you referenced an F. Scott Fitzgerald line in the middle of ordering your drink.

And yes, don’t worry, we snuck a good, long look at your body.

But maybe it’s not a giant cock we’re looking for.

Maybe we happen to love the sleek lines of your silhouette, the elegant simplicity of your form.

Maybe there’s something fearless and yet vulnerable about your cock that draws us.

Maybe we’re actually turned off by someone who’s used to transfixing women with his obvious, manly attributes.

Some of us grew up as athletes, amongst thin, athletic, non-massive cocked men and grew to like different physical traits than most women. Like the tight calves of a runner. Or the strong thighs of a skier. Or the muscular stomach of a volleyball player. Maybe we know that having an athletic man at your side means being more likely to live an adventurous and daring life. (Not just in the outdoors, but in the bedroom, too…)

Women like me, like the fact that you’re used to having to win people over with your mind and personality, not what was peeking through your shorts.

For me, a cocktail sausage puts you on the A-list cocktail party of the year, every time.

Some of us have learned from experience that small-cocked men often have larger minds. Or better moves in bed. Or more optimistic attitudes when the chips are down. Because you’ve been overlooked by luck before. And it didn’t get the better of you then, either.

Hell, some of us are just ass-women.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against large-cocked men. Many of them are good friends—or even exes. And yes, many have just as sharp a mind, as buoyant a spirit, or witty a retort as you.

But there’s something about your penis that I just can’t shake although technically that’s your job-I’m not into shaking post wee penises so much.

Maybe you’re just a bit lighter—at how you handle life. Maybe the thing you think you’re lacking has given you so much more. And you’re better able to move around the obstacles of life a lot quicker without it.

Whatever it is, I, for one, am under your spell. I swoon when you walk into the room. I want your first dance, your next kiss, your every smile.

You have more admirers than you know.

If the woman you’re with thinks you need a different cock, maybe you just need a different woman.

Dear CheeseTits

Dear CheeseTits,

So last night I bit the bullet and asked LordCurd the ultimate question from my musing about breastsize yesterday.

Me: “Would you still love me even when I had massive boobs”

Him (looking at me like I was completely insane): “Yes of course, I don’t care about size so long as they are there, I mean breasts are like cheese, different cheeses, I like cheese”

and with that suitably random overtired reply he wandered off to bed! (snigger),  Now H does love his cheese and crackers (what does it mean!?) and  it really made me giggle. So I asked twitter:

If your breasts were a cheese which cheese would they be and why?

I got the following frankly brilliant answers (Have not include twitter names as didn’t want to embarrass anyone but happy to add your name to your cheesy breasts if you want me too 😉 My stalkers can probably work out which cheese is mine).

Mini Babybel

Halloumi, fairly solid & easily burnt!

Camembert? Soft & mellow with a bit of a kick? Or cheddar, reliably there (& available)

Two great big ball shaped Gouda then! But maybe blue-veined ones!

Like a Brie- young smooth and creamy… *looks down* *snorts with derision*

Stilton- Mature and blue veined

Mine are like Emmental – giant and round til cut down in slices and holey from piercings and nip cracks.

Mine are probably more like mozarella. (My collagen is like melted mozarella!)

Used to be baby bells but now more like dairylea triangles! There’s got to be something funny with laughing cow as well…

and my favourite:

For some reason, I’m thinking of those stringy things you put in kids’ lunchboxes.

So dear CheeseTits that looks like a very tasty variety to me.

Someone pass the crackers.

Lots of Cheestastic Love


P.S Yes I do hate the term tits and virtually never ever used it but somehow when combined with cheese it isn’t so bad.  Cheese cures everything- even arguments about breast size and breast naming.

P.P.S If you are also desperate to liken your breasts to cheese then feel free to add yours to the comments below.  It’ll be like Christmas- a smorgasbord of cheese.

P.P.P.S- Further discussions on twitter- Boob cheese is something entirely different. See here.

Dear Breast Size Obsession

Dear Breast Size Obsession,

Wow the Good Men Project currently has everyone up in arms (um what does “up in arms” actually mean?- have to admit I am now envisioning Barbara Windsor in Carry on Camping but I suspect that isn’t it) about breast size.  Any I’m particularly loving these posts from @Glosswitch, @SarahDitum and @Nathan Ditum and @Ropestoinfinity, and always being one to love a good boobie bandwagon I decided to add my two pennorth as I have a UNIQUE PERSPECTIVE on this. (well okay not that unique but one that maybe hasn’t been blogged about yet so thought I would scribble some thoughts down).

My UNIQUE PERSPECTIVE is I have been both a big breasted woman and a smaller breasted woman thanks to a breast reduction 11 years ago where I went from a whopping 34HH to a 36D (sometimes DD) with a whopping 7lbs of breast tissue removed (yes that is like the weight of a baby, yes I did have posture issues mainly from hunching trying to hide em, yes I had permanent grooves in my shoulders from my bra straps rubbing and yes it wasn’t fun).

Ok so I have hardly gone to fried egg/mosquito bites/less than a handful (and other offensive terms for “lesser of breast” than me, but I have gone possibly smaller than ideal for my large frame (I’m tall with childbearing hips- for balance I probably should have stayed a cup size or two bigger as now my pot belly is nicely exposed as an “is she preggers?” pot belly, instead of being comfortably hidden by my massive dangling jugs/melons/bazookas (and other offensive terms), but heck I’ve had two kids and I’m rather proud of the story it tells (actually it more tells a story of ginger cake addiction as my pot belly is same size as it was before I was ever preggers, if not a fair bit smaller, but it seems more romantic to say it’s due to kids not cake. Ahem.)

So now I need to share my experience of men with my boobs of both sizes. I started to develop aged about 8- by about 14 was when it really kicked off in terms of the name calling- I was frequently reduced to everything about me being about my breastsize and despite being a virgin I was OBVIOUSLY a SLAG.

Almost 16 and I got my first ever boyfriend, now he had an ex girlfriend, and at one point whilst trying to decide whether to dump me and go back to her- the charming specimen wrote a pro’s and cons list about both of us.  I found this list.  Top of my pro’s list was JUGS in capitals- she only had lowercase positives (including “white tights” WTF!?)- the CAPITAL LETTERS apparently meant that I was better to stick with.  I was livid. He thought I’d be pleased. Funnily enough he turned out not to be the love of my life.

At college going out clubbing with my boobs was fun, I was a goth- I had to get a corset specially made as there wasn’t a hope in hell of one fitting a size 14 waist and size 22 breast size without either being obscene or look ridiculous.  My cleavage could hold two beer bottles safely and comfortably which obviously made me the ideal friend to help get the round in.  I embraced my boobs during this time- got my nipples pierced and rather enjoyed their traffic stopping qualities even if it did mean I got letched far on more than was fair by drunken idiots who would only talk to my breasts and not my face (to be fair non drunk idiots would do that too but they were slightly more subtle about it- they usually remembered to make eye contact occasionally too.)

Me as a goth in my made to measure corset. They don't look too horrendously big in this pic- in RL in that corset they did!

But by the time I had got to university I had had enough of them, I had had enough of having to wear tents because nothing else would fit my boobs, and resultant “when is your baby due?” comments. My self esteem hit rock bottom (I went to university with a lot of skinny normal sized breasted girls which wasn’t case in my overweight hometown!) and I decided to go for the breast reduction. There was no question I would have got it done on the NHS given how out of proportion they were but the waiting list was three years and I was going insane- so my amazing parents agreed to pay for me to have the procedure done privately (as it happens by a man who had recently moved to our village- that was embarrasing!).

I had the operation over the summer and when I returned to university that October it really was like I was a different person.  My confidence grew, and it was so odd to finally have men in bars talk to my face and not my chest (although as we have already established I’m a minger, I possibly was better at pulling when I had big boobs and not small ones- dam them actually having to look at my face! Arf! this is a lie I look like Julia Roberts me).   It was amazing to finally be able to wear clothes that fitted properly and not be so insecure about such a prominent part of my body.  Sometimes I used to wonder if I had worked on my self esteem instead then maybe I wouldn’t have gone for the surgery- but ultimately my self esteem is in a zillion times better place than where it was before the surgery, and although I now have hideously scarred boobs (big thick keloid ones) and a wonky non functioning nip I am happier than I have ever been about my body- I mean my perky surgically enhanced boobs will never fail the pencil test again. (As an aside I learned there is a gold standard nipple size that surgeons tend to use- so my nips are the most visually pleasing in proportion size apparently- hah!).  Post reduction I have to be honest and say I did get a minor obsession with my post belly as it was now the “prominent” thing but now I don’t really give a fuck about that either.  Ultimately I now feel pretty happy in my own scarred wobbly bits skin and ultimately I don’t think I would have got here without the surgery and the love of a good man who finds me sexy exactly how I am.

Anyhow I am digressing a bit (you know how I love to talk about breasts after all.) but what I am trying to say is with hindsight I am amazed how obsessed men get with boobies of any size (I’m just going to point out that all the boy babies I know have been boob mad bottle refusers and incredibly hard to wean off the breast and then I am going to say Oedipus, and leave you to draw your own conclusions).  I had a tougher time as a big breasted woman although I was definitely more successful with men (most probably because they assumed I was easy? Sigh.) and I much prefer being a smaller breasted one.

If only I had met LordCurd before I had the reduction then I could finish my rambly letter about the size of my breasts with a point proving anecdote to counter Mark Radcliffe’s “If the guy you’re with thinks you need different breasts, maybe you just need a different guy.” (as lets face it all he was saying there was you need to find a guy who likes small breasts not big ones” instead of anything useful like ultimately breast size is completely irrelevant in a decent loving relationship) but sadly I didn’t meet LordCurd when I had big boobs so I cannot share this- in fact I might wander off and ask him if he would still love me with massive hooters in a stereotyical neurotic body image obsessed womanly fashion.

Laters taters


P.S Dear heterosexual blokes- um I think the rambly point I was actually trying to make here is stop reducing women and their “attractiveneness” to the size of a part of their anatomy – I mean it’s not like we do it with your cocks is it? You just do that to yourselves. Fools.

Dear Breasts

Dear Breasts,

Or knorks, funbags, boobs, dirtypillows, knockers, breasticles, breastie dumplings, Bristols, spaniels ears, fried eggs, ninnies, Jubblies, puppies, Daphne and Celeste, mammaries, melons, wangers, jubblies, love hubs, chesticles, lungs, baps, bangers, hooters, boobies, top bollocks, chest cannons, fun bags, pillows, john beatons, bastards, tittybangs, bath toys, thruppenny bits, Dave, whaloomfers, The girls, whammers, (thanks Twitter for all your assistance with this list- even if some of you are very strange individuals 😉 – that was fun!)

but never tits, I utterly loathe the term Tits- it really REALLY gets on my… well you know.

Well I am just writing to you to say how awesome you are. You serve two amazing and distinctly separate functions. You are rather awesomely sexy whatever your shape or size and you make a very comforting pillow for after plus you can usually MAKE MILK which is a superpower in itself.

I think by now I probably owe my own breasts a devoted fan letter so here are my ponderances:

You have now successfully breastfed two babies despite a breast reduction 11 years ago where 7lb’s of breast tissue was removed the weight of a flipping baby! and let’s face it thanks to the surgery you have gone from being able to hold 2 beer bottles in your cleavage (which was handy on nights out- I miss that) to never failing the pencil test (previously you could hold a whole pencil case under them ;)) . Whoop!

No-body thought you would be able to breastfeed but it turns out you are as bloody minded as your owner. Your first breastfeeding story was tough and unfortunately although second time around, when it is theoretically supposed to be easier, for you this wasn’t the case. Omble has had the same weight gain issues with the relentless expressing and topping up, plus the agonising shredded nipples, the tongue tie, the clicky crap latch despite the tongue tie snip, the four bouts of mastitis (which you never had with Oddler). But now we are at 12 weeks and suddenly at the pretty much painfree feeding, and although Omble can sometimes be on again off again and tends to sleep on the boob all night long, I think we are finally at the happy point of breastfeeding being lovely and easy and the super special thing that only I can do for her. Hurrah! I loved feeding Oddler til 13months til she self weaned, and hope to continue for longer with Omble dependent on teeth and other circumstances!

So yeah dear breasts it was totally worth the rants and the tears and the pain and the stress.

So breasts thankyou for making that happen, for enabling me to feed my daughters in the biologically normal way, despite the major initial difficulties using you to feed my girls will always be my proudest achievement in life.

Plus you are always lovely for a comforting squeeze, or naughty fumble. 😉

*Gives you a big kiss and a cheeky grope and checks for lumps because I am a hypocondriac*

Lots of Mammary Love


Feeding Oddler

Feeding Omble






P.S. I love how both my girls tiny hands clasp on – too cute.

P.P.S Dear Facebook, Those Photos are not Obscene, Love Me.

Dear Mummy’s All Night Milk Bar

Dear Mummy’s All Night Milk Bar,

I am writing to inform you that I have complained to Environmental Health about you.

By being open literally all night long instead of at specific times (eg. 11 post pub kick out and 2ish post club kick out then open for day at 6am) i have concerns you are encouraging comfort eating and continuous snacking behaviour in our youth.

I’m also worried your 24/7 open access policy is going to lead to a nervous breakdown of your only member of staff who appears to be existing on no sleep at all- you are obviously contravening the European Work Time directive (and she had better be getting at least minimum wage plus overtime and tips)

Your continuously open policy also appears to be ruining the previously nice comforting appearance of your MilkBar, those giant cracks are really not attractive and the occasional oozing blood or pus is obviously a major health and safety and food hygiene issue.

Finally I suspect Mummy’s All Night Milk Bar is being used as a doss house for unsavoury types. I believe you are encouraging antisocial behaviour in your customer base. In fact the Ginger Skinheaded one that goes by name of Omble, definitely needs an ASBO, for she is always hanging out at yours looking completely Milk Drunk or asleep within 5cm of your establishment & kicking off if you were to dare not be open. Does she not have a bed to go to!? (I do appreciate you do occasionally try to move her on to 20cm or more away from your establishment and that she completely kicks off- something must be done about her too)

I really feel these issues must be sorted urgently otherwise I think the council will have no choice but to close you down.

Yours Sincerely

Lady NIMBY* Curd

*NIMBY- Not in my Breast Yard

Dear Pus

Dear Pus,

I have a shameful secret, I am addicted to you, there is just something about squeezing out your foulness that nothing else can beat. Be you greeny yellow thick cream or curdled cottage cheese I love all your varieties*. The more the better. I was even slightly disappointed to have clear skin as a teenager- the rare “time of the month” spot would bring great joy.

I know I am not alone in this disgusting addiction. I have favourited seen many a YouTube pusporn video and you only have to “sound klaxon” on mumsnet for many other pustastic fans to come scuttling out from their stores of magnesium sulphate paste and sterilised needles.

But yes I bet you are wondering what has prompted me to admit this shameful secret- well partly isn’t the first step admitting you have a problem? (incidentally why isn’t there a PAA- pus addicts anonymous?) but the real reason I am writing this is it turns out that my “Dear Sweat” post illness was caused by a Nasty breast infection – mastitis. I only realised this when I squeezed a load of your gross loveliness right out of my boob! Of course I have had to go and get antibiotics to kick you back into touch for Omble’s sake (poor mite must be getting pus flavoured breastmilk but am assured I can, nay must, feed her off the infected side) but in the meantime I have had a whale of a time squeezing what is effectively the world’s biggest & best spot. Have had so much pus-y fun, it cheered me up no end and made me feel so much better. I am sure it hastened my recovery. In fact I was somewhat disappointed you ran out so quickly- now I have sore boobs from squeezing them so much and despite hitting myself in the eye with breastmilk on several occasions I am ceasing to get any pus yield at all. My pus mine has run dry. 😦

So for now it’s back to watching videos on YouTube of boil lancing, spot squeezing and the odd bit of abscess drainage (new converts start with this one). But one day I know you will return to my body and we can enjoy some quality squeezing time.

Pussily yours

P.S please don’t make Oddler&Omble spotty teenagers- I may scar them mentally and physically with this addiction of mine.

*nearly put flavours there- but um no what kind of a freak do you think I am!

Dear Oddler

Dear Oddler,

I am so impressed with your language development. Saying “mummy booby” whilst pulling my top down to expose one breast, then “other booby” when exposing the other,  swiftly followed by a delighted  “two boobies!” is really quite impressive given your understanding of concepts like other and the number two.

But if you wouldn’t mind not flashing me to the neighbours cat I’d really appreciate it.

Love MummyCurd