written by: femisogynist
No one appreciates a D cup more than I do. I consider myself the ambassador of areolas, a student of sandbags...the master of milk bubbles. Unfortunately, the tig ol's I see most often are sitting on top of perfectly formed pecs (I'm sure that's what's there) under my own bra.
I hate my breasts. You can bold, italicize and underline that sentence in 60 point font, and it still won't convey how much I despise the sock puppets growing like tumors from my chest. I put on two sports bras nearly every day and I'm still nowhere close to emulating my ideal male physique [the Express mannequins at Roosevelt Field]. I want to look sleek in a blazer, too. Men wearing skintights is in, now, but only if you have no shape. Why does God hate me?
In response to this, a lot of women will tell me they love breasts. Yet the butches I see getting the most play are the ones looking the most masculine. I make no qualms about it, 80% of everything I do is to make myself more marketable to the ladies (love you guys!) But the women who are into these love melons are the same ones who are going to want to play with them all the time. I'm not that kind of butch. Don't let the physiology fool you, I am a man. These breasts are some horrible deformity that occurred sometime in my sleep during my teenage years. I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't need you feeling them up, and I DEFINITELY don't want anyone staring at my ass when I walk away. I'm here to do that to you. There's just no winning for me.
I'm torn. Is it a symptom of all masculine identifying female that are born with the physique of a voluptuous woman? My package comes complete with butterfly eyelashes and thick ass rhino thighs...something I'd find appealing in my partner, NOT myself. In a way, sometimes I embrace my assets because I know they're “desirable” for many women. But I don't want them. I wanna look like the man that I am, and be able to wear low cut V-necks without my cleavage showing, and have my tattoos glistening against the backdrop of ripped biceps and triceps, and occasionally stroke my beard when I'm in deep thought (ok, it's not that deep)
Some people think I want to transition. I'll admit, a lot of my feelings towards those who have done so has tempered due to my growing resentment of my own body, but for me, transitioning is not an option. I'm comfortable with my status as a woman. But a B cup would've been fine. Fuck you, genetics.
Am I the only one with this agonizing self consciousness about myself? I guess one solution would be to stay in the gym all day working off the woman on me, but guess what...I'm lazy. Besides a few pushups and crunches every night, I'm not going to go out of my way to change my body into something it just isn't destined to be. So until my delayed male puberty hits, you ladies can continue telling me how much you dig my double D's. I can either hate myself for the next 50 years, or be forced to accept what is. Despite myself, I probably need the reassurance.
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