Have you ever wanted to change something about yourself? Like your nose maybe, or the color of your hair. Be a little taller, of have bigger breasts. I did. I saved for it, the way other girls saved for college, or a car, or even a pony. I saved for self-improvement and I'd look through magazines like Vogue, rich with tall wisps of supermodel beauty, and I'd try to imagine myself like that. All pale and blonde with puffy lips and big tits, with big hard nipples ... But it never worked.
It isn't healthy looking at magazines like that, not when you're 5'3" tall and all of a hundred pounds, wrapped up in brown skin and thick black hair. I'm Amerasian, and my Asian half is Filipina, so most people in pasty Seattle thought I was a Mexican. I was attractive; I knew that, I just didn't believe it. And so I was determined to do something about it, even if it meant going to Sweden, of all places.
I couldn't wait to tell my boyfriend. I'd told him I was getting a boob job for my 18th birthday, a gift from my father, which it was. But neither of them completely understood my intentions. My father was a little surprised when he picked me up at the airport. I was wearing a tight pink tank-top that clearly showed my complete lack of breasts, or even nipples. I'd enjoyed the looks from men, women, even children as I traveled back home, but my father's look was priceless. He just stared in disbelief.
I ran up to him, smiling and giggling happily, wrapping my arms around him and hugging him, even though there was still some soreness.
"What do you think, Daddy?" I posed for him and grinned.
"I, well, uh ... I thought you, uh ... What happened?" he finally asked.
"I got my boobs done!" I practically squealed. "Aren't they great?"
We didn't really talk after that. When I got home I called my boyfriend and he said he'd be over in an hour so we could go out and celebrate. From the tone of his voice I knew he meant we'd stay in and celebrate. I'd been walking around the house topless, wearing just my skirt, and my father was clearly disturbed by this, but I didn't stop. I wanted him to get used to the fact that I had no breasts. None.
My boyfriend's eyes practically popped out of his head when he saw me. I answered the door wearing a very slinky dress I'd found at Heathrow waiting for my flight home. It was royal blue and I'd paid too much, but it was beautiful and it had a bust line that plunged to my navel. It revealed exactly the flatness of my chest.
The saleswoman, an older lady, prim and proper and oh so British, had tried to talk me out of it. She was very sad, asking me if it had been cancer. I told her yes. It was just a little white lie to make her feel better. I made it seem as though I was buying that dress to help me deal with it, like it was therapy. Her eyes were sympathetic and the lady hugged me, giving me 25% off the E730.00 price tag.
"What the ... fuck?" My boyfriend was pale and his eyes were wide open.
"How do you like it, Mark?" I smiled and put my hands on my hips.
"Why?" he asked.
"I told you, I didn't like my tits," I shrugged.
"But I thought, I ... Why didn't you get bigger ones?" He looked ready to cry.
"Why would I do that?" I was starting to get angry, actually, realizing that my boyfriend liked my tits more than he liked me.
We both looked down at my chest.
"I thought you'd be happy for me," I looked at him. "For us."
"Well, baby ... I'm not." He turned around and left.
My father was there, just around the corner and I ran to him, hugging him as I started to cry. He stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head.
"Hmmm, that went better than I expected," he said.
I couldn't help but giggle then, just a little. But I was still hurting, still crying. I changed clothes and we went to McDonald's. I needed some French fries. They have the best and they always cheered me up, even though they gave me pimples if I ate too many.
My boyfriend screened his calls and wouldn't pick up. A week later it wasn't even his phone number anymore. He'd changed it and the one time I'd thought about going to his house to confront him, I chickened out. I had the taxi drive past and then take me back home. I was a little broken hearted, but I got over it, I think, sort of. Perhaps it was for the best, really. But it did send me into a bit of a dive.
By the time I'd started college though I was better. I still felt good about myself, especially since my father had at least outwardly seemed to come around. At first I knew he wished I would wear a maiden form bra when we went someplace together, just to give the appearance. But I wouldn't. My only compromise was that I'd occasionally wear something loose and baggy, like a big sweatshirt. But eventually even that attempt at normalcy was forgotten.
I was proud of my body and I especially liked wearing tight t-shirts and low cut dresses. As I'd always detested women who pushed their large breasts in everyone's face for attention, now I was guilty of the same thing, in a manner of speaking. In my case though it was the lack that drew second glances and curious stares. I was not an object of lust, obviously, more a curiosity, but it was interesting how often and quickly that could change.
My first real experience happened at a shopping mall of all places. Lynnwood Mall, just north of Seattle. I was drinking an orange juice, wearing a short white skirt that showed off my legs and ass, and a too small halter top that exposed my stomach and gave proof to the fact that my chest was flat as a 12 year old boy's. I looked nice though, although my hair was back in a ponytail and I wore no makeup at all. I wasn't looking to get picked up, and that's probably why it happened.
"Hi." This guy was suddenly next to me and I was a bit surprised I hadn't noticed him. He was tall, with short brown hair and nice hazel eyes. Not bad looking, mid-twenties probably.
"Hello," I replied.
"I hope I'm not bothering you, but..." he smiled a little awkwardly. "I just want to know your name. I mean, I'll be wondering for the rest of my life and..." he faltered and shrugged.
"And I couldn't have that on my conscience?" I smiled and teased him a little. As far as pickup lines go it wasn't bad, really. But it might have been my mood too.
"Right, yeah," he grinned self-consciously. "I sound like an idiot, huh?"
"Oh, I don't know." I twirled my straw.
"Can I sit down?" He looked at the chairs around the small table.
"I was just getting ready to leave," I looked at him as he lifted his eyes to mine.
"Really? I wish you wouldn't," he sat down. "I was thinking about going to a movie, but I hate going alone, you know?"
I nodded, "Yeah."
"Do you like movies?" He smelled good, I noticed. Most guys don't really smell like anything, or else they smell bad. This guy smelled clean, like after shave cologne kind of. The way my father did after his morning shower. It wasn't anything exotic, or erotic, just a pleasant thing that I found comforting.
"Sometimes. Yeah, I do."
"Would you like to see one with me?" He was smiling a lot. I liked that too.
"Now?" I shook my head. "Nah, I should probably get going."
"Where?" He turned his head, looking at the mall around us. "What could be better than this?"
I laughed at his smile and made a gesture of futility. "I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe home."
"Yeah, well, hard to beat home. Yeah," but he didn't sound so sure. "Can I take you home?"
"I don't know, I..." I smiled a little shyly for some reason, maybe because it felt really good to have someone interested in me for a change.
"Please? I have a bus and everything," he grinned.
"A bus?" I laughed. "Okay, yeah ... me too."
We walked together through the mall, towards the exit where the busses stopped. There was a drug store at that end and we stood near it, looking outside through the big windows. There weren't any buses yet.
"Which one is yours?" I asked, looking at the bus schedule and the route numbers.
"Uh ... You don't know?" He looked at me and we laughed.
"Nooo ... You're taking me home ... Remember?" I gave him a sideways look.
"Oh." He thought about that for a second. "Oh! Um ... The downtown one and then, ah, we have to get on my other bus. The West Seattle one."
"Ohhh ... You have two buses. Okay," I nodded.
"Yeah," he was nodding too. Both of us just smiling.
"Can I ask you something, sort of weird?" I looked at the man. Not totally sure I wanted to be doing any of this, but I did, you know?
"Personal?" he looked back at me.
"Yeah. I guess so," I shrugged and he nodded. "Do you have any condoms at home?"
"What?" His eyes widened. Those hazel eyes. That's why I was doing it.
I pointedly looked at the drug store next to us and he followed my gaze. He didn't say anything, he just walked in and I followed him, rather enjoying this. It was something new to do.
He found the aisle with condoms in it and he scratched his head a little, glancing at me, and finally picked up two small packages, lifting them in his hands as if he were weighing them. He tried it with a couple other brands, apparently having no preference and fearing I did. Also a little afraid to ask, I suppose. I just watched.
"These people look happy," he finally said, holding up a little box of a dozen ribbed, lubricated, and ultra-thin condoms of one sort or another. The box had a beautiful couple, naked the both of them and kissing.
"Yeah," I shrugged and laughed.
.... There is more of this story ...