I have always had a real love of breasts. Mammalian protuberances, lills, jugs, tits, funbags, boobs … so many words for two lovely mounds.
I am conscious of the fact that there may be some people reading this with eyebrows raised, a bit worried about what’s happened to me. I must be long overdue for some sort of hugely public breakdown. Could this be it? Well, I’m afraid the answer is emphatically NO. I have a perfectly sane reason for my enormous respect and love for breasts, and here it is.
A long long time ago, when Showaddywaddy were a band and tinned ravioli was a luxury, I went on holiday with my mum. This in itself is a story. But I’ll save that for the autobiography that I will never write.
Going on holiday with my mum was rare. I would often visit her in Paris but going on holiday WITH her … very rare. Primarily because I really cramped her style and was a hindrance to her partying. No judgement – she was very young and beautiful and drank a lot and wanted to party.
So I loved/loathed these trips. I would have way more free rein than at home, could eat whatever I wanted, stay up mega late and wander off and she never really noticed … but all I really wanted was for her to notice, and be a mummy … a cuddly mummy that would hold a towel up for me when I got out of the pool.
This is not a sob story by the way … just how it was, and relevant to my boob love.
So there I was, seven or eight years old, in the sea, tippy-toe depth, no one watching, swimming non-stop underwater – my nickname was shark. I was an awesome swimmer and I could stay under for an eternity. I took a dive down, swimming along, left it till the very last moment and came up for air just as a Hobie Cat sailboat came by and hit me on the head.
It knocked the stuffing out of me. I swallowed an ocean of water and got thrown around. The next thing I know two hands are lifting me up, head above water.
I gasp, coughing and crying all at the same time, and this lovely cuddly lady holds me so tight I go limp. I feel safe. My head in her chest, resting on her lovely safe boobs.
She felt like a mummy. A really, really lovely mummy. I didn’t want to let go but as we got into shallower water she couldn’t lift me any more. I said thank you and ran to find Mummy.
After much searching there she was, but by the time I’d found her I’d calmed down. I knew if I told her it wouldn’t achieve anything, so I didn’t bother.
I will never forget that kind lady, and ever since then I have had a great love of breasts and the comfort they can bring, in so many different ways.
And I always hold the towel up for my kids.