I was talking with my new roommate tonight and she admitted to a habit of telling men she is about to have sex with that she wears a padded bra. This reminded me of a few horrific moments I spent with an old girlfriend when we had sex for the first time.
I've never dated women with large breasts and I don't really care one way or the other. Breast size is pretty low on my list of wants in a partner. I've been with a lot of women who had smaller cup sizes and wore padded bras. These bras always struck me as bizarre machinery.
I admire a nice bra, a functional girding ornamented with lace and Victorian detail. There's something honest about the dual vanity and purpose of a bra. If the weight must be supported, then let it be supported beautifully. Extra padding in the cup doesn't have any purpose other than to mislead. Seeing a padded bra is always faintly disappointing. I never feel duped that someone's naked body didn't live up to the promise of the swells and slopes of the clothed silhouette. The idea that person I'm with wanted me to think they were something else, even superficially, is sad in some small way.
After spending an evening watching TV together, my ex and I moved to her bedroom together. We had kissed on the couch for a long time, slowly and without any great sense of urgency. I slid my hand over her body and she demurred. She would pull back for a moment and smile at me coyly, and then we would kiss again. I thought she wanted to move slowly and so I didn't try and escalate things.
Then she asked me to come back into her bedroom.
After a while, I was on top of her and began undoing her bra. I wanted to feel her skin against my own. The bra was a jarring obstruction every time it rubbed against my chest. We kept kissing as I slid the bra down and moved my hand across her bare breasts for the first time. I immediately panicked.
There was no breast there. Where I thought I might have felt some small mound I found only skin and rib cage. In the darkness it felt almost concave. An idea started to form in my head, her reluctance to escalate things in the living room, the slowness of our kissing, absence of anything beneath her bra. She must have had a mastectomy, I thought. I couldn't come up with any other explanation, so dramatic was the disparity between the poofy B cup bra and the planar landscape of her upper body.
Am I ready to have sex with a cancer survivor? Is there a proper method for making love to someone who's had a mastectomy? Was I doing something earlier that made her not want to tell me? What does it look like with the light on?
My mind was running away with itself, inventing an elaborate set of irrational conclusions in a few seconds. I was on the verge of asking her about it when she shifted her weight and I felt the thin layer of her breast ripple. I suddenly felt like an ass. She hadn't had a breast removed, it was just that her breasts were exceptionally small and all but disappeared when she was on her back.
I had no issue with her breast size. I wouldn't have given it a second thought had I known to expect it. I wasn't reeling at her body, it was the disparity of the projection and the reality. I wasn't there, naked and in bed with her, because of her body. I wanted to be with her, to feel like what it was like. I didn't want ideals. I wanted particulars, her particulars.
That can be the hardest thing to have faith in when you're having sex with someone for the first time. It's so much easier to let the person see what they want to see, to willfully mislead their gaze to an idyllic exaggeration. It's frightening to not apologize for yourself, to put it out there in all its adorned honesty and trust that whoever it is that you end up with will be able to take it and love it for what it is: a part of you.
Previous Posts:
Sex Machine: Premature Ejaculation
Love Machine: Can You Be Friends With an Ex?
Sex Machine: How Soon, Sex Toy?
Date Night: Kissing in the Rain
Sex Education Machine: Abstinence, or Waiting is Easier Because...
Sex Machine: The Funny Thing About Handjobs
Love Machine: The Three-Year Itch
Sex Machine: Show Me Your Penis
Date Machine: The Gun Show or Is That All You Got?
Love Machine: Morning Breath Kisses
Date Machine: Making Your Online Dating Profile
Sex Machine: Sex with 19 Year-Olds
Love Machine: Making A Scene
Hooksexup Confessions: Oh Hai, You're Pregnant
Sex Machine: Don't Forget to Masturbate
Love Machine: My Mother
Love Machine: Thanks But I'll Pass, or Handling Rejection
Naked Machine: Buying New Underwear, or Sex in a Dressing Room
Date Machine: Look Ugly in a Photograph
Love Machine: On Your Own, or Moving On
Love Machine: Going to Bed Angry
Love Machine: The Hooker on the Corner
Sex Machine: Having Sex on Inauguration Night