Day 249 — Cinderella and the Sexy Bra

Exquisite FitsHave you seen those ads claiming that four out of five American women are wearing the wrong size bra?

I wondered how they knew that until I realized it must be data coming from those new magnetic scanning devices at airports.

“Look, Bob, she’s obviously a 34C, but she’s wearing a 36B. What an idiot.”

I readily admit that I love my lingerie. Buying it, wearing it, even washing it makes me happy. The best part is having a man take it off. To me, this is always a huge test of virility.

If a guy can reach back and unhook it with one hand, then he is suave and debonair and a good match for me. If he’s fumbling with two hands, I feel like tossing him his clothing and opening the door, shouting “next!” into the hallway.

A bra figures prominently in one of my best adventure stories. In college I worked on the newspaper and I sort of hooked up, to use the modern term, with a guy who picked me up at a bar I hung out at. Hey, this was the 1980s. We didn’t have Internet and masturbation hadn’t been invented yet.

He was fun and funny and we had a romp in his room, but he didn’t ask for my number or anything. Confused by this and constrained by the etiquette of the day, in which apparently I could f—k him yet not ask for his phone number, I left my bra behind.

I must have done this in some futile hope he would call me back to his room to retrieve it, and it worked out that way. He ran an ad in the student newspaper to Miss 34b asking if she missed her 34b. I replied. He invited me over to get it and, this is unlike me, I went braless since after all it was a bra I was retrieving.

As you can imagine, I got all I came for and more. I don’t think 10 entire seconds went by before he had my shirt up and pants down. That may have been the only time in my entire collegiate career that I had sex without any alcohol.

But back to size. My exercise program finally presented me with a huge breakthrough achievement. I got my top measurement down to 32. Men may not view this as an accomplishment, but it really is.

Now most petites are a perfect fit. My cup size has also gone down. The guys who get a testosterone rush when they see those top-heavy DD girls weren’t coming my way anyhow. Now I feel like I fit.

If only there were a way to feel like I fit at work.

My breasts, of course, are tied down and lashed into place. Neither of my nipples has seen where I work and they never will. If only I could go to a company I wanted to work for, leave a bra in the conference room, and be seen by the president as I dashed from the building. He would run an ad, inviting me to come in and try it on to prove it was mine, and then instead of asking me to be his queen, he would ask me if I wanted to manage the company’s most important division from the corner office at a huge salary.

That’s what Cinderella really should have gotten, not some lousy throne.


One Response to “Day 249 — Cinderella and the Sexy Bra”

  1. OrneryPest says:

    Gosh, gee, even after thirty-three years of marriage my wife gets herself undressed without me needing to help. Does that make me unmanly?

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