I Want Boobs

I could keep it to myself, or I could say it in a gentler way. But straight to the point and matter-of-fact - I want boobs. I should have them. They are rightfully mine. The evidence is there that it was in the plan. But somehow, someway, my boobs were callously ripped from me at conception, and locked away in the gene pool vault, only to be opened up and unfairly resdistributed to my younger sisters. My evidence? They have boobs. Big boobs. More than their fair share boobs. I have boobs like an pre-adolescent school boy. There's the evidence. I bought boobs once. Marched right on down to that plastic surgeons office and got myself a set. They weren't very big. I didn't have the breast tissue for big ones. I like that. Breast tissue. We think boobs, tits, jugs, even breasts. But breast tissue? "Hey, look at the breast tissue on that broad." Anyway, my boobs weren't big but they were beautiful. Probably not in the sense that men look at boobs. Although, I'm sure they would be fine in the man sense. I mean, really, men prefer some boobs over other boobs, but any boobs do what a man wants them to do, which is making them feel warm and tingly in special places. Mine were beautiful in how they fit into a red lacy Victoria Secret bra, or a little black dress. They're gone, though. Ruptured. Didn't see or feel it coming. Just gone. Not both at once. No, it doesn't go like that when you have spent your life boob challenged. One......at.........a........time. One was a healthy C cup and the other would leave room in a training bra. Newly divorced, no money, and a powder puff stuck in one side of my bra. After the universe was done with it's cruel trick, the other side eventually ruptured, too. I've gained weight so now I have man boobs. They are the boobs that are big enough to be boobs but shadowed in size by the gut. Yep, man boobs. You still don't need a bra for man boobs. Man boobs don't sag. Probably because they get plenty of support from that gut.