My first bra was an embarrassing experience, although I wanted one. My mom was uncomfortable with the subject, and eventually took me to Silverman’s discount to get a training bra sometime in junior high. I ended up feeling somehow dirty, because of mom telegraphing her discomfort. She suggested tweezers, if I sprouted any hair around my nipples like her, and said it was better to be small, because they couldn’t sag. She said big women would be jealous eventually, because I would keep my shape.My best friend was more help, but then I was 2 years younger than my classmates, and was naiive about alot of things. I got picked on for being flat chested, and skinny, and too smart, and being “gay” because I wasn’t into boys…so I was scared of developing and of not developing. Either way, my life was hell. I just wanted to be normal.Now I am a more secure adult, thanks to a biker-boyfriend who was a very experienced lover, yet protective of me. He had had lots of women: models, hired ones, and so on, but liked that he could hold my breast with one hand, instead of “losing it” once the bra was off. To him they were “just right” to fit his hand, and didn’t flop down out of sight! They were also “real”. He helped me see myself as worthwhile, not the skinny outcast from high school. He was also very realistic: said that fake boobs felt fake to him, and you could always tell if you knew what to look for. Besides that, everyone is different, and implants wouldn’t be “me” if I got ’em. “Just be who you are, it’s easier that way.” That’s what happens when someone likes you for who you are, not for your Hollywood-perfect “twins”.