First Bra | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: First Bra | Previous Challenge Entry
By Nancy Kaye
07/21/09
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FIRST BRA

I remember going with my mother for my first bra. It was embarrassing. Somehow without trying, breasts had developed that needed to be strapped and contained. I must have been 13 or so, and I can remember overhearing my mother and aunt talk about me. “She’ s going to be a big girl.” I sensed that was about my breasts and my feet.

One day Mom announced she and I would go to Olgas in town to buy me a bra. This was before the days of training bras and I have to admit I still wonder today what they are trained to do? Olga’s was a small store and after entering there were tiny aisles with lots and lots of boxes of different size bras piled quite high making the store a bit like a maze. I think maybe there were other lingerie type items for sale but we were only interested in bras. Now Olga was a large woman with pendulous breasts and a Russian accent. Only she knew what the boxes held, and what style or size went with what. First she had to measure you with the tape measure. “ Do I breathe or not breathe?”

Then came bras into the paltry dressing room where I had to take off all my clothes from the waist up.. Of course the little hook gadgets to fasten them were tricky to latch behind my back. The dangling straps must have been for someone who had a very long space between their shoulders and breasts, or perhaps this was for “droopy breasts” that I had heard some old women had. After snugging the straps up tighter it was obvious that the 32 double A was too small. So Olga went to another row and another stack of boxes and came back with another bra. The 32 A was too small also as was the 34 double A. I’m beginning to feel as if I’m getting into Olga’s class and I feel scared. The 34 A fits and Olga wraps up 2 which my mother paid for. At this point I have a bigger bra size than my mother and my older sister. How can this be?

After getting home my father and sister seem to know everything very soon. My father starts referring to me as Dagmar, who was a very blond, very bosomed woman on t.v. I did wear the bras, which in no time became very natural, but I continued to have fears of turning into Olga or Dagmar. At school I carried a lot of books in front of me so others wouldn’t notice.

I guess I had to be a lot older to be comfortable with my breasts, naked, in a bra or dressed. I think Olga and Dagmar are dead.

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