I really feel like I need to talk.
I'm 17 years old, and I saw only one adult in my life having as small breasts as I do. I mean, I am really, but really flat. I have no shape. At all. Sometimes, depending on the angle of the light, we can see the shadow of a kind of shape, but that's it. If you knew how I hate those breasts...When I look in the mirror, I think "only a pedophile could look at me and like it." It's not even orange-shaped breasts, it's a tiny little amount of grease plus a big rose button on top. I like having cold water on my breasts because this way the rose button gets all tiny and hard, which is at least more respectable than when it is all big and ugly. All my life, I've been shooted with pictures of "what a woman is" and all I see told me I am wrong the way I am, which hurt me really, but really deep as the years passed one by one.
I dress in a japanese street fashion named lolita, because it's the only fashion were flat-chest is considered better than large boobs. I also dress decora, another japanese street fashion...japanese are flat-chested, so I feel better in their fashion, a little more "right", at least.
I used to have a very elegant boyfriend than was extremely different from the others, he hated "bitches", girls that would show off their curves to seduce. He thought that we have to get over that animal-side of humanity to continue evolving, and not regressing. Thanks to this mentality of him (and the fact that I was is first woman), I could believe it when he'd tell me that he loved me as I was, that he loved my body. He would never look into another woman cleavage, even though he wouldn`t deny the beauty of the female body. So when we made love, I would accept, if there wasn't too much light, him to touch them and even kiss them and such. But still, I would squeeze the rose button in secret for it to be hard before he would go there as I still couldn't show them 100% natural, as I thought it was still terribly ugly, no matter how much he could love me as I am. He almost got rid of my complex, but then...we broke up. I thought "oh my god, where will I find such a man ever again?"
I cried so much, girls...so much...not really because I loved him, but because I lost the only person I could believe that would like my flat chest.
I found another marvelous man, but this time...it is its archenemy. Funny! It's the contrary. Less weird. He had more than twenty women before me. How can I even think he could appreciate my body after this? God...I know it is disgusting, and I do my best not to cry as I write you this as I am in a public place. I always keep my bra with him. I sleep with my bra, I make love with my bra, and when we took our shower together I would hide them with my hands. I cannot show them to him. Thinking of doing so, in a bright light, just makes me freak out. I know he love me, I know he do and this much more than my last boyfriend, but I .c.a.n.n.o.t. show him. No even let him touch it. It's blocked. Even with my last boyfriend that I could believed would like them, I couldn't perfectly show him! So imagine with that man who looks at other women, that saw nice squishy round bouncy boobs and touch them and all. If you invited a prince who would have ate exotic fruits, tasty fish and delicious dessert all his life, would you serve him an empty plate with only a tiny, rotten pea in it? In secret, when I'm really depressed, I think that I should date a pedophile to at least get someone that LOVE MY BREASTS more than OTHERS'!
I don't know what to do with my complex. I always look at other women`s boobs and it hurts me. Seeing an ad with a cleavage makes me angry/sad. I'd like not to care, I try, but it's not under my control. At least, when I wear my lolita fashion, I feel right. It's the only way for me to feel better than larger breasted women.
And I feel angry when I see, with any kind of media, a representation of what is considered "small breasts". How about mine? If this is small, then what the heck are mine? I'm so hurt...everyday, I see hundreds of those. They always remind me of how I feel...incomplete.