For as long as I can remember my nickname has been ‘Jen Big Boobs’. Friends joke that the first thing they see when I walk through the door is my chest. I know they mean no harm – just as I know that my husband, Steve, adores them – but it’s reached the point where they have got to go. They simply dominate my life. Whether I’m trying to get comfy in bed or walking down the street I can’t forget them for a moment. They are always there, getting in the way of everything I do. In primary school I was the first in class to wear a bra. So when my pals changed in the classroom for PE, I’d change in the loos. Big boobs weren’t a huge surprise – they run in my family. But it was embarrassing and I didn’t like being different. They’ve singled me out for loads of attention. Buying bras has always been and still is a nightmare. I have to order specially-made ones that are ugly and cost up to £50. By the time I was 20 I’d already gone to see my GP about a reduction operation. He was sympathetic but said I was too young for surgery.
I love my wife’s big boobs and don’t want them reduced. I don’t mind admitting that Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at Truth in Cosmetic Surgery*