les deux....again by me

Les Deux

DEAR RADIO PROGRAMME PRESENTER, TO WHOM THIS DOES NOT CONCERN……let me tell my story…..

In front of the mirror, I stare at my figure, wishing I didn’t have to, A great mistake!!! What I have done, was a HUGE mistake…but not those kind of mistakes which you would wish you would turn the clock back and fix them! Not at all, I would never want to go back!!! And I sure don’t want to go on?!! Wasn’t that the definition of hell? No memories and no future?.

I ride the bus amongst the down trodden, the bread winners, the stone scrapers, in short my miserable people, I am here to help you, all of you! to dry your tears ease your pains! yes you old mother sitting in the foldable middle seat, you may never have to carry that heavy basket of yours anymore, little brother day dreaming on the bus stairs…soon it will only be play and school time, brother by the window I will wipe your frown, your endless toil in balancing bills and salary, debt and income… tired man next to me with a burden of folders, I…..WHAT IS YOUR HAND DOING AT MY LEFT BREAST?!!! What ever I may be…I am now a breast

A First class politician I was. I would stand with a mocking smile, as all first class politicians would, degrading naive, retro ideas, dazzle them is what I would do, or drive them out of their wits ,whichever they both give me satisfaction… this young lad, is stunned as I have stopped him in his tracks, ridiculing his whole stand , I am there at the top, I…his eyes stop, fall…drop at my two breasts. My mouth now only talks air….I have shrunk, divided in two piles of meat, breasts.

Getting arrested during your student life would be a badge you would carry around, constantly bragging about it “I was slapped, punched, pitched into water , solitary confinement, brutally interrogated” all of the glorious stuff…but not me… I wasn’t even asked about my activities, or asked to rat about my friends….they were only interested ….. yes you got it…in the deux…what have we got here ? said the officer in amazement …rubbing his hand in glee…my breasts were brutally interrogated!!!

Whether it be in my work’s corridors bus stations, streets, family weddings…always the same remarks:
Woman go hide thy breasts (this was literally said to me)
Milk, milk, milk!!! Sip, sip, sip!!
Shouldn’t you were a wider t-shirt dearie?!
Or
I have seen her yesterday
Who’s her?
Her!!! Her!!
Who?
The one with the great body!
Oooooooh!…oh yeah! OH yeah!!
All that
And a bunch of pinchings and pats (on the breast of course) along with it.

Bus drivers, taxi drivers, rickshaw drivers, will all go into dangerous maneuvers through bumpy roads, just to see them bounce!
So this is the story of me and the breasts, no matter what I do, how hard I work, they are always there blocking the way…blocking my way. Eyes, minds will pass by whatever achievements I did, pass all my successes and fall upon those two.

And oooooooooh !how they mock me…!

I HAVE TRIED EVERY THING…..wider shirts (I forgot about t-shirts, however needy they were in this tropical weather) doubled bra’s, dropped the two tails of my scarf as curtains above them…and finally, I have formed my back to create a shield around them, so I would literally crouch my body over them, not only causing needless pains, but also gaining a small hunch back!!! And believe it or not!!! The harder I tried, the more I was turning into these two nippled creatures.
I HAVE HAD IT!!!

(On asking men on the case of this lady they would reply)

§ Well lets face facts…they are there

§ She’s just lying…all women do…they act annoyed, when the fact is they ENJOY our breast teasing

§ I just can’t help my self!!! They are pointed out to the world…for me…for my hands to grab

§ That is the exact reason why Allah has ordered hareem to stay at home, you don’t see that happening to men… umm excuse me mulana, umm well men don’t have breasts …EXACTLY!!

§ Why should she be angry, acting pompous about her ideas and education and crappy achievements, breasts are good too…hadn’t they fed us when we were young, haven’t they pleasured us when we were older? Better focus on achievements of her breasts

§ That is not true, not true at all…I actually care about the woman…not her voluptuous body….indeed, I care about her ideas, not how well shaped, well rounded her breast are, how high they hover…. It’s her achievements that attract me, not how the movement of her breast swaying right and left , left and right, and how they flap against her body, up and down, down and up, up and down, down and……excuse me sir, point taken….hrmph! yes, yes indeed

§ YOU are truly out of line young man…and to carry with that young ladies profane manners is unbelievable…go do your job... about how I have been standing in this cue for weeks to get a travel permit.. hmph!…breasts indeed... and a woman…A WOMAN talking about her breasts…well the world is coming to an end…it is truly one of the signs of Armageddon , well there was a time when a woman wouldn’t dare…(voice fades out)

Everything is turning into this BREAST culture
Luckiest men in the breast trade are….tailors and cardiologists or chest doctor
It’s even a profession these days, BREAST TRANSPLATORS
I don’t even know what to call women who transplant! Feminists making their breasts a clear statement against men, flashing this distinction in their faces?…or women enslaved in the idea of what men see…what men think….who cares…back to me!
Even my favorite singer has betrayed me….by that irritating song of his…Bananas have finally grown, grown together…oh people my body is burning , metaphor is clear!
And many other songs such as, oranges firm on thy chest OR your crystal breasts as fair mermaids.

And what is it about women breasts and fruits anyways? I mean, banana’s , oranges…and in one of the censored websites: the melon farm (for oversized breasts), apples, apricots….
On asking a fruit seller
(Munching an apple)….. well you see…um…it can be in many ways….well they first grow little, and then you have to wait for them to grow….and then um…well they’re ripe…and then they become so wrinkled and …well …they rot!!
“they rot?!”
absolutely
“and what do you do then?”
hehehe!(slyly) buy another fresh one…unmunched, untouched….fresh you know?
“yes, y e s, I think….I….do, anyways…what do you think women say about that?”
WOMEN? What have women got to do with that? Farm grows fruit, who eats the fruit? WE do…. Farm is a carrier…it has nothing to do with the fruit! Nothing! Women who fondle with each other….these are OUR fruits…STAY OUT!”
Oooookaaaaay!

Forbidden fruit!

Watching a comedy play, a supposedly comedy play, about a helpless woman, acted by a male actor, with inflated balloon breasts, to bring out not only the idea of a woman, but an idle one, a helpless woman, or how my younger brother would put it, a woman woman!! Anyways this woman learns how to liberate herself, become independent, getting a job, expressing herself, blah blah, but most importantly, to bring out the idea of independency, she or he the actor, deflated the breast…voila! A breastless woman… in other words independent. Now of course the sense of comedy was missed by me during the play, and it wasn’t much of a feminist play, since the woman decided to be both, independent and feminine, by leaving one breast up, the other down (hideous!) , I mean the theme of breasts is never funny, the experience of having them, its pain, its depth…anyways…a tragicomedy maybe…definitely not a comedy….but anyhow…the idea lingered in my head….what idea? This marvelous equation…. No breasts= a WOMAN… not a woman woman….but a WOMAN

My friend told me her husband has remarried because her breasts have drooped…when I told him so will his new wife’s …he said then I will search for another woman, and so on…a breast sucker!!! A new addiction … or rather an old one

Speaking of marriage, I had numerous proposals all on bases of how : big my ideas were, and how high were my ambitions, and how firm my raising was, I have to say messengers of the grooms (mostly the mothers and sisters) were keen to note these qualities in me, and would return hurriedly to the groom assuring that I or rather my breasts were all that big, high and firm…he would rub his hands in glee!

I was first introduced to them…I mean my breasts, when I was 13, I was , ironically, at the entertainment park…waiting to ride the roller coaster, when the man at the tickets’ booth called me
“what a nice t-shirt you are wearing…what’s written on it?” he asked,
a bit embarrassed that it was actually a pajama shirt, which mom bought and insisted that it was not so…it had the words bonne nuit…good night…he plucked at my shirt reading the letters for what after a while seemed like an eternity. Only to find out later that he was fondling with my nipple…..truly bonne nuit child hood, bonjour the roller coaster of woman adult life and all its calamities.
“twit twit twit
jug jug jug JUG JUG JUG
so rudely forc’d
and still the world pursues
Tereu·

I remember when I wasn’t allowed to run anymore, the way they would sway, was already painful… no more swimming… my arms have already learnt the art of crawling in front of them…the whole awkward experience of your friends accidentally bumping into them…the look in their confused eyes, would summarize the whole agony of living with breasts… and then when it was time for me to learn bra shopping… a long legged teenaged, goggling her eyes , on mountains of breast leashes, in all colors, already laying my future ahead of me… white little ones for me now, cotton painless during my work life, metal shaping, push up bras when introduced to male husband society, awkward see through red, pink and black tantalizing bras, when finally getting a husband, easy to slip down bras for your first breast feeding experience, wide cotton ones, when breasts wrinkle sag, and you don’t give a damn no more.

In class, I was sitting hiding the creatures in my shirt with double bras, and a back pouch, when a no friend of mine, slipped her hand at my back, feeling the elastic band, she suddenly pulled and released it… “POP” and the whole class came to a halt, and then snickering, giggling.. “ I told you she’s got ‘em”. Wide eyed, I carefully moved my things to the breasty students desk, who have learned to withdraw quietly from life… it is only when the so called class tart, comes unbuttoning her upper buttons, showing black bras, and wiggling her new grown breasts, that they “breasts” grow popular…it’s ironic how it is that those who want them , don’t really have them! Because the school tart went to extremes to let them show. She also doubled bras.

Speaking of which, women who have breasts are always most probable to be labeled as frivolous “what do you mean, she is intellectual, or an artist? She’s got BREASTS for goodness sake!”
Petite , then you are everything, modest, timid, chaste, artistic, intellectual.

Its very funny that the new born baby when it can’t identify this world, knows its mother only by breasts…. I mean she would carry the baby, fondling, caring….still the idea of mom doesn’t crop up…but when she introduces breasts? Now you’re talking

Now this is all bearable, but when breasts turn against you, after how we put up with them all these years? What am I talking about?…. The new fatal women killer…. Breast cancer…. Amongst all ironic things in life…this is the least.

I wouldn’t lie, they have often opened wide doors for me, I mean the breasts, I didn’t have to wait in long cues, I entered hospitals on non visiting times, I was easily recruited at my job, I got graded well on their account…I JUST CAN”T TAKE IT ANYMORE….I WANT TO BE ME….NOT THEM.
And that is how I ended up at the plastic surgeons clinic, it took him a while to digest what I was saying:

You want to what?
Remove them…at all…yalla, khalas!
Are you sure?
Yes
Why don’t think about it ? I mean you could lose many things….I mean your femininity , you are still not married, and you are young, you still have your whole life ahead of you!
In short no breasts no life huh?!!You know what? Now that you have mentioned all this, doctor , I am definite I want them OUT!

I woke up from the anesthetization suffering from terrible dreams, with two giant breasts chasing me, no matter how hard I tried to hide, they always found me! But that was all a dream….I looked upon the side mirror, I am FLAT… table flat, I move my hands FREELY across my body…nothing to pinch (eh?)
Happy? I thought I would be happy…

That night I suffered from severe repercussions , I had to undergo another operation, only to wake up finding the anesthetization male nurse, slipping his hand under my sheet fiddling with WHAT?! With my supposed to be breasts!!

After a month I recovered and returned to my work…and down the bus station, this stopped me….
Milk! Milk! Milk….sip, sip, sip! Give them a squeeze for yuh!
Remember!!! I was table flat, no more bras flat…they just ignored that fact, and continued to follow on with my imaginary breasts, pinches , bumpy roads, breast religious sermons and all!!!

I look awful now, blouses and dresses droop all over me, women de- clanned me, and further accusing me of homosexuality …and I am still shrunken to the IDEA of breasts
And still she cried, and still the world pursues‘Jug, Jug’ to dirty ears.
UNREAL CITY!!! UNREAL

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