Breasts - a short story

Leo was saddened by all of the sexism that had dominated American culture since long before his birth. Women held down for centuries as subordinate, told they were only worthwhile if they looked good, cooked well and kept a clean home. Ideals of womanhood reinforced by images of starved and primped Victoria’s Secret models making women hypersensitive about being looked at. He was saddened. Not by the moral tragedy of institutionalized inequality or the long history of oppression, but because he was born into a climate where women’s breasts were not considered a viable hobby.

He just loved them. Peeking out from red tank tops. Hiding in sweaters. Biding their time not so subtly under thin t-shirts. Out in the open. When his teacher talked about concentric circles in class he finally paid attention.

His love was as simple and predictable as a child’s love of candy but people would think it was objectifying and crude. Still, if it were possible when he grew up, he wanted a job that somehow involved looking at least once at every pair of breasts on the planet.

When he first started seeing breasts in a more one-on-two setting he naturally assumed that the ones he saw were representative of the rest. In Gilian’s back room she had small nipples that just hinted peeking out from the areolas. Ok, so that’s what they’re really like, he thought. When Tabitha showed him in her car that nipples could be big round nobs perfectly situated he thought, Oh my god they come like that too?

He didn’t hate women. He didn’t hold them below men. He just thought they held magic between their shoulders and their belly buttons. That didn’t seem like such a bad thing. He was more than slightly annoyed at how society’s course had impeded him from following his dream. Sexism seemed like such a waste of time that just got in the way. Didn’t they know these women had breasts? What were these guys’ problems? He thought for a second that maybe it was jealousy. That’s a shame he thought. Maybe there should be a parade. It seemed like it would be a tough sell to convince women it was empowering though.

Senior year of high school he met Beth. The two of them had a lot in common., mainly a love of Beth’s breasts . She loved them almost as much as he did. In the photolab at school she would pull his hand over them and squeeze.

“I hear you have a new girlfriend son,” his mom said. “How is it going?”
“It’s great,” he replied. “We have a lot of the same interests.”