My First Time…

I can’t remember when my tatas first appeared. I know there was this one girl in primary school who had a figure in Class 3. And not just a figure – an hourglass figure. I always took her as the SI unit for hotness, so as long as I didn’t look like her, I had nothing to write home about. At some point, I remember being in the girls’ toilet and hearing Catherine say that if we pinched our boobs, they would get bigger. That must be when we started singing the bust song. I’m sure you know it:

Must, must, must develop a bust.

The bigger, the better, the tighter the sweater.

The boys depend on us.

Of course I found it all quite silly, but it was more defense than anything else. I was resigned to my low esteem, and had accepted that the boys would never like me as long as I was smarter than them. I’ve never been good at playing blonde.

**Years later, a former classmate told me they noticed the bust, they were just afraid I’d beat them up if they mentioned it. Apparently, I was pretty scary back then. Another defense mechanism that clearly didn’t work. *russumfussum**

So when my mum pulled me aside in Standard 6 and said I needed a bra, I was like, ‘Oh’. I remember going with her to Deacons Esso Plaza and getting my first bra. It was a pretty lace thing in 33C, and it was beige. She bought two. As soon as I got some, I noticed the other girls had them too. You could see the bra line through the white blouses. But I still didn’t give it much thought.

Later, in campus, my aunt bought me more bras from Deacons. I didn’t pay much attention until a friend pulled me aside and said I was bouncing too much. Apparently, these tatas only fit well in underwire. *Groan* Since then I’ve avoided padding and stuck with wires. I always wanted to go strapless but I could never find something with enough hold. A few days ago my mum sent me one from Matalan. It had removable straps, and the first thing I did was throw the straps away. I shall wear that piece for the rest of my life! If only I could get more …

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, which a good excuse to get checked. I’ve been checked for HIV lots of times, but I’ve never done a mammogram. It’s fear more than anything else. I don’t want some doctor taking out my nice bits. It’s just too scary. I’d rather not know.

I understand that’s shallow. The Bible says you should lose body parts to save you from hell, so it’s silly to hold onto a breast when keeping it could kill me. But to be honest, I just don’t see myself stuffing Nubra, especially if it’s just one side. If it’s both, at least I can wear a tube top, but these things usually come in ones.

As part of Buxom Buddies, we have to write out first mammograms. Which means I have to man up and get one. I’m scared. Really scared. I haven’t felt any pain, and no one reported a lump. My bits are pretty big, so I can’t feel the lumps myself. When you go past D cup, you’re far less sensitive to touch - except at the tip. Just putting that out there, since many girls won’t admit it. You might want to rethink your cup-technique guys.

So *deep breath* I went for my first exam. I was really hoping I wouldn’t faint or anything, and I chickened out at least fifteen times on the way. When I finally got to the clinic, the waiting room was packed, giving me a much needed escape, but the nice lady at the Reception gave me the broadest smile and asked how she could help me, so I had to stay. I asked about breast exams, and she said there was a free physical for the whole of October. I’d assumed it would be physical, because mammograms are quite expensive and can be painful depending on the time of your cycle. Or so says the medical drama. Mawazo-mengi might know better.

The nurse gave me a form to fill out with about 50 questions – or at least I think they were fifty. She asked me to fill in the first 25. They were basic questions like name, age, date of last period. I hate that one, because my cycle is erratic and I always have to think deep, calculate, and use mnemonics, which makes observers very worried for my sanity.

Some of the questions asked me to describe my lump and the nature of my discharge. They were multiple choice, and for some reason, N/A was not in the choices, so I ignored them. There was also a question about children, and how old I was at my first pregnancy. Interesting.

After the form, I was shown into a room and asked to take off my blouse. I left the house when it was really cold, so I had several layers, and I kept wishing she’d close the door. I mean, there was a curtain between me and her, but the part facing the door was totally exposed.

The nurse came in after I’d stripped, and asked me if I knew about self-exams. She explained that I should mentally divide my breasts into four, and feel them up all round, looking for lumps, odd shapes, or pain. She said to check armpits for swollen lymph nodes as well. While she was talking, I lay on my back and she did the exam, which lasted all of two minutes *insert comedy routine sound effect* I could launch into pun series, but I’ll let sharper minds do that.

I was hardly aware when it started, and pretty soon it was over. I blame the DDs – lack of sensation and all that. Plus she was talking the whole time, so I focused on her voice. She said there were no problems. As part of the self-exam, she reminded me to squeeze nipples to check for discharge, which can be clear, milky, or bloody. None of these are good when you’re not lactating. She also said to inspect the nipples for puckered appearance. I always wondered what that was, and she explained that healthy nipples look nothing like orange peels. *cheeky grin*

When I first took off my bra, the nurse looked at my nipples and asked if I have a baby. I had filled it on my form, but she seemed surprised [I look like a high school kid most days] so I guess she didn’t read it. Point of info: when a woman is pregnant, her nipples are irreversibly darkened. Some things, Mother Nature won’t let you hide. Of course, by the time dude is far enough to notice the … er … darkness, he’s probably screwed anyway – pun intended – so this tip is not very helpful.

So. Breast checks are painless, relatively stress free, and you can get them at no charge till the end of October. Be a Kenyan and go get your free stuff. It just might save your life.

 

by 3CB

I Remember….

Two things you can’t help. One, you can’t help whom you love. Two, you can’t help what you remember. You remember what you remember because it is, for some reason, all that you can remember.

“What do you remember about that day?” my friends might ask. Those who know, that is.

My answer is always the same.

Not much. Not much of what they would like me to remember, at any rate.

This disappoints my friends. They think you can remember everything: they expect you to have every isolated incident neatly filed away in your brain.

Except I don’t.

I can’t even remember the colour of the chairs in the waiting room, or whether they had any special padding. I can’t remember the colour of the walls. Or if the place smelt funny, though I suppose it did, being a hospital and all.

I can’t remember faces, even, though I remember voices. Disembodied voices, mostly.

Voices asking if I’d had a good morning. If I’d made an appointment. If I could please follow another voice.

I remember, also, a strange numbness.

Cold. I was cold, too.

I remember the radiologist, in her been-there-done-that white coat, and the girl who sat next to me in the waiting room. The girl was young. Much too young to be there, actually. I remember her asking if it was my first time, and if I was scared. Or rather, I remember the manner in which she asked. As if, I had to say, ‘yes, yes.’Did the radiologist and I have a conversation? We must have, because she tried so very hard to ease the process. We must have talked about something banal, something like traffic jam, I suppose. I must have replied with an insouciance I was far from feeling. My friends say that is my gift, see. That I have the ability to be casual about serious things—that I can attach lightheadedness to life-and-death struggles. That if I’d never told them about that glitch during my final year physics practical, for instance, they would never have known that, fifteen minutes to the end of the exam, I still hadn’t recorded any results at all. That I looked very calm. Very collected.

I wasn’t cool and collected back then, in that lab, of course, and I certainly wasn’t cool and collected when the radiologist asked me to pull up my blouse.

I remember pulling my blouse down every time she paused to scrutinize the image or to attend to something or someone else. I remember the empathetic smile, and the words that followed shortly—‘Don’t worry about it. We are all professionals here.’

I remember one particularly hot male professional walking in and settling into a discussion with the radiologist. It was a discussion about money, I remember.

I remember lying there and wordlessly pleading with him: “Please don’t look at my boobs. Please, please, please.”

I remember forcing myself to think about anything and everything but the fact that he was in the room, probably weighing my chest and finding it extremely wanting.

 

by

Davina

Tags: by Davina

Mum about Mammograms

I’ve never gotten a mammogram so all I know about it is second-hand information i.e. snippets from movies and  television series and the odd Google-age. The problem is that I have a negative attitude towards hospitals, tests and the general world of medicine.

I have a see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil attitude towards the whole thing. I fear that I speak for many people when I say that I have to get physically sick [bumps,bruises and blisters] to actually do something! But did you know that the world has been screaming at me from day one to get my act together?

I gaze upon my ‘lady lumps’ every day. [Can I really see no evil?]
I lost my grandma to cervical cancer way before I was born so I grew up
knowing that my family has a history of cancer. [Will I hear no evil?]
I’m part of a campaign to raise awareness about breast cancer.[Shall I speak
no evil?]

Maybe the women in snippets from the films and tv shows were wincing in pain
or covering their bits in shame, but you know what? Even if they were acting
it out, they did it, that which we all need to do…for reals…

So I shall see no evil in getting a mammogram, I shall not hear my mind as
it says ‘there are no blisters or bruises or bumps’ and I’ll definitely NOT
stay mum about mammograms.

By,

Wanjeri Gakuru aka mawazo_mengi

Can I Touch?

“Breasts for pleasure, Breasts are sexy, Breasts are Beautiful, Breasts are Delicate, Breasts need care, Breasts can be  caressed, Breasts feel Good, Breasts are a blessing to a woman from God, Breast should be touched, Breasts are very sensitive, Breasts should be protected.” Kawiria

 

After a few conversations by the Buxom Buddies ladies we discovered that most of us have never gone for a mammogram. And for those who have, they’ve only done it once, after discovery of a lump. So we realized that despite the noise and free check ups every October, it seems that most women don’t take advantage of it.

But first what is a Mammogram?

Yep, that scary looking contraption up there is what is called a Mammogram machine. I won’t bore you with the details of how it works, Find all the info here. But you can see why most girls  are apprehensive about it.

When talking about Breast Cancer we can’t lay enough emphasis on early detection as the key factor that helps to increase chances of surviving a breast cancer ordeal.  So while still prepping ourselves to go for the mammogram, let’s continue self examining ourselves. It’s easy and routine and you can ask your partners to help.

Over the last couple of years there has been great debate over the benefits versus risks of Mammograms. I’ve spent a lot of time trolling the internet reading as much as I can so that I can make an informed choice in regards to this. For every article that shows that the regular mammograms and self examinations are not necessary, there’s another one that outlines the benefits. All I know is that when I was 18 and I discovered  a lump on my breast, that mammogram gave me the reassurance I needed when it was discovered benign.

The fact is there is no cure for cancer. Our best chances are in preventing and taking early measures to nip it in the bud.

So let’s keep checking our selves.

Aisha

10 ways that breasts can be useful

So I have never really found a productive use for my breasts in my twenty-something years. They are just appendages that really get in the way more than anything. EVERY girl who has been to the gym or plays sports knows what I’m talking about.

Anyone who has found it difficult sleeping on their front can sympathize.Yes boys, its hard to sleep on them! From underwires that dig into you, pre-menstrual mastitis and an accidental elbow shoved into your breast as you walk past (hey, they do poke out and get in the way-its understandable-but no less painful)  What are breasts good for????????

Why do women all over the world insist on increasing their size, and men of all creeds lust after them? Here I have compiled a list of ways that breasts can contribute to the betterment of yourselves, AND society.

1. The Indian Pocket

If you live in Nairoberry, you know your handbag is not a safe place to keep all your mula. Guys have socks. And extra pockets hidden in coats, shirts, even boxers! Girls have handbags, and the ‘Indian Pocket’ (My mum’s codename for the bra) Have you ever hear a robber say : ‘Empty you’re bra or I’ll stab you!!!???’ No? Well, there you go.

Just realized I may be giving future would-be robbers fodder for their machinations of evil. Hmmm. In that case: ‘I DO NOT KEEP MONEY OR MY MOBILE ANYWHERE OTHER THAN MY HANDBAG!!!’

‘what do you mean empty my bra or you’ll shoot me??!!!’

 

2. The Accomplice

Now say you want to rob a bank. Ok, just bear with me. INCASE you ever want to rob a bank; Breasts make wonderful, well, accomplices.

See a guy robbing a bank would need a couple of other guys to be the look-outs. He would also need someone to distract the guards while the others steal into the bank with concealed weapons. He might need a few pals he doesn’t like that much to act as decoys-the ones who will take the bullets if shit hits the fan.

As a girl, you need none of these extra people with whom you might have to split your booty (hehe, not THAT booty. FOCUS people)

Your Girls (by Girls, I mean breasts of course) can be all of the above. All you need is a wonderbra, a cleavage enhancing top, and the monaaaaay is as good as yours.

The Girls can distract the guard as you walk into the bank armed to the hilt. In fact they can also be a hiding place for a well concealed weapon. Your Girls can also distract the teller from sounding the alarm too early on. You don’t need decoys to take any bullets because -well who would shoot such a HOT bank robber? I mean who would want to damage such magnificent specimens – The Girls will keep you safe.

With a little bit of imagination, The Girls can even help you drive the getaway car.

And the beauty of it all, you wouldn’t have to share any of the money. All The Girls would ask for as payment of services rendered, would be a nice bra or two. Lots of money AND pretty bras? Win-Win.

3. The Extra Body Part

Have you ever needed to hold open a door but all your hands are full? Have you ever needed to anchor the towering stack of books you are carrying (in my case it was plates) to something, so that they would not fall? Ever needed an extra body part? Well. We have two.

‘see, no hands!’

 

4. The Best Friends you always wanted

So there is a HOT co-worker you have been crushing on for ages. BFF no.1 would subtly bring you up in the conversation every time they can. BFF no.2 would randomly drop hints about where you’re all having drinks Friday night.

Amateurs!

The Girls would ensure the man is yours before he knows whats hit him. The Girls will knock him off his feet. And then you can tie him up and drag him to your cave for you to have your way with him. (YAY feminism!-I have always wanted to use the cave man analogy)

No secret messages or subvert ploys necessary. Just a good bra. A few well-timed ‘let-me-bend-over-to-get-that-pencil’ And maybe a ‘let-me-just-brush-past-you-to-get-that-stapler’ You could also throw in: ‘oops-I-just-spilled-something-on-my-sheer-white-shirt’ But that might be a bit slutty. Just saying. *shrug*

The Girls can be the engineers of your future relationships. Wife or mistress. Girlfriend or one night stand. It’s all totally up to how you work The Girls.

BFF

5. The Nurturers

The givers of life. We must not forget how the nectar of milk springs forth from the bosom to provide life-giving nourishment to our offspring.

It’s no. 5 because well, I’m not a mother. And the idea of milk coming out of there, and someone EATING from there still kind of grosses me out.

6. The Alternative Career Choice

No matter how ugly you are, if you have a great pair of knockers, you can have a few other career options waiting for you.

If you go bankrupt, if you get bored with your day job, if you want to earn a few extra bucks to buy that hot pair of stilettos. I’m just saying. There are options out there. (I am not however advocating for the use of The Girls in illegal dealings. Prostitution, oldest profession or not, is illegal in many countries yo)

7. The Pillows

Ever fallen asleep on a woman’s bosom? We all have. From our mothers, to our girlfriends or wives. There is no softer pillow on earth. Nuff said.

Yes, people actually make breast pillows. And sell them.

 

8. The Perfect Accessory

For those with an A cup – I’m sorry. But sometimes, nothing accentuates your killer outfit more than a perky pair of C’s. Or D’s. Or Double D’s. Lol.

9. Woman-hood

Yes, sometimes its good to have a physical reminder of the proverbial coming of age. Pedophiles and perverts are many.

10.  For the reader to fill in

Yes, I ran out of ideas. Lol.

 

By QQ

Originally posted here

Who Are We?

~~~~Welcome to our world!!

Meet the authors of Buxom Buddies.. As an introduction the girls decided to give you a little insight on what makes their erm pairs tick.. Check our About page to learn more about the blog. Thanks.

Enjoy ~~~~

Kawiria’s Succulent Twins

First of all thank God for the succulent twins *Amen*, who thought one
could actually have two healthy, juicy and attractive pointers placed
on our bare chest and fit perfectly. God was one hell-of-a-designer. I
mean the succulent twins basically are part of what defines us as
females.

I love my succulent twins, I always tend to believe they are the
perfect size, they fit inside the cup of his hand. And they look
beautiful, I like the dark shade at the apex of the pointer…so
artistic and yet so real. I can touch them at my pleasure *wink* they
are mine, they are sensitive yet so firm and tender.

The only time I tend to not like my succulent twins is when they have
a battle with hormones and decide to become itchy, as in seriously.
You wanna hide and itch, then compose yourself like nothing happened
#funnyasitsounds.I hate bras, I love my succulent twins free to breathe
fresh air, but they have to be imprisoned so that they don’t
misbehave, like get all stiff and pointed when it’s cold and cause
undivided attention of the wrong persons.

My succulent twins are part of me. They represent me and I them. I
always want them healthy, juicy and attractive.

Mawazo’s BreaStory:

I come from a family of seriously bReast women of ASSets-if you catch
my meaning-so having big guns is not a big deal. We could [and still]
easily borrow clothes across age sets and bloodlines-our men married
equally bReast women and were bReast with children.This has led me to
have to a detached relationship with ye ol’ ladies for most of my
life.They were just there.Nothing special really.Quite tricky to
handle sometimes.But for the most part…just…there.

Until the boyfriends came around then they were like [can I] ‘say hello to my
not-so-little friends’. Suddenly I started to think about what I wore;
nope too tight,too deep,too light *sigh*  I didn’t fall in love with
them, I just realized that may be it was they that had been attracting
attention all this time. So I carefully tucked them away or let them
look  frumpy,refusing to be judged based on how they were served up on
the days I opened up my mouth to yap about something important.But it doesn’t work does it??Men and their damned ability to stare any way and insert porn star appendages in a ‘spot the difference manner’.

So it was time to devise a new strategy..Operation [now that is a story
for another day] ‘Let the girls be’ so now I await to form a real bond
when they finally start to do useful things like actually become
‘mammary glands’…blergh!

Loco’s Toy Cars

Say hello to my little friends; Toyota and Corolla (yeah, blame the
unimaginative Ex for that one!)

What can I say, I was born with them, okay, I lie, they just sort of
popped out of nowhere in front of me when I was pubescent and I’ve
been following the perky little darlings ever since!

I love: That they are my tool for political incorrectness. Give them a
wonder bra and a low-cut blouse and they get up to all sorts of
mischief!

I hate: That they’ve taken a hard-line stance against weight gain.
Keep trying to tell them that they’d be more effective if they meloned
out a bit, but they refuse to listen!

No DNA testing needed, they’ve inherited their stubborn nature from
me. They are mine, the smooth bronze skin, the nipples too far apart,
the little jiggle when I jump, the boys wanting to see them in a wet
white tee… and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Yours,
Toyota, Corolla and Loco.

3CB vs Bras

I don’t have that much to say about tatas – which is a far easier word
than ribcage padding. Special thanks to Mr 3CB for that one. What I
really like about them is their volume. They’re all soft and cuddly
and mooshy … these things will elevate anything.

What I don’t like is the shopping. Have you tried getting a black
strapless under-wire bra for a pair of double dees on the cheap?
Especially when there’s a slightly higher peak form the guy on the
left? Pure torture. And don’t even get me started on bikinis.

Still, I love them. Wouldn’t trade them for … well .. I might
consider a trade for almond-milk-ice-cream. Lately I’m lactose
intolerant

BintiMswahilli’s Love Story

I love my boobs. I love looking at them, their shape, texture, colour;
just EVERYTHING about them. This is not normal you see, an average
woman, bombarded with the commercial version of beauty finds it very
hard to accept and love her body as it is. We spend hours on the
mirror lamenting on how everything is just NOT right! If my eyes
tilted just a bit and my nose was a little bit straighter, my hair
just a couple of inches longer life would be so much better. And it
would be awesome if my tummy wasn’t that thick and OMG do you see
those elephant thighs???

But with my boobs, ever since I stopped being embarrassed about being
the only girl with boobs in class 5 (early bloomer), I haven’t found a
single thing wrong with them. To me they’re perfect. This pleases me
immensely

And the thought of losing them terrifies me.

Joliea’s Buds

My boobies are my babies, love them to death…
Stuck out some time ago… hated them at first…
Then the boys liked them and I wondered why…
They came late and funny enough I didn’t mind it much…
Because, see, am different… but not complaining…
God knew why…

My boobies are my babies, love them to death…
Right now they’re not as big, not as small…
Those bras help a lot! Yet … can be such a bore…
But I love them all the same…
They so firm… and still continue popping!
And when am older…
I shall take even better care of them…

For my boobies are my babies, love them, till death!

*Joliea*

http://joliea.wordpress.com

Savvy wants Freedom!!

My boobies (sadly no boyfriend or toucher has nicknamed them yet, and I refuse to do the honours) were late comers. I went to form bra-less. I remember I just used to put on my shirt like that, no vest, no boobtop, nada. Then came from two and they became two little lumps, but by the time I was leaving high school I had a set of whooping C cups. Right now, they alternate between B cups and C cups, depending on my weight at the moment.

I love them mostly because I can’t imagine my life without them. They define my femininity. The few times am tempted to complain about them is when I just don’t feel like a bra but they bounce around a lot and sometimes I just ignore it and decide that’s maybe how they were meant to be.

Can you imagine not so long ago our grandmothers walked around topless and nobody complained. Sometimes a girl just wants to walk around free but I shall wait till I move out into my own house. While I live with other people, I shall cover up.

iCon says “Vote Boobies 2010″

Hold on. Let’s take a testosterone break. As I read all these ladies’ love letters to their significantly fluffier others, I begin to feel like maybe I owe my own chest some love. I had to look down and whimper heartfelt apologies to my pecs halfway through Binti’s blurb.

But on a more serious note, I adore boobies. Every sane man does. They were our sources of nutrition and our pillows in our most fragile hour. They were the shoulders we cried on before we could reach any reasonable heighted person’s shoulders. They were distractions throughout high school and magnets all through university. In adulthood, they serve multiple functions; ranging from thermometers and sex switches to muses and toys that make your friends’ jealous (provided they are sitting on your wife’s bosom) and so much more. Either way, there is a strong case to be made to keep breastses in office and keep re-electing them until… oh, wait. Wrong campaign.