Come around and listen while I spin a tale of terror. This is a true story, as no names will be used, none have been changed. Unlike my normal "let's have fun and be silly" column, this one is in deadly earnest.

There is a young lady that I am acquainted with; she is now about 32 years old. When she was about 28 years old, she was the definition of voluptuous. She was 5' 9", maybe 145, with a narrow waist and a large full butt, and she wore a G cup bra. We are friends, but only in a most casual sense of the words; I see her maybe for a few moments, a few times each week. We have never had any form of romantic involvement or physical contact. (Why do I suddenly feel like Bill Clinton?)

In those years ago, she confided in me that she was dissatisfied with her chest. Not from a pain issue, as much from cosmetic and society issues. She was paying $45 apiece for bras, and had difficulty finding clothes. Worse yet was the fact that her co-workers made snide comments about her chest, and that away from the job she was victimized by constant ogling. She did not dress to show her figure off. She dressed very conservatively. To look at her, you would guess she probably was a large D, but would have no idea she was a G cup unless you looked very closely, or were aware of her secret. There were days, though, that it was just too hot for baggy clothes. On those days, there were no doubts as to her true size, and those were the days she dreaded most. She had no special dislike of men based on their actions, because the women were equally repugnant to her in the manner they became catty when she was around. All this simply because a girl had genetics that formed her body.

She had grown to a G cup over the years. She started developing when she was 13, and it wasn't until the age of 25 that her growth had stopped. She was having minor pain with her back, but that was under control; it was more the way society reacted to her tits that caused her pain.

She told me, those years ago, that she wanted to have a reduction. Though my inner voice said "NO WAY", mine was the voice of compassion, I told her she must think fully about her situation, and then do what is right for her. I told her that I could not live her life for her, nor could I understand the special problems she had in her life. I did say that I found her size very exciting and erotic. I did say that if she thought a smaller chest would make her fit in better with the people that made fun of her, she was seeking surgery to make them happy. If that was the case, then surgery could never make her happy because she was trying to please others and not herself. I went on to say that no matter what she chose to do, it would not effect our friendship. I added that this was a permanent change, and she should not make a quick decision in order to fit in. She said it was not a quickly made decision, and that she had asked others that had this type of surgery done. These others were all very happy with their results and greatly recommended the surgery.

She opted to have the surgery. My new "tiny" friend came back from the surgeon as a D cup. They had removed 20 lbs from her chest. She looked remarkably younger! That was very surprising to me. She also could buy off the rack and was very pleased with the results. Pleased and unaware that she was a ticking time bomb.

The bomb exploded about four months later. You see, she had lost 20 lbs from her chest and had not changed her eating habits, nor had she been advised to change her eating habits. The human body stabilizes at a certain weight, based on how much one eats. That 20 lbs of breast from her chest was mostly fatty tissue; tissue she had lost forever, that never again would hold fat or be at that location. Four months later, that 20 lbs was back, and not on her chest; those fat cells were gone. The 20 lbs were back on her waist, on her thighs, on her stomach, and in a lovely cottage cheese effect on her ass. She had lost all of her curves and now was simply a square, plump woman.

What do you do, when your own actions destroy your figure? You either fight back and lose the weight, or after a life of abuse, and an attempted fix, you just fall into depression, give up, and eat more. My friend did the latter, and now has gained maybe 60 pounds in total. She has no curves; she has no ogling; she does have the laughter of the thin girls, and the sympathy of the fat ones like her. She is still my friend, and I support her any way a friend can; but inside I hurt for her. Her own sadness is evident on her face.

The lesson of this tale of horror? Perhaps, with the knowledge of what happened to my friend, you can pass it on to save your own friend? Perhaps we really do need to look at the way busty women are treated in society?

This has been a true story. It's not very happy; real life gets like that.

Bad Irving