Believe it or not, before it became all I ever really thought about and started a blog in their honour, I’d never really been that fussed about my boobs.
I did spend my early teens longing for something! As a late developer, they didn’t show up for a while, and when they did, I was small anyway so they too, were small. Alongside occasionally being referred to as an ironing board, I realised I had to work a little harder on my personality and accepted them for what they were.
During my 20’s, as an exercise nut I actually enjoyed having small boobs. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t wear a proper sports bra for years, even during my training for the Berlin marathon. It wasn’t until afterwards I realised that gravity hits even the most modest of boobs.
But as the date when I will part with my boobs for eternity looms ever closer, I’ve realised that as boobs go, I’ve been blessed with pretty decent mammary glands that have served me well for the past 33 years. And on this realisation, I begin to wonder how I’m going to remember these things.
It was Mr F who last week suggested I get some nudie shots done. Black and white, arty and tasteful, but nudie shots all the same. It seems it didn’t take much convincing and I contacted my lovely and talented photographer friend, GM and asked him if he might be able to fit in a photo shoot before the chop.
A look at my Facebook page may imply that I’m a big fan of the camera, but I promise the opposite is true. Unless I have a chance to turn to the side, dip my chin and plaster a cheesy smile, I’m not interested. It is with this feeling I turn up at the studio, more nervous than I feel about the actual operation.
GM shows me some examples of some amazing shots of very arty looking boobs in soft lifting and black and white, and without a second to spare, I’m down to my briefs and the shoot is on (vomit).
My lovely photographer friend is very good and puts me at ease taking a few shots with my arms strategically placed and subtle portrait shots. As we progress I feel like I’m on a turn table as I gradually turn from one side of the room to the other.
After about 5 minutes it’s actually less confronting than you’d think. I can’t see GM’s face as I’m looking at a camera-lens, and let’s face it, what have I got to lose? My boobs? Oh right, we’ve already got that covered.
After 30 minutes I have a new-found respect for models. My body has been contorted in all sorts of holds, my hips feel like an 80 year old and I’m a little sweatier than I’d like to be. It’s not dissimilar, I imagine, to topless yoga.
At about 40 minutes GM tells me to freestyle, which I’m really not that comfortable with. I dig deep to try and to will my inner Jordan to make an appearance. She apparently has another engagement so I just move a little more than I was previously and hope for the best.
After an hour’s shoot I’m tired, hot and not anywhere near as self-conscious as I was when I walked in the room. GM shows me some pre-airbrushed shots and quite frankly I’m bowled over. I don’t look that bad and I now have a living memory of my two, soon to be departed friends, for the rest of my life.
Whatever the sacrifices, my current situation has pushed me out of my comfort zone a trillion times over and today was something I never ever thought I’d do in my entire life. Am I going to post my pictures online? Definitely not. Am I going to blow up one of the shots and hang it in the living room? It’s unlikely. But am I grateful that I will have some beautiful shots to help remember my boobs? Absolutely!