A writer’s life is hard. No one will really dispute this fact, but what the female erotica writers don’t tell you is that it’s even more difficult to write if your bra doesn’t fit right.
Yes, you heard me right. Writing suffers when bras are ill-fitted.
I’m sure you’re dying to know my story about bras and how it’s intimately hooked to my keyboard, so here goes…
Yesterday I received a box I’d been waiting on for a damn near-full week. I bought three bras that cost me nearly two hundred bucks. Outrageous! I have never paid this much for bras in my life. I was fed up with crappy Target bras that never really fit my 40DD needs. I bought three from Target last year, and one of them—my favorite traitorous bra—decided to let the underwire poke out from under my right arm pit. It wasn’t just chafing, it was pinching, and the worst part was when I was trying to write on my netbook I had to keep shifting away from my laptop to get comfy.
How dare my bra turn against me and my breasts and my writing? I was pissed off for a few days that it had tanked on me. Seriously—there’s no way to express how frustrated I was. So, after a week of denial that my bra was unsalvageable, I went online to look up said bra and buy myself three more replacements. Only… for the first time ever, Amazon didn’t have it. No one did. Was it discontinued? Did I buy a prototype that was never fully manufactured or what? I have no idea, but no one had this particular bra. I even went onto European websites thinking they would be progressive and understand my plight, other than the eternal boob sweat I must suffer through as a Phoenician.
Oh no! The European’s were not helpful. They didn’t understand what I needed either. What was I supposed to do?
Well, I braved a specialty website and found three bras that looked sturdy, pretty and writer worthy. I purchased them, and one of them was sixty dollars. I was sweating when I hit that purchase button. I’ve never in my life bought a bra over thirty-five dollars. It was time. It was time I treated my breasts to a treat, so I did.
Well, yesterday I tried those bras on. And damn it all—one of them gave me that sixties pointy-boobed look that makes me laugh hysterically. Oh, please no! The only look worse than that is the mono-bosom I read about in my historical eroticas from the early 1900’s in New York.
The second one I tried on—a nude colored bra, had the pokiest underwires between my cleavage I’ve ever felt. That sucker cost me forty-five dollars. No, no, no! Please, door number three—have the bra of my dreams.
I put the last one on, and guess what? It’s still not perfect, but it’s good. I finally sat yesterday comfortably at my computer, not writing mind you—even though I wanted to. I was doing marketing for Knots, and it didn’t hurt. Nothing was poking me. My chest was shelved away in my new contraption, and I was oblivious to it even being worn. That’s how my bra should be. It should be ignorant of my existence as well.
I’m still affronted my bras cost me more than dinner and a movie with hubs, but at least one of them loved my curves. A good bra I’ve come to learn is as important to my writing as my netbook. I can’t do it if I’m being poked and rubbed raw. And I can’t write if my netbook says no. Chanse loves BDSM the way her bra loves her breasts. All balance is restored in my household, and you can expect the smut to continue to flow.
Maybe someday I’ll start a female erotica writer’s bra support group, where their fans can help out. Instead of just sending fan mail and pics of hunky men’s rippling abs, they can do a web search for that author’s favorite hard to find bra.
Happy underwires to you all. May you be blessed with understanding bras and less boob sweat. Until next time, I hope you’ll have a good reading week. I’m still working my way through my turn of the century New York obsession with or without the mono-bosom corsets. It all goes well with my new bra.
And if you ever track down the Bali B547 40DD bra, I will kiss your feet and then give you a spanking like you’ve never had, because, dammit—how come I couldn’t find it myself?
Shopping for bras sucks, but at least now I've maybe bought myself another year before I have to be involved that treacherous effort again...