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The Backpage: Are breasts getting bigger or is it just me?

Mar 05, 2016

I’d noticed the phenomena myself but a magazine story I’d read recently gave me courage to mention it.

“I see breasts are getting larger,” I said to my wife, holding up the article to indicate that this was not a personal observation but a legitimate conclusion reached by independent parties.

“The bra makers are having to make larger sizes,” I said. “Fascinating,” she replied and there I wisely let the matter rest.

I was reminded, however, of the Aussie Girls Get Bigger story some days later when we boarded a plane for a three hour flight.

We were in aisle seats opposite each other and once seated realised that because we were in front of the emergency exit, our seatbacks didn’t recline.

Nor were the headrests adjustable and as a result, protruded into my back at a point several centimetres below my shoulders which meant that I was forced to sit tilted forward, unable to assume a position even remotely comfortable.

The seats beside me, at least, were empty but we were still loading and I knew this happy condition could not last.

I was right and a few minutes later, I saw proceeding down the aisle incontrovertible proof that Aussie girls were indeed getting bigger.

They were twentyish, probably sisters and both preceded by breasts which protruded before them like twin airships.

“Please Lord,” I moaned. “Not here,” but my prayers went unanswered and as the airships reached row 13 they stopped, swayed and pivoted slowly to the right where they hovered above seat 13C, swinging over my head in the non-existent breeze.

So I wriggled out of my seat and into the aisle and then edged back as the owner of the first pair heaved a bag into the overhead locker.

Her breasts swayed upwards with this effort, gaining altitude, bouncing off the locker and all but hauling her head first into her seat with their downward momentum.

Her companion followed, launching another bag into the locker before reversing into her seat like a truck into a loading bay.

I slid back into mine and as I did, was aware of a vast white expanse to my left.

I took a quick glance and was greeted with the sight of a rippling sea of flesh, for both women had removed the loose fitting tops they had been wearing and were now resplendent in deeply scooped singlet tops from which they threatened to escape at any moment.

It occurred to me that if we hit any turbulence they’d be on the loose, bouncing around the cabin like rubber watermelons.

So I sat there, hunched forward with the headrest lodged in my spine, surrounded by Big Bertha and her sister Equally Big Bertha beside me.

My wife had been observing all of this and I turned to her with a pleading look on my face.

“How about swapping seats?” I implored. “I’m fine just here. Enjoy the flight. You should get quite a view from that seat,” she said straight-faced.

I knew what was coming next and I was not to be disappointed. While it is traditional to communicate using speech, some people prefer the monosyllabic grunt to indicate their intentions.

So it was that 20 minutes into the flight, the female beside me suddenly hauled herself to her feet and started climbing over me.

“Ummph!” she grunted, cave-speak for: “Excuse me, I need to visit the toilet. Could you let me out?”

“Wait,” I cried. “I’ll move” but my words were drowned beneath the avalanche of flesh which engulfed me as I tried to exit my seat.

Her sister followed her, my cries for help muffled by mammaries. I think I lost consciousness at one point and have had nightmares ever since. It was a very long flight.