By Kendra Holliday | February 11, 2018
When I was 19, I was a stripper.
My job was to get really close to men and arouse them. Their job was not to touch my breasts or genital area.
I did my job well, but they often tried sneaking a feel of the forbidden areas.
Sometimes they touched and I was badly surprised, and other times I could see them creeping toward the breasts, and I would tense up and cringe and try and deflect their fingers.
For nine months, I had hundreds of men grab my breasts and tweak/pinch my nipples without my consent.
When I finally quit there, my breasts were so traumatized that they couldn’t be touched for three years. If they were, it felt like an electrical shock.
Over time, I got a little better, but my breasts were still very sensitive and had to be handled with utmost care.
Then, when I was 27, I gave birth and breastfed for a year. I was SOO dreading breastfeeding, but was determined to do it for a year. My breasts swelled from A’s to D’s – they were swollen and engorged, with blue veins like highways.
The first six weeks were hell – it hurt so bad. My nipples were raw, red, chafed. Then I started getting used to all the latching, and tugging and pressure, but then I got a series of breast infections – mastitis, thrush, then mastitis again. Red, plugged ducts, feverish, itching, sharp, needle-like pain…
My breasts got brutalized!
Finally, when my daughter turned one, I cut her off, and the next two weeks were awful. I asked my doctor if there was anything I could do to speed up the process of closing up the milk shop, but she said, no, just ice and ibuprofen.
Years later, my breasts were mine again, but they weren’t an erogenous zone for me. Not only did I have all that painful baggage, but they were very small, almost all nipple, and more than one man mocked them, telling me I needed a boob job.
I grew to HATE MY BREASTS. They were a source of pain and shame.
Then, in the past ten years or so, I started filling out and gaining weight. My breasts swelled into lovely handfuls, and I was determined to make them more of an integral part of my sexuality.
After all, a victim allows their past to dictate their current actions, and I was allowing all those creepy men who pawed at me to hold my breasts hostage.
A survivor is someone who takes their past, and builds off of it to become stronger.
I reminded myself that my breasts were fucking MAGIC. They fed and grew a human being. They mesmerized people. They gave others pleasure, and I wanted them to be pleasurable for me, too!
So I trained with my partner. I found things that worked. I paid attention to my moods and desires.
I learned to love cupping, caressing, gentle squeezing, and sensual sucking that created jolts of pleasure right down to my pussy. He likes to call himself my “Nipple Whisperer.”
HA! I love it.
I found that, while I could endure tweaking and pinching, it didn’t give me pleasure. It did NOT arouse me, it just irritated me. And FUCK NO to biting, nipple clamps or piercings!
So, I always let play partners know upfront how to handle my breasts. Yay for communication!
A few of them pay attention to my words and treat them well, and turn me on.
But most, I am sorry to say, disregard my instructions and go ahead and tweak and twiddle and grope and pinch and whap at them like a cat toy.
I don’t get it! Does that turn THEM on? Because it doesn’t turn ME on! It’s like they can’t help it – it’s irresistible – they’re under a boobie spell.
If someone told me they didn’t like having their balls squeezed, but then I went ahead and did it anyway, wouldn’t that be rude and thoughtless?
And while I’m at it, I will also state for the record that I don’t like being dry finger banged. I don’t know what woman does, but the two biggest things men do wrong with my body is treat it like a video game – tuning in Tokyo, and slammin’ n’ jammin’.
Men – I like being warmed up. You can get me wet by kissing, paying attention to other parts of my body, or by spitting on your fingers, or by going down on me, or by lubing up your fingers. Put away your hard hat and go slow!
Vigorously jamming your fingers into my dry vagina as far as they will go and banging away will NOT prime my pump. It HURTS. If I do get wet, it will not be because I’m aroused, but because my body is trying to defend itself.
So! There you have it. Those are some things I do and don’t like.
What about you? What do you like and don’t like? What turns you on? What turns you off?