Gift Ideas for Busty Women

If you're anything like me, you have definitely not finished your Christmas shopping yet. Between you and me, I haven't even finalized my list! The silver lining is that I've purchased all of Beau's presents already!

Beau promises that he's already picked out my gifts, but I figure a few ideas for the future can't hurt. Besides, I can't be the only busty woman out there who wouldn't mind adding these presents to her wish list.

 

For your girlfriend/wife: I know sexy gifts are fun to give (and receive!), but busty women can't wear all lingerie styles. Instead of picking out a matching bra and panty set, or a lacy teddy, think about a loose nightie or sexy panties that match a plain black bra that she (hopefully) already has. Most busty women can't wear bras without trying them on first, and very few sexy sets come in our sizes. Teddies are built for more proportional women, so it's especially difficult for slim women with big boobs to wear. 

This red satin chemise doesn't have to fit a woman's breasts perfectly, and if the skirt part is a little loose, it will still be comfortable and flattering. Personally, I have three babydolls that I love because neither the bust nor the skirt need to fit perfectly.

For your daughter: Okay, so I'm slightly biased in this recommendation since my parents bought this for me as an early Christmas present when I was home for Thanksgiving. Beau and I have a beach vacation planned for this spring, so my mom bought me a nice new bathing suit for the occasion. If other parents are at all like mine, they worry about how much skin their daughters show at the beach or the pool. My mom finally realized that my body shape requires me to wear bikinis, however, so she's become very supportive (get it?) of me buying expensive, bra-style bikinis. At my favorite local bra boutique, I picked out this bandeau bikini by Cleo, and she happily bought it for me. If my fellow busty ladies are at all like me, then they don't have the money to buy a nice, well-fitting bathing suit that will last a good five years or more. I promise this gift will be well-received!

For your best friend: In the winter, scarves are accessories for everyone. Scarves also double as a cleavage-hiding accessory. I have definitely used scarves with my low-cut tops or dresses to hide my cleavage at work or at church. For the budget-conscious, Forever 21 has tons of cute, affordable styles, like this fun pink scarf. If your bestie loves Parisian style, you can't go wrong with a Pashmina. And if you live somewhere really cold like I do, check out all the hand-knit scarves on etsy!

Obviously I love all my Pashminas, all from Paris save one. The outlier is from Vienna.

Of course, some gifts are good for any busty woman in your life. I know gift certificates feel like a cop (a feel) out, but good bras, in correct sizes, are EXPENSIVE. Most of my bras are $50-70 each. Even just $15 to my favorite bra boutique would make a huge difference.

Another fun gift would be one of the Busty Girl Comics books. Paige "Rampaige" Halsey Warren created 300 comics, which are now available in three books. These collections are absolutely hilarious, and any busty woman would enjoy them.

I hope you found some shopping inspiration! If I am the busty woman in your life, email me for my mailing address. ;) I wouldn't say no to any of these presents!

Are you shopping for a busty woman this year? Are you a busty woman hoping to get any of these presents? Share your thoughts in the comments!

*None of these links are affiliate because I'm lazy and because I only do affiliate links for stuff I've tried out myself but mostly because I'm lazy.

The Panty-Grabber, Rape Jokes, and Vulnerability

The night after some creep stole my underwear, I went to Lauren's apartment to have dinner with her and Hardy. Wine in hand, we sat around while dinner simmered on the stove, and I told them all about my ordeal. Their response was just what I needed. They sympathized with me completely. They asked all the right questions. They were appropriately shocked and disturbed. 

After dinner, and several glasses of wine later, Lauren coined the phrase "panty grabber." We had been joking about several topics, and making the little "shame, shame" motions with our hands, when she did the gesture again, saying, "Tsk, tsk, panty grabber!" And I about died laughing. We started repeating it over and over (I mentioned the several glasses of wine, right?), and Hardy came in, completely bewildered. I'm sure he thought we were crazy.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

Bad comedians claim that any joke, no matter how offensive, should be okay to tell, because humor and free speech blah blah blah.

Average comedians think maybe some subjects shouldn't be used in jokes.

Good comedians know that any topic can be the basis for a joke, if done correctly. 

A good comedian can joke about rape. Unfortunately, bad comedians tend to be the ones mostly joking about rape, making assholes of themselves, and screeching FREE SPEECH as though they have a clue. 

If you ever want to joke about rape, Lindy West wrote an excellent guide to doing so. In a nutshell, joking about rape, or other offensive topics, is okay when the rapist, or rape culture, is the butt of the joke, NOT the rape victim.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

Vulnerability is not my strength.

I like to be strong. Independent. Confident. Carefree. 

I don't like feeling hurt. I don't like feeling scared, or unsure, or alone, or nervous. And if I do feel these things, I'd rather not anyone know. I'd rather come off as cold or indifferent or angry than admit I'm in pain.

But I'm trying. I've learned how to be vulnerable with Beau, and I have a few other close friends to whom I've opened up. I've written some vulnerable posts here, and I have it on good authority that they're among my best. 

I'm an eternal optimist. I'm all about the silver lining. So when I think about the panty-grabber, I prefer focusing on my ability to take this horrific event and write two blog posts about it.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

So what do the panty-grabber, rape jokes, and vulnerability have in common?

I was strong for the first few hours after my underwear was stolen. But then I broke down into tears over the ordeal. I was more composed when I saw Hardy and Lauren the next day, but I was still upset, and they validated my feelings.

First with Beau's support, and then with my friends' understanding, I felt better. My fear was real. My pain was real. My reaction to the situation was not a joke. But I still reached a point when I could laugh about it. 

Lauren unwittingly helped me with that by referring to the creep as the panty-grabber. Just that little, silly phrase removes his power over me. No, I don't plan on doing my laundry in my apartment building anytime soon, but I feel more like he's just a pathetic loser than a terrifying rapist-in-training. 

The panty-grabber tried to hurt me, but it turns out, the joke is on him. I have a drawer full of new sexy panties courtesy of Beau, and the women in this building are all now aware of the panty-grabber's existence. So the panty-grabber might have momentarily thrown me off-balance, but I've already repaired the damage and prevented him from any future thievery in this building. 

I'm still strong, hot, and awesome, and he's just a sad little creep who's destined to die alone.

A Man Violated Me Without Laying a Finger on Me

I'm writing this as I attempt to control my sobbing. I'm taking deep breaths and trying to focus on the words on the screen in front of me.

Someone stole my underwear from the laundry room of my apartment building tonight.

When I write it out, it seems silly. Like the plot of a book set at summer camp. Certainly nothing worth crying over. It's just clothes, right? I should be thankful the thief left my sheets and towels, right? It's just one of the hazards of using shared laundry facilities, right?

Except whoever stole my underwear left all the plain cotton ones. Whoever stole my underwear stole lacy, frilly, sexy pairs of underwear that I've worn to seduce my boyfriend. The thief took my favorite cheeky panties that make my ass look amazing. This creep stole almost my entire collection of pretty underwear, about $100 worth of lingerie.

I kept my cool for almost two hours. I emailed my building manager, I put a sign up in the laundry room, and I walked door-to-door for over an hour, questioning the tenants. I did everything right. I was cool, calm, and collected. I knocked loudly on the doors, I asked each tenant if he or she had done laundry around 5:15pm today, and I didn't cry. One tenant had retrieved her laundry at that time, and she described a man leaving as she approached. She had also noticed that the washing machine lid was open, and some clothes were in the sink next to it, both of which she thought was odd. Since I checked my laundry at 5:30pm, and both washers were closed, and no laundry was in the sink, I'm pretty sure it was that man who stole my underwear. Another tenant told me that she'd had bras, camisoles, and panties stolen from the laundry room in the past.

A man, who lives in the same apartment building that I do, stole my sexy panties.

I no longer feel safe in my apartment building. He didn't just steal my underwear. He stole my feeling of security.

I paused in writing this for about half an hour, during which I skyped with Beau, who encouraged me to fill out a police report. I've stopped crying now, but I cried for a good half hour before I get online, and then at least another fifteen minutes while talking to him.

My building manager emailed me back. On top of explaining the steps she is taking for this situation, she also validated my feelings. (Edited to remove personal information. Emphasis mine).

Again, I personally have had strange things happen

 to me in the past... and I know how  

victimized and violated it can make you feel.

Yes. That is exactly how I feel. I feel victimized and violated, two horrible feelings that I haven't felt in a long time. He didn't have to touch me or speak to me or even see me to violate me. By stealing something so personal, where I live, the thief violated me.

Now, anytime I run into a man in my apartment, I will be nervous. Alert. On edge. Was it him? Does he have my underwear? Am I safe?

Men are understandably upset when women treat them like potential rapists. But I was 12, at home, in my kitchen, the first time a boy violated my body. I'm in my 20s now, in my apartment building, and this is only the most recent of times a man has violated me. 

So if I'm extra-cautious around men I don't know,  

can you blame me?

Misbehaving and Making History

The fact that I'm blogging after getting less than seven hours of sleep and then working eight hours in the JCP salon just shows how motivated I am by Jenni's challenge to blog every day in May. Also, I get really annoyed by people who assume that everyone has the same sleep needs. You can make fun of my need to get eight hours of sleep every night when you have an incurable disease. Until then, shush. Finally, I was really tempted to put, "May the Force be with you" as my favorite quotation since today is May the Fourth, and everyone is hilariously tweeting "May the Fourth be with you." Also, one of my pet peeves is when people use the word quote, a VERB, when they mean quotation, a NOUN.
I have many favorite quotations. Some are biblical, like Galations 3:28 and Psalm 8:1-9. Others are song lyrics, like "Gonna dance until my feet can't feel the ground." But most of my favorite quotations, unsurprisingly, are by women and about women.

One of my pet peeves on twitter are misattributed quotations or worse--unattributed quotations. It's called google, people. Use it.

The second-to-last night with my three best friends in France, with our matching tattoos only 24 hours old.

I bet you thought Marilyn Monroe said that. Or Eleanor Roosevelt. I also bet you have no idea who Laurel Thatcher Ulrich even is.

If you're not well-versed in American women's history, then you don't really have a reason to know Laurel Thatcher Ulrich. On the other hand, I double-majored in history and French, and I concentrated (minored) in Women's and Gender Studies. Naturally my undergraduate courses led me to Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, a prominent historian of early American history and women's history.

When I was younger (read: pre-university), I didn't understand this quotation. I was very much your stereotypical goody-two-shoes who worked hard in school, held multiple leadership positions, attended church regularly, and genuinely got along with everyone. I took the opposite of "well-behaved" quite literally. Why would I misbehave? Why would I do something wrong?

Losing My (Sex Shop) Virginity

I look hot tonight.

I’m wearing my new Rock Revival jeans, a nice little bonus I received from my boss this week. Topped with a simple black button-down (with gathered elastic over the bust!) and accessorized with red wedges & a red necklace. Plus I’m actually wearing a touch of make-up: my roommate and our friend Sue* worked magic on my eyes, which I complimented with a hint of lip gloss.

The purpose of looking hot?

Feeling old enough to go to a sex shop.

Legally, I’ve been old enough for… awhile, to say the least. But I didn’t fully embrace myself as a sexual being until I finished undergrad (and moved to France), and I didn’t embrace my attraction to women until about a year ago (after two years of kissing women in France). So the idea of going to a sex shop has honestly only crossed my mind once or twice before tonight.

Seriously, the thought of it used to make me blush and stammer and try to joke like I wasn’t shocked, but my friends always saw through me.

Tonight, though, tonight, I became a woman.

Tonight, I lost my (sex shop) virginity.

*happy dance*

SteampunkTink and Sue had plans to go after work today. I had nothing going on, so my roommate invited me to join them. They were almost as excited for my first time as I was!

Confession: My sex shop virginity mirrored my real life virginity. As in, I had technically never been in a sex shop before tonight, but I had browsed a Good Vibrations catalog, researched different options at amazon, and, uh, enjoyed a toy or two or three.

Blogoversary: One Year of Anonymity

A year ago today, I composed my inaugural blog post, clad only in my favorite lingerie, with a fuzzy blanket wrapped around me. As I write my sixtieth post, I’m completely naked in bed, the same set of French lingerie somewhere on the floor from when the boyfriend removed it last night. I’m back in the same city where my blog was born, but instead of being a few weeks away from the end of my internship, I’m starting the next chapter of my life. Moving here is my last big move, until either the boyfriend & I get married (fingers crossed!) or until I move back to France to recover from my heartbreak (not bad for a contingency plan, right?).

It’s been a good year for Confessions of a Virgin.

I wrote a guest post for Therese at How to Lose Your Virginity… and then the boyfriend & I ended up doing an interview for her documentary.

I wrote an article under my own name at Curvy Girl Guide after having connected with Meredith on twitter as @belle_vierge.

I’ve made some blogger friends, like Lauren at Our Crazy Ever After and Ashley at Chickadette. I’ve made some twitter friends, like my #bookends, @MrsJGatsby and @theycallmeivy. I’ve even made some twitter/blog crossover friends, like @Classy_in_KC

I joined Twithouse, a twitter organization of ambitious co-ed and post-grad women.  Even after the recent scandal, I’m still proud to be a member, and I still love the other women in the group.

I’ve received comments, emails, and DMs from virgins who relate to my posts. I’ve received comments, emails, and DMs from non-virgins who have admitted my blog has changed their perspective on virgins and virginity.

My pseudo-anonymous identity has given me the freedom to be raw and honest. To admit I’m a sexual being, even if I’m not engaging in coitus. To share my thoughts on sex and virginity. To write without fear of judgment. To open up about my sexual assaults. To advocate for women’s rights.

Writing a (mostly) anonymous blog has resulted in some of the most personal writing I’ve ever done. It’s so much realer than any of my previous work.

And yet it has only been a half-truth, at best.

A Tale of Two Nerds in Two Cities

So I kinda want to talk about love and sex and Valentine's Day and all that good stuff. But with this whole "moving to Canada" thing looming over me, I don't know if I'll have the time to write out a beautiful, funny, thought-provoking post of my usual brilliance.

Instead, I'll do a little something different. A picture post!

For all you lonely singles out there, take comfort in knowing this is how some of us in relationships will be spending the holiday.

Trying out my V-Day prezzie from the boyfriend!

I am completely and totally serious when I say that cool little things that let me use my smart phone outside in the cold are WAY better than roses or chocolate. #nerdromance

Watching Glee with my oldest child!

Nothing says love quite like watching the super-special Valentine's Day episode of my FAVORITE SHOW OF ALL TIME with my oldest child. Who else just melts when they watch this video? #aupairlife #Glee

Skype date with the boyfriend... with new lingerie. #longdistancesolutions

Seriously, it's going to be like any other Tuesday night when I get a little worked up watching Glee, and the boyfriend enjoys the benefits via skype. I just happened to buy a new bra & panty set. And before you start judging me and thinking my choice is pretty vanilla, let me remind you that my boobs are probably bigger than yours (or your girlfriend's), and my band size is probably smaller. Finding lingerie stores that carry my size are very difficult (the smiling salesperson at Victoria's Secret this summer hadn't even heard of my size). I look hot in this. And it actually gives me the support I need. Win-win.

I was going to send the boyfriend a handmade card, and an assortment of candy, and a loofah,* but then he spontaneously visited me this weekend. He distracted me from making him a card and buying him candy... But he did take the loofah back home with him! Score!

*His is this ancient, falling apart rag of a loofah. So I bought him a new one. It's just a little thing, but seriously, his old one was soooo torn up.

The (Almost) Naked Truth

Confession.

I love being in just my bra and panties.

I love the freedom of movement. No form-fitting waistband of jeans or work slacks. No limbs tangled in a skirt. No tripping over unhemmed pants. No worries about hiding flaws or emphasizing assets.

I love how I look. My underwear works with my body instead of against it. It's designed to fit closely to the skin, to be unnoticeable underneath clothes. It works with my natural curves. I have a soft, curvy, but very proportional body. When I wear clothes, I have to hide my belly. The wrong outfit gives the illusion of being fat, or worse, pregnant. In just my bra and panties, my curves are all display. My man friend recently told me I have a beautiful, classic figure, and frankly, I have to agree.

For me, it's not about being sexy, although it can be about that too. It's about being comfortable. Most of my underwear is not sexy. It's cute, it's colorful, but overall, it's comfortable. I wear it for me, not for anyone else.

Not wearing clothes is about me too. I'm single—I'm not prancing around for some guy. I just prefer not wearing clothes.

As I write this, I'm curled up in bed (it's way past my bedtime), wearing a light fuchsia bra with black panties adorned with hot pink bows and polka dots. Totally full-coverage bra and panties (my bikini is more revealing). You can't see anything inappropriate. I'm super-comfortable—this is what I'm wearing to bed—but I think I look just the teeniest bit sexy too.

I miss having Underwear Hour with my roommate.

Inaugural Post

As I write this inaugural post, I'm curled up on my couch with a fuzzy blanket wrapped around me, a necessary shield against the cold. I blame too much AC and my Diet Coke with Lime. Then again, I'm clad only in a lacy bra and matching panties purchased at Darjeeling, my favorite lingerie store in France. That could be it too. (My aversion to clothes coupled with immodesty about my body has resulted in a clothing optional rule in my apartment). My hair is a mess, a wild tangle of untamed curls spilling over my shoulders. My makeup from last night is slightly smudged, inadvertently giving me the appearance of smoldering eyes. If you saw me last night, letting this attractive gentleman buy me drinks and attempt to teach me how to play pool, and then saw me again as I am right now, you'd probably think I'm glowing from post-coital contentment.

I'm a virgin, so you'd be incorrect.

Surprised? Most people are.

Virgins are prudes, right? Cold, frigid, averse to anything resembling a vice. They wear turtlenecks, not cleavage-baring tops. Aside from the occasional glass of wine with dinner or celebratory champagne on special occasions, they never drink. They certainly never drink beer, and heaven forbid they get drunk! They attend church every Sunday and Wednesday. If they weren't home-schooled, then they certainly attended a religious school. They never kiss on a first date, and G-rated making out is reserved for serious relationships only. Maybe they're fat. Or ugly. Or secretly a lesbian, but too religious to be comfortable with homosexuality. Clearly something is wrong with them, or they would have had sex by now!

Admit it. You believe at least one of the above ideas about virgins, if not all of these stereotypes.

This is why I'm starting this blog. I'm a 20-something year old virgin, by choice, not by circumstance, and I want the world to realize that we're not freaks of nature.

Subsequent posts will tackle various stereotypes about virgins, will tell some wild stories from my past (and present), will profile (anonymously) some of my other virgin friends, and who knows what other fun things I'll decide to share.

Welcome to Confessions of a Virgin. 

I just want to go back to Paris to buy more lingerie.