I’ve been thinking about what dating will be like without breasts. Not that dating WITH boobs is a walk in the park, but I suppose I’m worried about limiting my dating pool when potential partners discover my body sans boobs. Who can blame a man, really? Boobs are wonderfully attractive. I’m a straight middle-aged woman and I LOVE a great set of tits. A woman with beautiful curves is a sexy woman, in my opinion.

I never lacked in the boob department. I had fantastic, big boobs. I loved them, my friends loved them, and men in my life loved them. I remember when I was a newlywed and my mother-in-law, in her chipper tone advised, “If you’ve got them, flaunt them!” I was never a woman who flaunted her breasts. Even my mother tried to get me to wear low-cut tops more often. My senior year of high-school the boy who had a locker next to mine put his hands on my shoulders, looked at my chest and exclaimed, “Melissa! I’ve watched you grow through the years!”. He was a friend and we had the same last name so we shared the same commons space all through high school. Indeed, he did watch me grow!

I didn’t hide my curves, but I didn’t show them off much either. Turtlenecks and loose tops were my standard. I regret that now. If I had known I would lose my breasts at the age of 46 I would have entered armature night at the local strip club a long time ago. I would have strapped myself into a demi-cut, push-up bra for a girls-night-out. No shame. Just unabashed voyeurism. Womanhood in all of its glory. (Who am I kidding? I wouldn’t be caught dead swinging from a pole.) What I would have done is used my breasts to elicit a bit more feminine prowess.

While it is true that I didn’t expose my cleavage as much as I could have, my sexual identity revolved around my boobs. The problem is that I didn’t realize this until they were gone. The door to my sexual self, resided under my shirt. I placed so much value on them – my value as a woman. Yes, there were times I was annoyed with my big, laborious chest. They made buying clothes very difficult. They made me look fat in photos. They would get very sore during menstruation. After children and with age they changed. Still, I loved that part of my body and occasionally, so did others. In rare moments, there were times that a man would look at me like a dish of ice cream just waiting to be devoured. I will never forget a man bravely telling me I had “fat tits”. It sounds so vulgar, but to him it was a compliment. I tossed my hair and playfully thanked him. I worry I’ll never be looked at like a dish of ice cream again.

This process of going flat is about self-love. I am learning to throw caution to the wind and take this risk. I am not doing this for the approval of others, for a man’s love. No, I am doing this for me. This is truly the most empowering moment in my life.