by Anya Ubermole

Related: Another Redux Story
Lizz Sexychyck's Breast Reduction

I've had a breast reduction. Yep, I had big boobs. Huge boobs. Each cup of my bra would have made a nicely-sized hat.

I also had, like most women with disproportionately large breasts, back problems. Now, aside from the fact that chronic pain isn't the greatest aphrodisiac in my book, I am at a loss to see why so many men are so fascinated by big boobs. (Is it like when a cat dribbles and sucks on your jumper because it was weaned too young? Some deep-seated Oedipal tendency? Or perhaps a bovine fetish?)

After years of back pain, I decided to have 'em lopped down. The plastic surgeon explained that this wasn't a cosmetic operation—there would be considerable scarring and I might lose some feeling in my nipples. Hell, you could stick a pin in my nipples pre-op and I wouldn't have felt it, so what did I have to lose? When he left the room, I discreetly asked the nurse about his abilities and she reassured me that "his wife has lovely breasts." OK, bring on the scalpel, matey.

It's a major and pretty messy operation—equivalent table-time and recovery to heart surgery. And a pretty big financial investment too. But heartened by the thought of being able to buy off-the-shelf lingerie, I boldly leapt in.

Waking up to the first sight of my own toes in many years was a bit of a shock. When the bandages finally came off, my (ex) partner's "Frankentits" comments were a little unsettling too. But worse was to come when finally I was up and about and went out in public. For one thing, people who knew me made comments like "Have you lost weight?" to which I snappily hissed, "Yeah, two pounds off each tit."

And then there was the issue with strangers. They were all suddenly staring me out. It was scary. At first I put it down to a little post-op paranoia, but it seemed to be persisting. I have since discovered that this behavior is called "eye-contact" and is a perfectly normal part of interpersonal communication, and not intended to be threatening. I also discovered than my IQ had jumped at least ten points overnight—at least in other people's perception.

The back pain didn't go instantly—I needed physio to readjust my old posture, but within about six months the impact of the op finally hit. No pain, less scarring and newly single, I started to enjoy my new breasts. After years of trying to hide them, now I was wearing push-up bras for a big night out and actually ENJOYING guys perving at my perky new boobs. Suddenly I was in control of projecting my sexuality when I wanted to, instead of feeling like guys were always fixating on my boobs in inappropriate situations (like, say, at work).

I've spoken to a number of other women who have had the same op, and they've all said that it was the best decision they ever made. Men usually pretend to agree with the idea, but you can see that deep down they think it's almost sacrilegious. Yeah, well, it's not like they ever had to lug 'em round all day. The ones who disturb me, though, are women who have quite normal-sized breasts themselves but say "you could have given them to me!" The thought that anyone would be willing to take on a life of chronic pain for the sake of being treated like a dumb passive sex-cow shocks my socks off.

And as for getting a breast enlargement because your boyfriend suggests it? Don't get me started!