My boyfriend has this fantasy he shared with me. He fondles this dream in his brain, turning it over and over in replay during masturbation and while I'm giving him head. It goes like this: He's lying on his back, a woman straddles him in her bra and underwear. She reaches around her back with her hands and unfastens her black bra. Her breasts emerge from behind the black lace, and gently let their weight fall below the fabric, revealing her nipples, tight and violently red. A moment, one pause, and he's there, pulling her down, down, farther, until his penis is nestled firmly between her full tits. He takes advantage of her generosity, and her good nature, and thrusts up and down until he comes on her neck, just under the chin. This is right about the moment that he grabs my head and banks his penis far down my throat. When he told me about this woman, he assured me she has no face.

What he doesn't realize, and what I've never said, is it's the breasts I'm a little jealous of. Particularly since I don't have any. Well, I have little ones; they don't fit an A cup, exactly, but almost. One afternoon, without the forgiving grace of night and dark, he asks if I will fulfill his fantasy and try letting him fuck my breasts. I'm horrified. I feel my round tomatoes reduce to cherry pops with just the suggestion. I know I can't do it, but he insists that we try.

I'm stuck. I try. I try it on top, pushing them so far together that I'm wrinkling my chest skin in the most unflattering way you can imagine - it reminds me of that fetal pig in biology class looks when you press the skin upward to slice the belly and the folds of skin gather under the front leg. I look, to myself, like an experiment in futility. I lose my balance when I lower myself to his penis because I'm on my knees straddling his hips and I have to use both hands to force the two brats together. They're so unwilling - I can feel the skin turning red, they're so mad at me. He frowns. Okay, he says, let's try me on top, but I already know the outcome - as any woman would - my breasts go even flatter when I'm on my back. He's determined. He's going to help, he says. Okay, I'll grab your left one with my hand and balance with my right, he offers. You take the right one and push. His head is up against the wall now, he ready for some sports action, but his penis only rubs against my rib cage. No actual breast contact is taking place. It obvious, at least to me, that it would take some extreme mechanical engineering, several clamps, and definitely some surgery to make this happen. He wants to try it laying on our sides, but my right breast disappears into the sheet and there's no coaxing it out again. I finally end it. It can't be done, I say firmly. I can't do it. You have your fantasy, and that's what you have. Alright, he answers. He's disappointed. I'm disappointed. It's okay, he says. I'm unsure. My chest is sunken, my small breasts hate me. I hate them. We're not getting along. It's going to take a new boyfriend to make them feel better. Great! My breasts answer. Get a new one - we don't like this one anyway.

My boyfriend's fingers reach up, his hands cup my shy little cherry pops, and he pulls my body down to his mouth. He kisses each of my nipples. They rise to kiss him back. He wets his fingers in his mouth, and runs the liquid around my wide areolas. The nipples are generous, taut, and violently red. He buries his face between my breasts and kisses my chest bones gently. We have sex. He is forgiven.

All Personal Breast photos by Robyn Eden.