Approximately over 3.8 million girls have undergone breast ironing worldwide. This is the custom where a young girl’s breasts is massaged using hot pestles, stones and other objects in attempt to prevent them from developing. This is done to decrease the attractiveness of the woman and hence, ward off male advances.
It’s weird right? Like pretty weird.
Not that I have a perverted mind,
But my roommate has never changed in my presence.
Not even casually removing her shirt
When the sweltering heat stifles our room.
Not that I want to see her tits.
I just find it a little weird that
she always excuses herself to the bathroom to change.
And guess the other strange thing?
Every time I bare my bouncing breasts,
Her eyes become fixated on everything except my breasts.
Not that I want her to look at them,
But it is a bit weird, or?
Each day, I watch my carefree roommate
bare her rounded, brown, bosom
without a second thought
Whenever she changes her outfits.
I envy her.
I wish I was like her.
Tears stain my silky cheeks,
As memories of heated stones and pestles
Rips through my mind.
My mother meant well,
But her actions…
she heated either a stone or a pestle
And massaged my breasts,
With no thought of the scalding heat.
Apparently, without any breasts,
No men would disturb me,
And then I could avoid being raped,
And concentrate on my schooling.
So no, I can’t ever show my roommate my breasts.
Or else, she would see the scars that
are engraved on my chest.
I am not ready for the questions.
Not only does my body need to heal,
But my emotions and thoughts as well.
My name is Fidele,
And I am a victim of breast ironing.