Callie’s breasts didn’t explode onto the scene until she became a sophmore in college. Not that she missed them. Her older sister, an athlete, hated her boobs and kept them mashed to her muscled chest by wearing sports bras two sizes too small. Callie’s younger sister loved boobs. She’d started in a training bra at age nine. Everyone, including Callie, knew there wasn’t a thing inside that tiny bra but wishful thinking. She’d teased her sister about it but only until she caught her doing a serious Britanny Spears impersonation in front of the mirror. By age fourteen, her sister had graduated from training bras into a 34C cup and was training for an American Idol audition.
Callie never obsessed about her breasts. She understood that whatever boob destiny her genes provided her she’d live with it. Two girls in her high school had their breasts enlarged, at much expense and with much talked about agony, and Callie could not comprehend their reasoning. Or lack there of, as she finally concluded.
Still, more than anything in the world, Callie wanted to be an opera singer. And, as a realist and a pragmatist, she knew that for anyone dreaming of life on the stage, possession of nice, noticeable boobs was essential. Only her diary knew about her really small, rather inconsequential worry, for she played her doubt close to the vest- no pun intended. And, as a true pragmatist, Callie gave blessed thanks for a pretty voice, a serious mental attitude and a devout motivation to that voice since the hefty boobs stayed well out of the picture.
Callie began voice lessons at six years old with the woman who led the church choir. She could mimic Mrs. Wilford’s mournful, quavering notes long before she even knew what a vibrato actually was. Callie mimicked everything with her versatile voice, bird songs, country western twangs, operatic scales and, just to torment her younger sister, Brittany Spears. Mrs. Wilford dropped her like a hot rock when at fourteen, Callie developed the loveliest vibrato in the entire choir. For two years, she studied with Mr. Devon, who played a badly tuned piano and sang in the same key. Senior year she met Greta. Greta was an exchange student from Germany and she had a perfect ear, a perfect vibrato, perfect tone and of course, perfect breasts. Thank god, Greta also had a perfectly congenial personality. When she heard Callie’s voice behind her that first day in choir, her head whipped around and she insisted Callie join her for voice lessons twice a week in the city. Callie got one job and then another to pay for lessons with Greta and Alonzo Gravetti, an Italian trained tenor. Callie’s concern over breasts vanished behind the wonder, the miraculous experience of training with Alonzo. By graduation Callie had a scholarship for the university music department. Alonzo Gravetti took Greta’s beautiful voice, and perfect boobs, off to Italy.
Callie’s voice might have been the wonder of two counties back home but in the university music department, it was as average and unspectacular as her flat chest. Not one to despair, Callie looked elsewhere for fulfillment and entertainment. A boy with purple hair in freshman English talked her into auditioning for a play, even helped her find an audition piece. The play was an Italian farce and Callie’s operatic voice, hammed to the max, got her a small part. Callie’d found a life, her true life, on the stage at last. She discovered that acting came as naturally as the mimicking she’d done growing up. She transferred to the theater department and continued to get small, comedic roles where her voice played almost as big a part as her body.
Then the miracle happened. Fall semester sophomore year, Callie’s boobs burst onto the scene. People started complimenting her on more than her voice. She’d become the sudden and proud owner of perfectly beautiful breasts and no one hesitated to tell her so. She was cast as the ingenue in a Moliere play, another period farce, and the costumer nearly swooned over creating the perfect whale bone corset to display Callie’s perfectly presentable breasts.
Callie’s breasts played front and center the entire show and, being a realist and a pragmatist, Callie made the most of them. The audience sat on the edge of their seats, entranced, as the breasts strained and heaved in exaggerated desperation when the ingenue swooned in her lover’s arms. Men sweat and women held their breaths as the breasts bulged to the point of bursting above the corset when the ingenue arched herself back over the balcony to avoid the lecherous villain. Callie’s breasts played their part to perfection. They might of busted loose a dozen times but always stayed coquettishly confined.
Needless to say, Callie’s breasts stole the show. And next audition, she got a bigger and better part playing the audacious, free spirited heroine wanted by dozens of men.