Romance writer Chloe Thurlow

Literary romance

A Short History of Breasts

Breasts were first sighted in the 1950s with exponents such as Marilyn Monroe and Brigitte Bardot bringing them under the public gaze. Their prominence reached its peak with the DD revelations of the English actress Diana Dors, placing breasts at the heart of the culture ever since.

Breasts had been a closely guarded secret during the Victorian era, the Depression of the 1930s and the war that followed in the coming decade. Their appearance was more a revelation than a discovery, and the exposure in newsreels and photographs was widely welcomed.

Breasts have become the staple of TV commercials, newspapers, magazine covers and can be observed larger-than-life-size on the sides of London buses. Breasts are everywhere, so many pert breasts with erect nipples I imagine the marketing men like Oedipus must be tempted to pull their own eyes out with sheer overload. If there is another image to call upon to shift toothpaste, cars, breakfast cereal, earth-diggers, holidays in Dubai, well, they haven’t found it yet.

Breasts in History

Breasts have been popular all through history. Depictions of Aphrodite, Helen of Troy, Cleopatra and the divine maidens adorning Hindu shrines and Greek temples have all been provided with eye-catching breasts by artists in paint, clay and marble. The Madonna, not to be confused with our very own Madge, is not averse in icons to exposing a flash of milky white breast as she nurses the infant Jesus.

When the peasants cried out in the French Revolution that they had no bread, Marie Antoinette famously said: Let them eat cake. She was found guilty in 1793 of ‘incest and organizing orgies at Versailles.’ She stood, corsets tightened in the dock, breasts shiny as two buttery brioche. I’m certain the judge would have enjoyed burying his head in those downy mounds, but he sent her to the guillotine because beautiful breasts are a joy and an affront to those who would like to get their hands on them and can’t.

Men love breasts. They suckle on them as babies They breathe in the scent of lactating females and the fragrance is an addiction that lasts until they are decrepit old men still lusting after virgins, as we know from Death and the Maiden.

Girls become fascinated by their breasts as they rise like cup cakes from flat chests. You feel pins and needles, twitches and tingles. You stare into the mirror and can almost see this butterfly change taking place. As your breasts push out, your hips become rounded. Your tummy flattens. Your legs grow longer and you suddenly don’t want to climb trees anymore.

Breasts as Icons

Like Marie Antoinette, Marilyn and Brigitte, as soon as you have breasts, you feel a furtive inclination to display them. Birds fan out their feathers. Chimpanzees wiggle their bums. Female fish shoot out clouds of eggs in random places hoping a passing stranger fish will come and fertilize them. Girls’ fingers as if with minds of their own can’t resist unsnapping a few extra buttons.

There was a moment in the 1960s when the models Twiggy and Jean Shrimpton flew the flag against bounteous breasts. But the fad passed and girls are now less likely to be burning bras than stretching into a Wonderbra. Corsets are back in style, and for girls who believe size matters, there is always the surgeon’s knife – not that I am advocating implants.

Breasts confirm that a girl is ready for mating, ripe as fruit eager to be plucked, as Shakespeare probably said. Since the beginning of time, Homo sapiens have pondered the meaning of life. If we are here at the will of a Divine Creator, that Creator wants us to generate more souls to save. Our primal role is to continue the species and, whichever way you look, the icon of reproduction is breasts. Enjoy.

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24 Discussions on
“A Short History of Breasts”
  • Another brilliant blog, Chloe; scholarly and playful. Once again I’ve learnt a few things and it’s lovely to be reminded of others that have slipped my mind. Although I did know that the old champagne glass was supposed to be based on Marie Antoinette’s breasts (Not the flute, that would be silly). Certainly, breasts are lovely and the fascination with them from both sexes is as old as time (let’s not forget Raquel Welch in a million years BC… oh, that was the sixties….. was it?). I think there’s room for a thesis on the subject; and, Chloe, you’re the one to do it. We would all love to read it and learn lots more about breasts.

  • Awesome post! I love the way you put this. I love unsnapping a few extra buttons. Being flirty is fun! It’s girl power at its finest. Keep up the great posts. I love reading you blog!

  • I am really beginning to love Chloe as she constantly creates her well-written and teasing blog posts. A woman that truly knows how to push the buttons of both male and female recipients. Breasts.. a most stimulating and evocative subject to engage the minds of many an aching soul. I completely agree, nothing can grab attention more than even the slightest glimpse of a skillfully adorned and well presented cleavage – it will persuade many a wavering thought to be pushed in the right direction.

  • What do you consider big? Size C? Size D? Do you like the breasts that porn stars have?

    During a lap dance, the woman can slap her breasts into the man’s face. You may want to look into that.

  • Breasts are beautiful and most of their curves are on display in low-cut necklines and swimwear, but the odd thing is that it’s only titillation (what an appropriate word!) until the nipples are revealed. That’s the point (another appropriate word) at which breasts become socially more than just daring, but venture into the realms of the taboo.
    Like male erections, the engorged nipple is much more arousing than the sleepy state. ‘Nipples standing out like chapel hat pegs’ is a description that stirs more than the imagination—at least in my case!
    So, much as I adore the look and the feel of a full, firm breast, it’s the erect nipple that really does it for me—the look as much as the delicious taste!

  • Chloe’s blog is superbly entertaining, as usual. However, having lived through more than half of the 1950s, and all of the years since, some areas left me slightly confused.

    I recall that breasts were made illegal after Diana Dors. The proof of this was that Jean Shrimpton and Twiggy, icons of 1960s fashion, didn’t have any and were proud of the fact. While breasts remained firmly banned, evil people conspired to hoodwink the general public into thinking they still existed.

    Perhaps the best example of this was the “Hello Boys!” poster campaign using the picture Chloe thoughtfully included. Despite strenuous efforts on the part of the authorities to stamp it out, posters kept appearing on prominent billboards showing a woman with the aforesaid banned appendages, looking down at them, smiling lasciviously and apparently uttering the “HB” slogan.

    One such site was on the busy Talgarth Road in Earls Court, West London, adjacent to what was then London’s busiest road junction. The public’s horror at seeing these banned appendages on such a large poster was so great that the road accident rate at the site increased by a factor of four, so distracted were car drivers. No data were collected on the relative accident rates of male and female drivers.

    After some time, the poster campaign was killed off and sanity prevailed once more.

    However, the evil people did not give up. A further campaign was mounted to convince people that breasts were back. This time, the vehicle used was a TV show, which purported to represent the period before the breast ban had been imposed. Viewers were asked to believe that appendages even larger than those on the “Hello Boys!” poster not only existed, but were perfectly normal.

    The TV show was popular for a time, but people soon realised that it was all a fake. As reality set in, its popularity dwindled.

    The clue was in the title. Who could take seriously a show named “Mad Men”?

  • I never cease to be amazed by the subjects you come up with on this blog and this one made me laugh until I got a stitch. Please keep it up, it is one of the highlights of my reading week.

  • “She stood corsets tightened in the dock, breasts shiny as two buttery brioche.”

    Chloe is this yours, or did you see it written this way somewhere? If it’s yours, you’re genius:) Brava!

  • I remember staring openly at a lovely pair in the pub once and the girl said what do you think you´re looking at? I told her, if you don´t want anyone looking, don´t stiick them out on display. Personally, I am a tit man, the more the better, just get them out girls.

  • My girl friend and I, at the age of 13 read that the “PERFECT boob fits inside a champagne glass. We raided my parents china closet and found out we were both “PERFECT.”

  • From Egypt to the two Madonnas, Chloe covers a lot of bumpy territory. She presents us with a bosom-level view of the world’s most cherished objects.
    I must confess to a personal preference for small breasts. Perhaps it is a failing. Perhaps it is a longing for those newly bloomed protrusions when I was but a lad.

    Perhaps it is because small breast are different from my mother’s. Yes, my mother was endowed – and I was taught to look elsewhere. I surely noticed the budding roses that Annette exhibited on the ‘Mickey Mouse Club’. ‘Playboy’ and such slick-inked tabloids introduced me to the larger-breasted women. They scared me. They looked like my mother.

    • I remember a boyfriend saying small breasts are for handling and big breasts are for gaping at – although, having said that, my best friend Gemma is extremely well-endowed and the boys enjoy both, first the gaping, then the handling. Still, Gemma’s a tart, as she knows, and will probably kill me is she reads it on my blog. Mr Finton, if there’s no blog next week, you’ll know why.

    • My father’s advice when I became a young man about breast was: Anything over a mouthful was wasted.” Mom had a lot of waste. :-)

  • Love your writings, Chloe, you are just brilliant! Saw a meme the other day that pertains to this “Breasts are to men what laser pointers are to cats”

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