Why Thin Women Envy Buxom Women

My best friend never knew it, but I always
envied her curves.  Me, rail-thin and shapeless couldn’t even fill out a
bra, let alone find one outside of the preteen department.  When we went
lingerie shopping together, I lived vicariously through her luscious breasts and
full backside. In department store fitting rooms, the skin pressing against lace
was so tactile in appearance, the straining satin sensuous.  I looked like a boy
in comparison to her—a little, prepubescent boy.  But she was all woman!

The sad thing was—she envied me.
Little scrawny me.  My jeans sagged in the bottom and necklines showed off the
expanse of flatness that was my chest.  When we primped ourselves for a night
out, her thighs held fishnet stockings in place underneath her skirt while I was
resigned to slacks.  Even her calves were rounded sexily—they looked beautiful
from behind when she walked in high-heeled shoes in the style that a 50’s
Hollywood star would wear.

And in fact, she did remind me of someone
out of a glamorous, by-gone era.  Like a Marilyn Monroe with slick black hair.

She once greeted me in long silk nightgown hemmed in feathers, the fabric
clinging to her breasts and draping off her thighs.

When we were seen together, I saw the
rubbernecking men ogle her as she swayed past.  She always said they were
looking at me—but she was wrong.  I was invisible in comparison!

One day, she asked me for assistance.  She
was ordering lingerie online.  There was a whole page of corsets—again, like for
someone out of a past era—open in front of us.  Some had laces, some snaps.

Some were long, some were straight, and some were curved.  Some had cut-outs at
the bust, some were boned, and some were made of fine, stretchy, see-through
mesh.  They were beautiful!

“Wow,” I breathed in awe.  “You could wear
any of them and you would look great!”

“I don’t know,” she responded, uncertain.
But she was blushing with pleasure.

We decided on one that would cinch her at
the waist and lift her breasts almost to her shoulders.  The day it arrived in
an unassuming-looking package, she waited for me to come over to help her try it
on.  Wearing only a skirt, she handed me the garment.  Gently, we adjusted it
around her form, and I helped her pull the laces tight in the back, tying a neat
little bow at the bottom.  She turned around.  I was staring at someone who was
no, not large, but larger-than-life.  Like a movie star, princess, or
seductress, my friend could have enchanted anyone into serving her for whatever
purposes she desired.

And in fact, hadn’t I played the part of
servant, helping her into her clothes?  Really—isn’t that the way it should have
been?  She was what I dreamed of being—bold, beautiful, rounded in all the right
places, soft to the touch, but strong too.  She was what all women dreamed of
being, which was any man’s fantasy—but a real, tangible, in-the-flesh female