“They’re too small, my girlfriend’s are too small, won’t they grow? She needs bulges. I mean, what can be done about it? Or rather them?” And so it went on. I noticed that he was staring at my mammary mountains, just like he did in class.
It was not something that I wanted to do, or rather not what I thought I wanted to do. But in less than a year, my first year at the school, I had become the school’s Agony Aunt. The schoolgirls came to ask me questions, private questions, the schoolboys came too and also a few of the teachers.
Why ask me? Because I have a liberal and tolerant nature, because I’m easy to talk to, because of my huge experience (not true), because I use common sense… I don’t know. My method to solve problems is to use that stuff between the ears – I usually reply to questions with more questions. I am the Agony Aunt.
I explained to him that teenagers mature at different rates, in other words, some girls get ‘em big early, other girls have to wait a few years. But perhaps a drop in air pressure would help. “Think about it!”
He had a big think about this last point, he took some time, not much between the ears. At last he said something.
“If I could borrow the vacuum pump, some rubber tubing and a glass funnel...”
Typical male: too technical, too brutal, too mindless. “I’ll give you another clue, you have a low pressure device that you carry around with you, always.”
He put his hands in his pockets, nothing. “Do I carry it around with me when I walk down the street?”
“Do I carry it around with me when I go swimming?”
“Oh, I get it. It’s...”
I put my finger on my lips and he said no more.