by David Evans
This is something you are never going to believe.
When I was a kid, back in the 1940s, there was no such thing as sex education.
Western countries were still hung up in the phony morality of the Victorian world and s-e-x was never spoken about—especially to children.
Swimsuits were very modest, mostly one piece, and the bikini (a very discreet two piece at the time) didn’t appear until about 1950.
So one day my sister—she was 13 years older than me—had just done her washing and hung it out to dry and, for the first time, I noticed a bra on the clothesline.
The only place I’d ever seen anything like that was at the movies when dancers wore outfits that revealed just a little of their breasts.
Legs were in, breasts were verboten.
When I said that I thought only film stars wore those things, my sister explained that all women wore them but didn’t tell me why they wore them.
After all, that would have meant using a forbidden word.
Eventually I grew up and learned to enjoy the wonders of a woman’s breasts and am grateful that we no longer consider them to be obscene.
Eventually, I reached manhood and, like all good men and true, was faced with the need to decide whether I preferred legs or breasts.
Of course, that’s all in the past now.
These days the only person who wants to know my preference for anything is the guy behind the counter at the chicken shop.
One of those snags of old age!
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David Evans is an Aunstralian writer and storyteller.
You can buy his book The Mistress of Dimmiga Berg on Amazon.
