It all came to a head last summer when my long-term partner and I got married. In the run-up to our wedding, I had to have a special undergarment made — by somebody with experience in aeronautical engineering — to hold up my breasts. The bodysuit this woman crafted to hold my tits up was beyond what I imagined possible for me. It was backless and gravity-defying, a true work of art, completely brutalist in nature. Despite all this, I was exhausted by the effort of it all, not least in the time spent away from my wedding day to peel off the contraption to go to the toilet, an effort that was tiresome, uncomfortable, and, most importantly, the last thing I wanted to be doing. Looking in the mirror while pulling on my dress, I decided that enough was enough. I booked my first breast reduction consultation.
