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I became scared that, instead of knocking down my opponent by my swift and skilled footwork or aggressive and intimidating moves, I would knock him down by a quick turn of my torso with a flying 34C breast. These heaping mounds began to bounce as I ran and I was positive my peers would notice. It was around this time that my mother forced me, gagged and bound (or just whining), into the car for a trip to a lingerie store.
"My Boobs Beg to Differ,"
e-Vision Journal of Undergraduate Writing: Vol. 5
, Article 6.
Available at: http://commons.lib.jmu.edu/evision/vol5/iss1/6