I just wanna talk to you and tell you how I feel.

Oh, you beauty.

I wonder how many people have said this to you?

The odd lascivious male, traversing the streets of an evening. Or after you've handed in an essay, or when you're providing help, maybe.

Or maybe they just say, nice boobs.

An interesting fact: in my twenty-two years, a quarter of which I have been endowed with mammary glands, no man has ever commented on my breasts (or lack thereof). Not unsolicited. Most girls get the odd, "get them out for the lads", the occasional grope, the eye downwards, the "cor they're lovely". Not me. Not unless they're right there, uncovered, in front of their faces. One man named them and said they were lovely, and men seem to enjoy them when they're completely exposed. Bombazine doll remarked, "more than a handful's a waste". She told me they were lovely. But they're not the sort of breasts that attract unsolicited attention. It's more often my posterior that does that. I suppose I wear a lot of high necklines, but even when I'm not attention is not forthcoming. It's the high clavicle- that takes all of the attention. It's the thing that light reflects off and draws the eye in, not the flat white prairie below. One man once said to me, "you've got a lovely figure, don't hide it away", walking home from school- but this was years ago, and generic. Note the use of the word figure rather than specifying a certain part. It's the overall look. A year ago, as I was walking to a friend's, some boys shouted from across the road, "don't bother putting your hair up, you look like a man in a skirt". I wasn't offended by this, though I know I should be. I was mistaken for a boy another time as well, but I find this almost a compliment- the surety of my movements, the length of my limbs, the capable quality of my hands, I like all of these things. Stark eyebrows, strong jaw, ready smile. Boyish. I am boyish.

Your breasts attract so much attention. It's obvious that this makes you shy. They attract my attention because you bundle them up under your arms, in an attempt to make them look smaller or go away. You hunch over. This only makes them larger, more overt. You need simply to be proud. They aren't going to go away, you know. Just like mine will never grow. It's a hard thing to do. I am not proud of my body, but at least my arse, which is the most prominent thing, is tucked away from my point of view. At least I can't see it to try and hide it. You can't hide an arse anyway. But breasts are different. I suppose mine are low maintenance- not a problem running, dancing, you can sling them in any old bra and chances are noone will know. I'm sharing bras with my twelve year old sister. That's tragic. I don't think that you should suddenly start flashing your chest, no v necklines or plunging decolletes- though it would look fine, that's not your style. I do think that you should stand up straighter, and be prouder. Because you have a body to be proud of. It's strong and self sufficient, perfectly proportioned, and it's evidence of all you've done and achieved, it houses your wonderful mind, and it's smooth and tanned, even in winter. You don't need to keep yourself hidden away from the world. I don't mean dress in lycra and teenybop the night away, I just mean that I want you to be happier with yourself when you're trudging down a street. I don't want you to look as if you're always expecting an attack. A verbal siege. You beauty. That's what I want to shout at you. If I dressed in men's clothes and ran off straight after you wouldn't even know. I could borrow my brother's. You might think I was being ironic, or crude, but the meaning would be clear. I wonder if anyone's ever shouted that at you? From what you tell me, people are far more bellicose towards your retreating back. Bastards. They're all completely wrong, dear. You beauty.