Beginning in the year 2050 there was a big fat fad going around, and that fad was called “BOOBZ.” Up until this point, breasts had of course been fondled, ogled, salivated over and pinched with much frequency. They had been jizzed and commented upon, and commodified. A person would spend $50-100 for a bra to shelve their breasts in so that another person could unwrap them like a slinky gift. Thousands of dollars were spent to enlarge, reshape, tighten, and perk-ify, and of course these services were sold as a “choice,” (but really the consumer knew, we all knew that it would “do her good…”)
It was a brilliant move on the part of the BOOBZ company to take this fascination with a specific part of the human anatomy, and simply, completely, remove it from the body. After all, there are so many photos, art pieces, movie trailers, posters, etc. that deal solely with focus on the breast.
Why have the body at all?
“BOOBZ” was first conceived as a simple, sexy accessory. Having a full-bodied sex doll under your bed, in the closet, or at the kitchen table might feel like too large an investment for the average person. The expense firstly was intimidating, then there was the taking the doll out for use, and then the putting it away afterward, coupled with the fear that you don’t really have to put it away because there is no reason to, because no one with a pulse has been in your bed lately, and no one with a pulse will ever be in your bed again.
This could lead to depression.
The original BOOBZ product was a pair of extremely life-like feeling breasts. They were fully customized at the buyer’s request with skin tone, size, shape of nipples, texture, optional birthmarks, freckles, scars, moles, piercings, etc. connected in the center by what felt like a very real human sternum.
The great thing about having your own pair of BOOBZ to fondle, perhaps while watching a film, or scrolling through your favorite websites, while desperately missing your ex, or blind-drunk after a one night stand left you feeling empty, was that you could fondle these breasts, jerk off, then slip them onto your bookshelf as a kind of edgy decoration! You never had to hide your BOOBZ. They weren’t a bashful kind of product. They were almost funny as a matter of fact! Studies showed that many people found women’s breasts to be as “funny” as they were sexually stimulating. Many comedies served up the size of breasts as a punchline (very large breasts were as funny as very small breasts.) The see-through-ness of a shirt exposing the breasts was used as a comedic moment for male characters, giving them an opportunity to look “silly” and adorably male while staring at that body part of that human being. Sometimes the breasts were covered in whipped cream or beer and then the person they were attached to might jiggle up and down delightedly, and it was just as funny as it was arousing.
This was comedy.
Unlike your bondage ropes and leather whips, your lube, butt plug and vibrator, you could keep your BOOBZ out at all times! You could cum on them and clean it up, or not! You could suck, bite, scratch, and they weren’t going to make a peep! And afterwards you could suckle the nipple like a baby for comfort when you found out your best friend had died of a heroin overdose and you had ignored his phone call the night before because you were hammered and making out with the bouncer at a club you can’t remember how you got to. Then you could cry into your BOOBZ. Their human texture and density means they suffocated your desperate sobs just as well as if they were attached to a person; a person you trusted to just listen, and be there without judgment.
In a few short years, BOOBZ were a common element of the sex-toy-accessory industry, and became “no-big-deal-really,” and sales began to shrink.
Then in 2063 a new fad sprang up and revived the brand.
The way most of the country heard about this new fad was through a celebrity-stalker magazine. You probably know the kind. (But we have to acknowledge before we go any further that celebrities back then never thought of a fashion-thing first. Usually it was some young person somewhere, some weird person probably, with a funky-new idea, and some rich designer person sees it happening and takes it and gives it to a golden goose celebrity and we all watched them shit it out on the red carpet and clapped at them.)
In this particular stalker magazine, a singer-cum-empowered-cum-reimagined-look person was spotted with a recycled “BOOBZ” purse!
“WHAT TO DO WITH OLD SEX TOYS???” ran the headline.
The article went on to praise this singer-person for her love of the planet (no more landfills would be filled with BOOBZ on her watch!!) and her edgy fashion sense. WAS SHE MAKING A STATEMENT??!! Oh no, she was not making a statement, she was just so damn quirky and edgy and WE ALL HAD TO JUST FLIPPING DEAL WITH IT!!! This particular celebrity’s BOOBZ-BAG was lined with feathers, bedazzled with real diamonds, and a “tattoo” with a heart with an arrow through it and the word “MOM” was situated on the left “tit.” This recycled bag was valued at $1,000. The article continued with a “DIY BOOBZ to BAGZ” instructional for the average reader. The reader on the train car with the flickering overhead light, the bag of Cheetos clutched in one hand and used Kleenex in her pocket. She bought this slinky shiny magazine for 8.99 after a particularly hard day at work, where she is afraid she is going to be fired. And if she is fired how will she afford the apartment she’s just moved to? And how will she save up for a new mattress? She is sleeping on a bundle of blankets in one corner of her room like a mouse in a nest. She keeps her bedroom door shut at all times so her roommates won’t see she doesn’t own a bed. It was hard to leave her most recent romantic relationship. The bed they had shared had been broken out of hate and not anything even pretending to be love and so she left. This person reading this magazine, her hips are still tender, the bruises on her thighs yellow, green, and purple, still sore from leaving that man. The magazine had felt good and cool in her hands and made her stop crying for a minute. So she bought it. She looks at the BOOBZ-BAG and stares until the bedazzled nipples are like hypnotist pendulums.
After the initial article it seemed like everyone was slicing open their BOOBZ, carving out the gelatinous mixture inside and stitching them back up. You might use hard wire if you wanted an element of the grotesque, a simple zipper for a classic purse look, or buttons and ribbons for the more whimsically inclined!
Swift on the heels of the celebrity piece, an article came out titled: “BOOBZ-BAG ETIQUETTE – THE DUDES AND DON’TS.” It seems some people thought it was very funny to come up behind a person with a BOOBZ-BAG and give the nipple a tweak, caress, or a full-handed squeeze. Dropping to one’s knees and motor-boating the purse did occur but required more effort and one’s face was more available for the purse-owner to give you a good hard slap.
Some people said it was the purse-owner’s fault for going out in public with the BOOBZ-BAG “unprotected.” This led to lingerie companies marketing “BOOBY-KOOZY’s” which were essentially bras without cups or lining. Soon having a “naked” B-BAG was considered a form of anti-establishment fashion and became less common.
A boss might comment on the size or shape of his employee’s B-BAG, or perhaps say things to “it” that maybe he would like to say to the woman holding the bag. He might keep his eyes trained on her B-BAG, and so how could she prove it was sexual harassment? It was her fault after all, bringing that thing into work (the thing she spent $800 on, the newest fashion, and after all she worked in fashion, so how could she be caught dead with anything else? And she didn’t have any pockets!)
BAGZ were outlawed in schools. An incident involving an underage teen and an older man grabbing at her bag on her way to class. It was unclear if the man was trying to be sexual, or was just flat-out stealing her purse. This kind of situation was covered in the “DUDES and DON’TS” article. While claims of sexual harassment were difficult to prove in cases of purse-fondling and leering, claims of attempted purse-snatching were a far better way to get some creep thrown out of the bar you were drinking your sadness away in.
Men warned one another to “protect themselves” from hysterical purse-owners and that if they wanted to “give it a tweak” to make sure it was a subtle, swift motion, and “all in good fun.”
Bag checks at bars, music venues, and airports took on more meaning.
BAGZ-owners could now request a female security guard, and many bars hired female bouncers specifically for BAGZ searches.
A young man was beaten unconscious in a park on his way to a friend’s house one night. He was sporting a BOOBZ-BAG. Nothing was taken out of the BAG. He retained his wallet and cell phone. Witnesses told police the assailants had been following the young man shouting homophobic and transphobic slurs. The BAG was tested and came back positive for sperm. The victim’s jaw was broken and he had been urinated upon.
Stories like this one led to calls for boycotting of BAGZ. These were answered by calls for the right to purchase. (Stop buying purses literally turning the feminine body into an object! Stop telling people to stop buying purses just because some douchebags don’t know how to respect personal property! Etc.) This led to a trend of elective surgeries in which persons with breasts had them removed, then took their breasts to taxidermists and leather-workers, and had their own real, honest-to-god breasts turned into bags. No added fur lining, feathers, studs, faux-piercings or tattoos. Instead, these human-purses were perhaps harkening closer to the original “realistic” BOOBZ-sex-toy-accessory, in that they had birthmarks, scars, unmatched nipples, one side larger than the other, stretch-marks, etc. Some thought they were disturbing, so un-glitzed as they were, and just hanging off a strap. Restaurants added to the NO SHIRT NO SHOES NO SERVICE axiom: “NO BOOBZ-BAGZ ADMITTED.” Now, since these BOOBZ-BAGZ were cut from one’s own body, this became a problem. How could you allow most of a human’s body into a restaurant but not all of it? It was after all not strictly “illegal” for a human with breasts to not wear a shirt in public. It was only a cultural mores that prevented them from doing so. Now this person (breasts removed) was wearing a shirt, in addition to wearing the naked breasts outside themselves as an accessory. How could you deny them a table in your diner?
Also, was it now for sure sexual assault if a person grabbed your BOOBZ-BAG when the material that had made that bag came from your own body? The persons who said: “yes, yes it was” were labeled BITCH-BAGGERZ on many men’s-power websites. These BITCH-BAGGERZ had no sense of humor! They were definitely crazy, sick in the head, to carry their own body parts around like THAT, like OBJECTS!
The BITCH-BAGGERZ were partly blamed by some for the events that follow.
At that time the New War was still going on, and our soldiers were making the news in ways we did not particularly wish them too. It was reported that soldiers were going into gassed and bombed out villages, ripping off the clothing of the dead and removing the breasts. They threw them in the air to use for target practice, kicked them like soccer balls, squeezed and ejaculated upon them, made them into mountains and set them on fire, dried them out and wore them on their belts as souvenirs. There was one blurry, dark video, shot from a distance, where it appears a soldier is removing a breast and rubbing the blood and fat all over his face, laughing maniacally.
It was said that the new gasses we used were making the soldiers flat-out lose their minds. It was said that they missed their mothers and girlfriends and these acts of aggression were due to their isolation from a loving female presence! (The fact that there were female soldiers was largely, simply, ignored.)
Prostitutes were proposed as a way to tamper the violence, until another leaked video showed one such woman fleeing the barracks, sobbing and holding a hand to her chest while blood soaked into her shirt. The prostitute plan was dropped. The soldiers were starving, some people said, the money had all run out! Breasts are full of fat, and easy to fry up, like bacon, and that’s why they had resorted to cannibalism! Maybe. Maybe not. They were huffing the gas they were using to kill the enemy, in tiny quantities, and were losing all human empathy. It made their lips shrivel up and their teeth became exposed like rodent-creatures. They couldn’t sleep. The men who made it home were hospitalized, their families relocated, and then they stopped talking about it.
In the end it turned out that recycling BOOBZ into purses hadn’t saved the environment at all. Once the BOOBZ-BAGZ craze was over they were tossed into landfills, their bedazzled exteriors turned up to the blue sky greased grey with fog and sludge, waiting on the acid rain to smack their faces like they deserved it.
Some people buried their natural BOOBZ-BAGZ, feeling strange about tossing a bit of what once was their bodies in the trash. This caused confusion for construction crews. Sometimes they’d be laying the foundation of a new storefront and find a pair of rotting disembodied human breasts, and they weren’t sure if it was a clue that something horrible had happened, or if it wasn’t.
This led to a mandatory government-issued public safety initiative. Each major section of each human body would be tagged with a microchip that, when scanned, led to a patented trademark unique to that individual. So now we knew that every part of your body belonged to you and only you, so if we ever found a bit of you somewhere, we would try to contact you to make sure you were safe, or else someone on your emergency contact list could vouch for your being a living breathing body still. Some called this totalitarian. Others called it an ugly means to a safe end. Some made it an easier pill to swallow by making a lot of money designing personalized one-of-a-kind logos to go along with catchy trademark names for a person’s body. People could scan their own microchips to show off their snazzy logo to another person in a bar. It became a kind of foreplay, intimacy, flirtation, to “SHOW YOUR LOGO.” This was the slogan for an ad campaign that linked micro-chipping to sex as a way to get civilians to comply out of fun rather than fear. One ad featured a happily married couple “LOGO-SHOWING” and holding their scanning devices together to make the LOGO’S “kiss.” Another ad entailed a man getting down on one knee to “SHOW HIS LOGO” to his intended before pulling out the engagement ring. “LOGO SHOWING” became much sexier than lifting a skirt or unbuckling a belt to show off some high-end underwear. In a strip club you could stand by the stage and hold up your scanner device to a dancer you particularly liked, and if she wanted to come close enough she’d let you scan her and see her trademark and her logo, and you would have to tip her much more of course.
For a while people cried in strip clubs more than they used to.
But then, after a time, they stopped.
After four long years, Clarie Tascio recently quit her job serving beers and burgers at a dine-in movie theatre. With the money she’s saving by not drinking and drugging she is taking time off to write dystopian erotic fiction and volunteer at an animal shelter. She also paints and sings songs “in order to feel connected to my own body in an increasingly online world.”