Brother's boobs bigger than mine!
Monday 1st December 2008
What do you get when you cross a bearded, tattooed bloke covered in piercings, with a pair of round, perky double D's? The answer is, my brother, Lincoln Taylor, 36, a real man's man with a chest Katie Price, aka Jordan, would be proud of.
Confused? I don't blame you. I was knocked for six when he announced his plans to have a boob job. He had a bit of a reputation for shocking people, but this really took the biscuit. When we'd been growing up, he'd been a normal big brother. Seven years older than me, I was still playing with dolls when he was a teenager, chucking a rugby ball around in the garden with his mates, and taking girls out on dates. I looked up to him. But when he left home to go to university at 18, he gave us his first shock.
I was only 12 at the time, but when Mum got off the phone to him, I could see she was in a state.
'We need to visit your brother straight away,' she said, frantically shoving clothes into a holdall. As we bundled into the car, no one told me what was going on. But I heard the whispered conversations, and put two and two together. Lincoln had told them he was gay.
Did I mind? No. He was still my big brother. It didn't mean I wasn't surprised. After all, he'd always been a blokey bloke, with a horde of girls after him. But it's funny how things become normal, because before I knew it, he came home with another shock. Tattoos. Not just one either.
Every time he came home, he had a new one, and soon, his arms were covered in Celtic markings.
'What do you think?' he'd say, showing off his latest design.
'Err, striking,' I'd reply.
They weren't my cup of tea, but there was no denying Lincoln had the guts to pull it off.
When I was 18, my parents and I moved to the US, while Lincoln stayed in South Africa, but we always caught up on the phone. But while I was filling him in on my psychiatry degree, he'd be telling me about the latest thing he'd had tattooed on his neck, or the way that he'd had his earlobe stretched with a huge metal bar.
'Why do you do it to yourself?' I asked. 'I could barely handle having my ears pierced.'
'Why should everyone look the same?' he laughed. 'I like to give people a shock.'
He certainly did that.
Whenever I met him from the airport when he came to visit me, I hardly recognised him.
As well as the tattoos, he had a stud the size of a penny in his bottom lip and a long, straggly beard. If I'd seen him on the street on a dark night, I'd have crossed the road to get away from him! But as soon as he opened his mouth, I remembered that he was my gentle, softly spoken big bro.
'I've missed you,' he'd say, giving me a bear hug.
'You too,' I'd grin.
The tattoos and piercings were one thing, but I couldn't help but wonder what Lincoln's next step would be in his bid to shock. In 2005, I found out.
By now, I'd met Dean, 34, and we were married and living in New York. One night, I was sitting on the settee in front of the telly, when Lincoln phoned for a catch-up.
'So what's going on?' I asked.
'I'm going to get a boob job,' he said matter-of-factly.
There was a silence as I tried to get my head around what he'd just said.
'You mean pec implants ?' I said.
I'd read that some men had implants put in to make their chest look more muscly.
'No,' he said. 'I mean proper boobs. Like a woman. The bigger the better.'
Surely this was a wind-up. My brother wanted breasts?
My mind was spinning with questions, but I didn't know where to start. Fortunately Lincoln had answers.
'I don't want to be a woman,' he said. 'I don't want to dress as a woman and my penis isn't going anywhere!'
'So why then?' I spluttered.
'For me, it's just the same as another tattoo or piercing,' he said. 'I want to look different.'
'You'll definitely be that,' I gulped.
He told me he'd been considering the operation for a while and was sure he wanted to go ahead. I knew he was determined and there was no way I'd talk him out of it. I mean, it was weird, but it wasn't going to do anyone any harm.
'Just promise me that you'll use a good surgeon,' I said, before hanging up the phone in a daze.
'How's Lincoln?' asked Dean
'Fine, I think,' I said. 'Except he's getting a boob job.'
There was silence for a moment.
'Your brother never fails to surprise me,' he managed to say eventually.
As I lay in bed that night, I couldn't stop thinking about Lincoln. I could deal with him being gay, with him having tattoos. But with boobs? What if he was a laughing stock? What if he regretted it afterwards? Within a month, he called back.
'I've found a surgeon,' he said excitedly. 'I'll be having the op in a few weeks' time.'
'If you're sure,' I said.
'I'm sure sis,' he replied. 'Trust me.'
When the day of the operation arrived, I paced round the kitchen, waiting until I could call the hospital. My hands were shaking when the phone finally rang. When I heard Lincoln's voice, he sounded groggy.
'It hurts,' he confessed. 'I don't regret it but I feel horrible.'
'Poor you,' I said. 'I wish I could hug you.'
And look at his boobs, obviously!
I couldn't afford to fly 8,000 miles back to see him, so it was a whole year before he came to New York and I got to see them for myself. Nervous isn't the word. As I waited at JFK airport, my heart was racing. What if he looked ridiculous? There wasn't time to worry, because before I knew it, I spotted Lincoln hurrying towards me. Same dark hair. Same earlobe stretched with a metal bar. Same stud in his lip. And then I saw them. Round and perky, gently bouncing under his blue tank top.
'Wow,' I smiled. 'They look great.'
Any woman would be proud to be sporting those beauties. His DD cup boobs made my 36Bs look like bee stings. Great. My brother's boobs were bigger than mine.
'Don't I get a hug?' he said, as I stared at them in shock.
'Sorry,' I said, feeling his boobs squash against me as I cuddled him. 'I couldn't take my eyes off them.'
'Good, aren't they?' he grinned.
'At least you know how us women feel to be ogled now,' I laughed.
Lincoln lapped it up. And as we walked along the road, he stood up straight, sticking out his new boobs for anyone who'd look.
He wasn't as keen to show them off to Mum and Dad, though.
'They won't approve,' he said. 'I'd hate to upset them.'
'I know what you mean,' I said. 'But how are you going to hide them?'
We both went quiet for a moment. Then it hit me. 'A bra,' I decided.
We rifled through my underwear drawer until I found an old 36B sports bra.
'It'll will be a bit of a squeeze,' I said, chucking it at him. 'But it'll definitely help squash them down.'
Five minutes later, he came out of the loo with a pained look on his face.
'Talk about uncomfortable,' he complained.
'But it does the trick,' I smiled.
Thankfully, when we met up with Mum and Dad, they had no clue what was lurking under his T-shirt.By the time he went back to South Africa, they were none the wiser. For me, Lincoln's boobs have become just another part of who he is. Just like the tattoos and
the piercings, I know most people would call him a freak or a weirdo, but as far as I'm concerned, if he's happy, so am I. After all, how many girls can boast that their big brother's got bigger boobs than them?
Lincoln said: 'I know to most people, me having a boob job seems strange, but for me, there's nothing bad about having breasts. Sometimes, I feel a bit self-conscious, and I have to think carefully about what I'm going to wear, but I enjoy them. 'I'm so grateful to Katie for being understanding about me having the operation, even though it was so unusual. I feel so lucky to have a sister who I can talk to about anything, no matter how crazy my idea is. Thankfully she's used to it now. I think it's best my parents don't know I have boobs. I don't want to upset them. I'm thinking about going bigger, and ideally would like my boobs to be three times the size they are now. There's the option to have them removed if I get bored, but frankly, I don't see that happening.'
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