It’s been a year and a half since Sophia and I separated, and I haven’t gone on one date. Today I talked about this with Sophia. I told her I was a little scared of getting intimate with another woman.
“You know what I’m talking about,” I told her. “I have that little problem.”
“Ah, yes…”
For years, Sophia has been very understanding of this problem I have in the bedroom. I’m surprised she even agreed to marry me because of my problem. But gradually, she learned to take care of it herself and we accepted the status quo.
“But what if some new woman isn’t as understanding?” I pondered.
“Then you have a problem. A big problem.”
I’m a little embarrassed to bring this up in a public forum, but my motto here is “always be honest with your beloved readers.” So, here it goes:
I am terribly inept in undoing bras.
When I was younger, I used to play the clarinet in the school band. I used to practice so much, that I think I must have injured something in my fingers to the point that it has given me poor dexterity in the handling of complicated buttons and latches. For years, I avoided women because of this problem. Luckily, Sophia accepted me despite my handicap. Once, before we were married, Sophia and I were making out, and she fell asleep waiting for me to undo her bra.
“What am I going to do? What woman is every going to want such a poor bra un-doer as a lover?”
“You can always look for a woman who doesn’t wear one.”
“What about some of my readers like Brooke, who have nice racks. I’m sure she wears a bra.”
“Well, maybe you need to ask them first if they wear a bra, so you’ll know to cross them off the list. Or ask them to go bra-less on the date. Or maybe they’ll still accept you despite it all. I did, most of the time.”
“Be honest with me, Sophia. Is this why we separated?”
“No comment.”
“There’s only one solution. I need to practice.”
“Practice?”
“Yeah, you know like Rocky before the big match. Or the Karate Kid. I need to practice undoing bras.”
“How are you going to do that?”
I smiled knowingly at Sophia.
I opened up her “‘bra” drawer and took out an assortment of various bras of different colors and textures:Â Bali, Wacoal, Maidenform, Cross Your Heart, Victoria’s Secret, Frederick’s of Hollywood and even some fancy expensive French stuff that I couldn’t pronounce.
“Start putting ’em on!” I said.
“Oh, you owe me big for this. And I mean big!” she replied.
Sophia gathered up her breasts into the Bali No-Slip Strap Floral Brocade bra and latched up the hooks. She took out a stopwatch. Â
“OK, ready? 3-2-1, come and get em’!”
I rushed over to Sophia bra as she turned her back to me. I tried to pull out the hooks but it was held tightly against her back. Sophia’s ample bosom wasn’t helping things out either.  I was having trouble already. I started to sweat.
“C’mon, Neilochka. It’s not that complicated.”
“It is for me.”
“Come in from the top, place one finger under the hook and squeeze the hooks together. You can do it. Then just keep squeezing while you twist it.”
I place my finger under a hook and unlatched it.
“Got it!”
Sophia shook her head, sadly.
“Neilochka, you have to undo all four hooks to get it off. Keep on going. The clock is ticking.”
Finally, after much struggling, I undid all the hooks, and after some trouble untangling the bra straps caught in Sophia’s hair, the project was a success. Well, not to Sophia:
“Ten minutes for one bra is absolutely pitiful.”
It was a low blow. I hadn’t felt so inept since I failed woodshop in eighth grade for accidentally cutting the head off of my “duck-shaped” wooden memo holder.
“Aw forget it.” I said. “I’m just no good at this. I’m never going to touch another woman’s breasts… ever.” I said disappointedly.
“No!” she shouted sternly.  “I care about your future.  What if we never get back together? I want you to know this. No women respects a man that can’t take off a bra. You’re NOT going to give up.”
Sophia always had a way of inspiring me. A way of pushing me to achieve greatness.
I lifted up the Maidenform.Â
“Let’s do it!”
(start “Theme from Rocky”)
Da, da, daaaaaaah… da, da, daaaaaaah
Da, da, daaaaaaah… da, da, daaaaaaah
Statistics:
Playtex Cross Your Heart® Lightly Lined: 9 minutes
Wacoal’s Signature Support™ Sealmess Tailored Underwire: 7 minutes
Lily of France Be Sexyâ„¢ Demi Balconette:Â 12 minutes!
I was getting worse!
“I can’t do it! I can’t do it!”
“What is the problem here? What is holding you back?”
“I don’t know.”
“What are you thinking about while you do this?”
“Duh!  What do you think? Your breasts! You know, holding them… looking at them…”
“Maybe that’s your problem. You’re too interested in the results. Right now, you’re still on the bra stage. Try to make that a sensual moment in and of itself.”
“A sensual moment… with the bra?”
“Sure… women have a very close relationship with their bra. Try to feel the bra while you take it off. Feel the material. Feel the way it’s been made.”
I examined the Victoria’s Secret Second Skin Satin bra.
“The label says it was made in China.”
“Just close your eyes and feel the bra… feel the hooks as you open them…”
Within 2 minutes the bra was flying off.
“Jeez, I think I got it! It’s all a mental thing. You have to FEEL THE BRA.”
I told Sophia to put on the fancy French bra and to get ready with the stopwatch. I was ready for STAGE TWO!
(start Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger from Rocky III)
It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the cream of the fight
Risin’ up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night
And he’s watchin’ us all in the eye of the tiger
Statistics after several attempts with bra:
Off in one minute…
Off in fifty five seconds…
Off in forty-seven seconds…
Off in thirty seconds… a personal best.
“Ten seconds, Neilochka. From first contact to bra on the floor. I’m so proud of you!”
“Thank you, Sophia. I now feel I’m ready for anything.”
“You can buy me some dinner as my teaching fee.”
“Sure.”
Sophia went to her “bra” drawer and pulled out this odd-looking “corset.”
“Then, afterwards, we can start your advanced class.”
We never made it to dinner, because I fainted.
