Citizen of the Month

the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Tag: bras

A Birthday Chick-Lit Tale: The Royal Bra

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Thanks for all the cool photos! I know that this is going to sound sappy, but I can’t think of a BETTER birthday present than having you come to this site and actually READ the nonsense I write. So, thanks.

I have no idea where this is going, or if I’ll ever finish it, but just knowing you’re reading it makes me laugh —

The Royal Bra by Neil Kramer

Chapter One

“I can’t believe I’m actually here,” Sarah said, pinching her own arm. “Me, lil’ Sarah Rothberg, here in Manhattan at the British Consulate at an exclusive party for the Royal Family.”

She closed her eyes thinking it all a dream, but when she reopened them, the amazing reality had not disappeared. The whole night had been a whirlwind for Sarah, from the moment she entered the British Consulate. What glamour and elegance! And so far from her typical dorky life of a Brooklyn-born working drone/editorial assistant for Science Interest Magazine.

Sarah knew she was out of her element from the moment she was announced at the door, and saw all the well-dressed guests and the lush 19th Century interior. She immediately ran to get a glass of champagne to calm her nerves. And then another. And then a third. Since when did she become such a lush? She knew she was getting a bit tipsy after that third glass of champagne.

“Sure,” she rationalized, “I was hoping to become a little more comfortable and social by having a few drinks — it is a party after all — but how in the world did I end up in the second floor “library” making out in the darkness with a virtual stranger? I’m a good girl. Sarah Rothberg doesn’t do one night stands.”

Although she couldn’t make out the books on the shelves, she was sure that Jane Austen was there, watching her.

“Would she scold me for being so brazen, or would she say “You go, girl!?”” Sarah wondered, giggling to herself.

Maybe tonight will be the night.

Sarah’s mind drifted back to the man on the sofa who was kissing her so passionately. And what a kisser he was! If this is wrong to do, let it be.

“No jury would ever convict me, ” she thought. “I would tell them about his lips, the way his hands tenderly feel my body. Oh, he’s good. Real good. Not guilty. By reason of insatiable.”

Sarah’s impure thoughts were just getting good when they were rudely interrupted by the alarm blasting from her iPhone.

“Oh no, I have to go,” screamed Sarah, gathering up her clothes and running out the library door.

“But wait…” said a deep male voice. “Don’t go. I don’t even know…”

But Sarah was already halfway down the stairs. She was feeling dizzy. The champagne. The man. The emotions. She had to stay focused. She had to leave the Consulate before the stroke of midnight, when her Guy Larouche sapphire-blue gown would dissolve back into a pair of Levis.

It’s what the fairy godmother told her.

Back in the library, His High Royal Highness Prince Robert of Cornwall flicked the light to the library, revealing a shirtless man with the toned chest of a sportsman. Rushing to the window, he hoped to still catch a glimpse of the woman he has just met, but he only saw her for a second, until she disappeared into the New York dark.

“Please come, back.” he whispered to the night air. “I don’t even know your name.”

In all his years, Prince Robert had met many women — specimens of the gender who were thought to be his “equal” — beauties with exquisite taste, proper upbringing, well-travelled, pencil-thin daughters of billionaires who knew how to place a baccarat bet in Monte Carlo or what wine to order at Alain Ducasse in Paris. But never has he met a woman like the women he just kissed. What passion. He could still taste her on his lips and feel her skin next to hers. Had she even known that he was the Prince? Did it matter? The more he thought about her, the more he could feel the Mountbatten of his loins saluting at full attention. Hail Brittania!

He must find her. But how? If only he had some sort of clue, some information that can lead him to the woman… the one who he must make the Princess!

And then he saw it. The clue. Hanging on the edge of the sofa, was… her bra. He remembered how he gently unclasped the back of the bra and it fell down, away from her, like falling leaves during Autumn in Hyde Park.

Prince Robert walked over to the hanging bra, savoring the feel of the material, remembering how her breasts responded to his caresses. It was a purple bra. He read the label. It was from a company that he had never heard of mentioned in his social circles, where bras are usually tailor-made in France.

“Playtex Cross Your Heart,” he read out loud to himself. He took it as a sign from God. “I DO cross my heart that I will find you.”

Prince Robert dressed and went downstairs. He saw his father, the King of England, deeply in conversation with his friend, the new President of the United States, President Obama.

The King waved Prince Robert over.

“President Obama, this is my son, Prince Robert.”

But Prince Robert was not in any mood for pleasantries or chit-chats. He had something more important on his mind.

“President Obama, I know we have just met. But I have something very important to ask you that will play a significant role in Anglo-American relations. I need your help.”

Then, in one strong, swift, upward gesture, Prince Robert lifted up the purple bra for all to see.

“We need to find the American woman who fits perfectly into this bra!”

Within hours, there was a frenzy in the media, both on TV and in the blogosphere. Twitters were being sent all across the world, spreading the news. New York was in an uproar. The New York Post was the first to announce an open call with their headline:

“Prince Robert to New York: BRA-VA!”

“An open call will be held tomorrow afternoon at Madison Square Garden. Women will be expected to try on a specifically-sized bra. Only one woman will fit perfectly in the bra.”

By morning, there was chaos. Women of all shapes and sizes lined up outside Macy’s on 34th Street and little by little, the line grew. And grew. The line snaked it’s way uptown, past Central Park, past the Upper West Side, past Harlem, and into the Bronx. Many of the women, knowing that they were going to try on a bra once they reached the Garden, made a point of just wearing a bra in the street — hopefully catching the attention of the Prince before they even got to the Garden. Some women dispensed with bras completely, going topless, thinking the Prince would appreciate their resourcefulness. And besides, it was a beautiful day.

It was a sight never seen before in New York, and probably never again. Thousands and thousands of women of every religion and color, shape and size, standing in line, the fresh air hitting their exposed bras and breasts. For once, women found themselves free to talk about their breasts in public. Some talked about breast-feeding. Buxom women were supportive of women with A-cups, saying how athletic they looked. Flat-chested women spoke of their envy of full-breasted women. Big-breasted women complained about back pain. Women started taking donations for breast cancer research, and gave each other bra-buying advice. Some women wore special, elaborately-decorated bras for the occasion, and New York’s artistic community came out in force, with female artists constructing their own bras out of unique materials, such as felt and tin cans.

For men, it was a major holiday — a day every male New Yorker will remember in happiness for the rest of his life, much like VJ Day, or the Mets winning the World Series. Throughout the city, women were walking around, taking the buses, eating hot dogs — just wearing their bras. By afternoon, men began to even see it as normal and just enjoyed the view, without making such a big deal over what God gave women.

Of course, for many men, it was overwhelming. Ronald Boxner, age 78, had a massive heart attack and was rushed to Mount Sinai Hospital. As he was being rushed by ambulance, he knew his time on this Earth was up. He asked the emergency worker if he help him lift his head, so he could just watch the women with bras walking in the city.

“Of course,” said the EMT.

Ronald Boxner died a few moments later. His final word were, “This is the happiest day of my life.”

Of course, this outpouring of women into midtown Manhattan was not all for noble reasons. For many women, this was all about MONEY and POWER. They were there to snag a rich husband. These golddiggers would never truly love Prince Robert.

Sadly, New York City is filled with these golddiggers. Like Shirley and Jackie.

Shirley and Jackie have always been on the prowl for men. They also have no respect for the male gender, thinking them as horny dumb creatures, who are only after sex. Shirley and Jackie use whatever it takes to nab a wealthy man. Both are owners of the latest in breast enhancements, created by — and they would be proud to tell you this — the older brother of the doctor who worked on Pamela Anderson’s boobs in Los Angeles. This is not the first time that they have had surgery on their breasts, or their lips, or the thighs.

“There’s no way I’m gonna be stuck with a loser guy from Brooklyn.” is Shirley’s motto. “If wealthy guys like big tits, that’s what I’m gonna give them.”

It was a typical evening at home, when Shirley and Jackie heard the news about the Prince. They were in the middle of their daily “Wheel of Fortune” showing, when Eyewitness News broke in with the news the purple bra and the big event at Madison Square Garden sponsored by the Royal Family.

The newscaster showed a photo of the bra.

“From all accounts, the “Royal” bra is a 34B.”

“Hell, I CAN fit my DDs in that, if I really squeeze them tight.” announced Jackie.

“Not if I get on line first,” said Shirley.

Jackie and Shirley adjusted their huge breasts and rushed to the door, each hoping to get on line first, passing their youngest sister, Sarah, on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor with Ajax.

“You stay here and keep cleaning, pancake chest.” said Jackie to Sarah. “We have important business to attend to.”

As Jackie and Shirley slammed the door behind them, a tear fell from Sarah’s eye onto the already perfectly clean kitchen floor.

Sarah IS the owner of the purple bra.

(to be continued or not, depending on my mood)

Therapy 03/04/08

I just came out of therapy. This is how it went with my therapist, Brenda.

Therapist: Hi, Neil.

Neil: Hello, Brenda.

Therapist: How are you doing?

Neil: I want to show you something on the computer. My blog post today. I wrote it last night.

We both sit by her desktop.

Neil: Friday is my birthday.

Therapist: Happy early birthday.

Neil: This is sort of embarrassing, but I asked readers to send in photos of their bras.

Therapist: I’m reading that.

Neil: Now, I’m thinking the whole thing is just crazy. Why would I ask for women’s bras?

Therapist: Why do you think?

Neil: Maybe I’m just feeling horny and lonely now that I’m moving out soon.

Therapist: Then you wouldn’t just ask for bras hanging on towel racks, would you? It probably is deeper than that.

Neil: Well, what else could it be?

Therapist: Maybe the bra represents… women… blah blah… nurturing… we all… blah blah… need love… you are a man… blah blah… sexuality important… need comfort… mother… and breasts… blah blah…

Neil: Hmmm… if I asked you to show me your bra, would you do it?

Therapist: Sure.

Brenda lifts up her blouse to show me her frilly pink bra.

Neil: Thanks, Brenda.

Therapist: Anytime, Neil. But time’s up!

5) ABBA

6) Books by Charles Dickens

7) Cool Men’s Belts

Happiness Project, Day Four: Send in the Bras

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The Official “Bras for Happiness” badge

Neil: Hey, Penis, you want to come out and play?

Neil’s Penis: Nah, I’m depressed.

Neil: Wow, I never heard you say that before. I thought you NEVER got depressed.

Neil’s Penis: Well, you’ve finally done it, haven’t you? Proud? Now, I just want to sit around and watch American Idol.

Neil: I’m sorry. I guess I know how you feel. It’s because…

Neil’s Penis: Yes… and also…

Neil: …it’s our birthday on Friday…

Neil’s Penis: Woo-hoo, big deal.

Neil: You’re always so sarcastic, Penis. You don’t really mean that. We can still celebrate together.

Neil’s Penis: Celebrate what?! You have to admit this year’s birthday is gonna be a downer. Last year, Sophia arranged for our greatest birthday we ever had, thanks to all of those bloggers. This year, with Sophia and you…

Neil: Well, maybe other bloggers can come through again, cheering us up. They always do. Remember when we missed Fall, they emailed us photos of the foliage from the East Coast. And when we were lonely with Sophia away, they shared photos of their beds with us.

Neil’s Penis: Yeah, they are a special group. But now we’re at a low point. I can’t imagine anything they could give us that would be the pick-me-up we need.

Neil: I can. Remember when when we were teenagers, and we used to wait for the mail to come, so we could see the Macy’s circular, just so we can look at the bra ads.

Neil’s Penis: Of course, that’s one of my fondest memories.

Neil: Bras! The Magic of Bras can save the day.

Neil’s Penis: Bras? What do you mean?

Neil: Imagine if bloggers email us birthday photos of women in bras — retro Maindenform ads, Victoria Secret models — or even the most special gift of all — a photo of a female blogger’s OWN BRA. She doesn’t have to be wearing her bra. Her bra can be hanging in the shower or on the kitchen chair, or just sitting next to the dog on the bed. But it would be HER BRA — and I would know it!

Neil’s Penis: Brilliant, Neilochka. I think it might just work!

(I will be posting these photos, so if you actually email me a photo of YOUR BRA for my birthday and just want to keep it, uh, private… please tell me so. Otherwise, just send me a photo of a woman in a bra — any age, any race, any shape!)

(Why do I have the feeling like this post is going to get me booted out of BlogHer?)

(If I said this post was sponsored by Bali and was using this as a way to monetize my blog rather than just being a horny guy exploiting his birthday for selfish purposes, would that sound better?)

Send in those bras! My birthday is Friday. Neilochka at yahoo dot com.

Update: You can now email me photos of things other than bras.

Sunday at the Movies with Sophia

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What says Sunday more than breakfast out at the local diner, doing the crossword puzzle, making a trip to the nearby Big Lots for paper towels, and seeing a movie (and sneaking into the second film at the multiplex just for the hell of it)?

Can you believe that Big Lots already has a CHRISTMAS DISPLAY! Really? WTF? It is the first week of October. Christmas is December 25.

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The night before Hanukkah, Jews go into the closet and take out the menorah. Do Christians really need TWO FULL MONTHS to get ready for this holiday? I think Americans take more time and effort in planning for Christmas than we did in planning for the war in Iraq.

Can I give you mommybloggers some advice? Do not buy these rubber Halloween masks they sell! I put this one on for ten seconds just for this photograph and almost suffocated.

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I took Sophia to our local AMC Theater to see two girly movies, Feast of Love and The Jane Austen Book Club. Not surprisingly, I liked both films better than Sophia, who found them corny and predictable. (Men, if your girlfriends or wives give you a choice to see these two films, pick “Feast of Love.” At least you get to see THREE of the actresses naked!).

During the second film, Sophia became uncomfortable from sitting so long, and started to squirm in her seat. She leaned over to me and whispered, “Help me undo my bra, I can’t reach without it being noticeable.” These were words heaven-sent, especially after just seeing three topless actresses bouncing around on the screen. Unfortunately, the bra removal was more for Sophia’s comfort than for my amusement. After ten minutes of my struggling to unsnap her bra, Sophia told me that I needed to write another post about how to undo the bra, and removed her bra herself through her sleeve. How do women do that? It’s like a magic trick! I can’t take my socks off before I take off my shoes. How do you take your bra off without first taking off your top?

“I left my purse in the car,” Sophia whispered. “Do you have a place to put the bra?”

“Sure,” I said, stuffing it into the front of my pants.

After the second movie, I suggested that we go and sneak into a third movie!   Sophia wasn’t sure she wanted to see another movie, but I said it would be fun.   We decided that Sophia would take a bathroom break, and I would meet her by the refreshment area, and then we would investigate what is playing.   As I waited for Sophia, I paced back and forth, watching all the suckers paying seven dollars for some popcorn. Suddenly, I noticed all eyes on me.   The theater manager ran over, and bent down next to me.

“You dropped your bra, sir,” he said to me.

He was holding Sophia’s bra, which had fallen out of my pants and onto the floor. People looked at me as if I was some pervert. I shoved it into my pocket as Sophia appeared.

“So, did you see any other good movies playing here?” she asked.

“No, let’s get out of this theater. And never come here again.” I said, as I grabbed her arm.

“Why? What happened?”

“I dropped your bra and everyone thought it was mine.”

I took her bra from my pocket and returned it to her. She started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Anyone can see — you could never be a D cup!”

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: Two Nerds on the Phone

While Sophia Was Away

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from Lane Bryant online site

If there’s one question everyone seems to ask me via email lately it’s, “Neilochka, you’re known throughout the blogosphere as a man of strong desires. How in the world are you managing without a woman around?”

The truth is, it’s been extremely difficult. Sure, I’ve flirted with one or two female bloggers in their blog comments, but its all been high school stuff. You know — “Oh, you look so hot in that photo with your kids and your pet hamster!”

Last night, I decided it was time to take things up a notch. I decided to IM with the unattached “BlogGirl X,” hoping for some online action. I wasn’t entirely sure how to initiation the “good times,” but I figured I’d play it by ear.

“Hi there!” I IMed her on Yahoo! Messenger, adding an emoticon that winked. I figured I’d let the emoticons be my “wing-men” in helping me achieve my goal.

“Hey, Neilochka” she replied, “What’s up?!”

“Hee hee,” I thought.

I started my dance of seduction. We spoke about blogging. About her job. About her recent fight with her mother over some sort of vacation plans to Florida. About her recent eye infection from swimming in a neighbor’s pool.

I began scratching my head, wondering if I was approaching this incorrectly. If I wanted to talk about this boring crap, I could have just called up Sophia. Where was the hot action?”

Now I know what you are thinking. What ABOUT Sophia? Isn’t Neil still “married?” Isn’t it a little sleazy of him to be hitting on women online while still being a married man?

I understand where you are coming from. I’ve seen these type of assholes on TV shows like “Grey’s Anatomy.” They may be sexy as hell, but they are basically love-em-and-leave-em jerks, jumping from one extra-marital conquest to the next.

But that is not me. I have two excellent excuses for flirting with “BlogGirl X” last night.

Excuse #1 —

I tried to flirt with Sophia FIRST. Granted there is a three hour time difference between LA and NY — and it was 2AM in New York. But if someone woke me up in the middle of the night wanting some sex talk, I would be overjoyed! And also – once we started talking, the conversation quickly went off-course, Sophia seemed more interested in discussing “what checks came in the mail” than watching me on my new “webcam.”

Excuse # 2 —

Before Sophia left for New York, I explicitly asked her if it was OK for me to “fool around” with other women while she was gone. She answered, “Only if you actually learn something.”

So, I take that as a “yes.”

So, back to BlogGirl X. We are online for fifteen minutes and it is time to get explicit.

Neil:  “So, where are you now?”

BlogGirl X:  “In bed.”

Good. Good.

Neil:  “So, what are you wearing?”

BlogGirl X:  “A bra and matching panties.”

Bing!

Neil:  “Oh, really? What color?”

BlogGirl X:  “Burgundy”

Neil:  “Huh. It’s hard to visualize. Do you have any photos?”

BlogGirl X:  “Hold on…”

Holy shit! It’s actually working! She’s playing along!

BlogGirl X:  “… I bought the bra and panties online. Let me show you the URL…”

She sends me to LaneBryant.com.

This is not exactly what I hoped for.

But still, it is a photo of a curvy woman in a bra and panties. Good enough for me right now.

Neil:  “Nice. That wouldn’t be YOU in the photo, would it?”

BlogGirl X:  “No, silly. I’m not a model. I’m an advertising account executive.”

Sigh.

Neil:  “But you do look something like her, right?… I’m assuming…”

BlogGirl X:  “Sort of. Except I’m a 38D.”

Neil:  “Yes. Hey, that’s what Sophia is, too!”

BlogGirl X:  “Oh, really?

Neil:  “Yes!”

BlogGirl X:  “Cool.  She should buy this bra. It’s the most comfortable one I’ve ever worn. At Lane Bryant.”

Neil:  “I’ve been to Lane Bryant with Sophia. She doesn’t like their clothes.”

BlogGirl X:  “Neither do I. But they have the best bras for buxom women. Just tell her to take the padding out. We certainly don’t need it.”

Neil:  “Right…right…”

I bit my tongue. Something is going wrong here. Too much talk about Sophia. Stay focused, the eye on the prize…

Neil:  “Oh yeah, so, I guess you wouldn’t need the padding… since you are a 38D…”

BlogGirl X:  “Yeah. I also find the padding irritates my nipples. I have very sensitive nipples.”

Neil:  “You do…?”

BlogGirl X:  “Oh, my nipples always give me a problem. Even during sex. It’s like — don’t touch me there right now!”

Neil:  “Huh. So, like, uh, when you’re having sex, I would think most women like, uh…

BlogGirl X:  “Oh, they’re just very sensitive when I’m very sexually aroused. Otherwise, I love when a man plays with my nipples… Oh, check out this bra on the site! I love this one, too. I just bought it and it looks so good with my new black dress.”

She sends me another URL from Lane Bryant, showing another woman in a bra, but I’m feeling a little too dizzy to look at it.

BlogGirl X:  “I could be like a saleswoman for these bras I love them so much. You have to tell Sophia about them.”

Neil:  “Uh…I will.”

BlogGirl X:  “You promise? Because men always forget these things.”

Neil:  “No, I will…so, let’s get back… you were saying, when you get very aroused, your…”

BlogGirl X:  “You want me to send her off an email with the link to Lane Bryant…”

Neil:  “No…no… I’ll do it…”

BlogGirl X:  “Great. Let me go now. I think I’ll undress, take a shower, then relax with my vibrator. I need an orgasm! I had such a long day at work today!”

Neil:  “Uh…OK…”

BlogGirl X:  “Bye, Neilochka. Can’t wait to read your next post! You’re always so funny!”

Neil:  “Bye.”

She ended the conversation with an emoticon that winked.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the MonthQuestions on my Mind

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