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The Perfect Woman? - A Details Magazine Article, compliments of Andrew Barnett, MD, San Fransisco, CA Details Magazine - June 1995 - By Ivan LeCasque One summer afternoon on the beach, my girlfriend Christine got to chatting with an ex-girlfriend of mine, Daphne. While they swapped gossip about me, Daphne, with perhaps not the purest of motives, turned to Christine and slyly confided, "You know, Ivan really loves big breasts on a woman." Daphne had always been proud of her generous, firm bust line, and while Christine was an athletic five five weighing in at about 105 pounds, her breast were minuscule- and she was well aware of it. Daphne's remarks, of course, were not calculated to build Christine's confidence. But the next time Daphne and Christine met, Christine's confidence had swelled- and so had her cup size. With $5,000 and a quick operation, Christine had transformed herself into the woman of her-and my-dreams. But dreams, when they become reality, have a funny way of changing your life in unexpected ways. About a week after that day at the beach, Christine began casually quizzing me about my preferences in women. An attractive woman would pass us on the street and she'd ask, "What about her-do you think she's pretty?" Or she might point to a woman at another table in a restaurant and say, "What do you think of her breasts?" I didn't take her inquiries seriously and, afraid of bruising her self-esteem, I didn't answer them altogether truthfully. But under persistent questioning, eventually I spilled: Yes, I like large breasts. How much? A lot. Now most of my long-term partners had not looked anything like Dolly Parton, and I made sure Christine knew that I'd had plenty of satisfying relationships with women who had less on top than your average Playmate. Besides, Christine was compellingly intelligent, witty, and attractive-the kind of person that people remember. That said, I don't deny that at times I secretly wished that her considerable personality were matched by her cup size. But none of this, of course, really mattered. Christine and I had been together for over six months-we were feeling the first stages of love for each other, and Christine's breast size was about as far down on the list of important issues between us as, say, deciding what movie to see. Then one day at a bookstore we were studying a magazine rack that sported a Playboy with an impressively endowed centerfold on the cover. Christine gestured toward the photo-"How would you like me to look like that?" she asked. "What do you mean?" I said. "I want to do something... scientific." I thought I know what she meant, but I didn't say it. "I've been thinking about getting a breast enlargement," she said. There's more, click next to continue
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