In the late 70s and early 80s, an endless stream of women
flocked to Hollywood, all of them dreaming of fame and fortune. But jobs were scarce, and instead of hitting it big as the next Charlie's Angel, many of them ended up hitting the bed as Charlie's Anal Whore.
Now, at that time, the porn business was obsessed with huge breasts.
To be a porn star, a woman had to be able to lick her
own nipple. She had to bend over and let
her breasts dangle, showing people just how huge they really were. She had to endure a scene in which she was serviced so vigorously that her boobs bounced all over the place (and
if they happened to slap her in the face in the process, hey...all the
better). And the cumshots, much of the time, were delivered onto the chest.
The producers of porn weren't trying to impress viewers with beauty or nudity or raunchiness; these women were relatively unattractive and the sex wasn't all that explicit. So what was it? Well, you know how you sometimes feel compelled to stare at
someone with strange eyes, or an enormous nose, or a twitch? The same sort of thing is going on here. They wanted viewers to be aroused, of course, but they also wanted them to be astonished by the sheer absurdity of titanic breasts bouncing wildly in every direction as their owner moaned in mock ecstasy. With the stupendous bosom, the pancake makeup, the teased hair, the perfect tan, these women looked completely unnatural--and that was the appeal. They were only available on video, and only if you shelled out your $29.95.
To make all this work, a woman needed a chest of a
certain size. B-cup breasts didn't flop around all that nicely, and an A-cup--hell, outside of fetish videos, there's no way a woman with an A-cup could get a fucking job. They needed at least a C-cup at least, and even that didn't quite cut it, especially on taller
women--they needed a D, or better still a double-D, if they were to have a chance in the business.
Young women average between a B-cup and a C-cup, which means that the plastic surgeons in
Los Angeles were doing a roaring business. It was just another hurdle for these women; they had gotten into porn because they were
desperate for a big pile of fast cash, but they ended up having to do
God knows what to earn the money to buy the breast implants
that would allow them to succeed in the business and make the money they
needed.
So woman after woman went under the knife, and soon almost every
porn star in the business had the telltale signs: the ragged circle around
the areola, the scar in the armpit, the tight white crescent on the
underside of the breast. They had endured the soreness and tenderness,
the need to lie in bed for days on end, the extra strain on their backs,
and the painful pulling sensation as the skin of their breasts gradually
stretched to take on the new volume of silicone beneath. Some of them had
gone to less reputable surgeons and ended up with botched surgeries,
ruptured implants, breasts that had hardened or sagged or wrinkled. Some had implant after implant after implant until their chests reached
incredible sizes: 38E, 44F, 54G. But that was the price of admission, and they had paid it in full.
Then fashions changed, as they inevitably do. The porno mags Hawk and Tight and Live Young Girls were
founded to concentrate on young, athletic, natural girls. Chic explicitly dedicated itself to
"the preservation of real boobs," which it declared (with some truth) to
be an endangered species. Filmmakers started new video series that
focused on teenagers, college girls, or "amateurs." ALS Scan, one of
the web's premiere porn sites, started out by banning women with implants,
then went a step further: If you had anything bigger than a
C-cup, whether natural or unnatural, they weren't interested. Oh, maybe
they'd take you if you were extraordinarily hot or were willing to do a
little something extra, but otherwise you had to
go elsewhere.
The porn queens of old stripped off the pancake makeup, let their hair
down, and cancelled their membership to the tanning salon. But the scar
in the armpit and the crescent under the breast are still there--and
always will be.