Feeling:
powered by FreeFind
I Want!
"I want..." It’s a refrain that’s ever so familiar. Children usually have no reticence about vocalizing their desires—sometimes quite loudly. As adults, we have learned to be a bit more reserved in our audible expressions. On the inside, however, we literally scream and stomp our feet with unrequited longing for the object(s) of desire. In this true, breast-quest story, I’d like to share a surprising discovery that accompanied the fulfillment of one very special "I want..."
In some ways I’m your typical middle-aged American male. Like my brothers nationwide, I am a bit fixated on breasts. Okay, you’re right, it is really more of an obsession. And, I must admit that there was indeed a time when bigger was better and huge was utterly fantastic. Like far too many things in our still male-dominated society, my size perspective was terribly one-sided. Mea culpa!
My, if you will, male typicality, has its limits. Although I covet breasts, along with all else that comprises the gender we call female, my desire is significantly different from the "average" guy’s. I don’t want these female body parts for my nefarious sexual pleasures, rather I want them for my own.
For many reasons, going the route of a male-to-female gender change isn’t a real option. I do, however, feel much more comfortable and happier in a somewhat stereotypical female role that includes dressing as a female. Such is not an overnight revelation or process. During my journey, there came a point where stuffing my bra with stockings was no longer satisfactory. Since acquiring “real” breasts would require either a Hannibal Lector mentality or hormones, I opted for a look-alike, feel-alike alternative and paid a visit to a friendly mastectomy boutique.
Both the boutique’s owner and her fitter couldn’t have been nicer. After measuring and studying my body frame, they concluded that a woman having my physical size would, on average, have breasts that were a C cup. Accordingly, they fitted me with an absolutely wonderful pair of silicone breast-forms. At last, I had my very own breasts. Going out of the boutique with my new breasts and a half-dozen bras safely packed in a shopping bag I was literally walking on-air. Of course, the fact that my wallet was about $800 lighter might have helped with this phenomenon. I couldn’t wait to get back home.
I showered, powdered, perfumed, and put on my makeup. Taking one of my sexiest bras, I carefully placed my new breasts in the bra’s special pockets. After playing amateur contortionist for some time I finally managed to get the bra’s band evenly hooked. Arms and hands were not designed to reach around to the middle of a person’s back. A dress and heels completed my transformation. I felt so very ladylike. It wasn’t erotic. It wasn’t sensual. It was, for want of a better description, a feeling of naturalness and how things really should be.
It was about 5:00 p.m. when I finished dressing. Around two-hours later I began to feel the first pangs of distress. It started as a dull ache that fairly rapidly developed into a steady pain. My lower back hurt like blazes. I’d never had any problems with my back. As I walked about the apartment in my new-found feminine glory, I continued to delight in the natural way my breasts moved. They were simply so real. I’d touch my bodice, and be rewarded with the same sensations that had accompanied those times when I felt a real woman’s breasts through her bra and clothing. Yes indeed, my breasts were just like real breasts. There was one small fact that I’d never before considered—just like real breasts, mine had weight in of themselves. So beautifully ensconced in my 40-C bra, the breasts were exacting their weighty toll on my back. Ouch!
So came an epiphany of sorts. If I was experiencing a not inconsiderable degree of pain from carrying the breasts’ weight on my chest, so too would any woman similarly endowed. Remember, my breasts were fitted with an eye toward the size of an “average” woman of my physical build. There are many, many women who are as large or larger than I am. Not only that but, of their number, there are countless women with bigger breasts. Even though my first walk in the heels of an “average” woman was fairly brief, it was surely long enough to give me a new empathy for what she must go through to have those breasts where bigger is better and huge is utterly fantastic. I never could understand why any woman, regardless of how busty, would ever consider having breast-reduction surgery. That’s changed.