I’ve never really understood why guys find coming all over their partner’s breasts such an incredible turn on, but it does seem to be quite a popular way to unload. When IndiaLove (aka my tall Indian lover) told me he wanted to B his L on my Ts (Bust his Load on my Tits), I wasn’t sure whether to be offended, flattered, turned on or grossed out. I’ve never really been propositioned in such a way, but that could be due to the fact the my As never garnered much sexual attention. My DoubleDs however, demand it (they turn me on for godsake!) Complying with his request because I’m adventurous and kind of kinky, I realized, as he straddled my chest and began to indulge in some seriously intense self-love, that as he was finding the whole experience totally erotic, I was, too. And what else to do when your lover is kneeling over top of you, cock in hand, completely engaged and engorged by the whole ordeal than to reach down and have a go at yourself! Hello, Mutual Masturbation! Sex is great in all of its wonderful diversions! Having my hands busy, made his own work harder, and just as I was getting warmed up – he sprinted ahead and crossed the finish line. Fuck! Isn’t that always the way? I wish I could just pull it out and orgasm within 30 seconds. This however, seems to be almost an entirely male trait. Perhaps if men grew a pair of tits, women might be so inclined to B their own Ls all over their man’s Ts!
Wow! Is that the same dress? My favourite slinky little number has been magically transformed by my newly enhanced chest! It’s hard not to spend too much time in front of the mirror admiring my plastic surgeon’s work – so this is what a dress is suppose to look like! These babies give a new definition (no pun!) to all my dresses, t-shirts and sweaters. I am finally voluptuous and damn my clothes look fantastic! I am now the recipient of all those unwanted stares and ogles that women endowed of a certain cup size continually complain about. I did get them “done” for myself but the confirmations I receive when I wear a V-neck make paying my Visa bill that much easier! The eyes of men I knew when I was but a wee A pop at the site of my perfectly formed, buoyant double Ds. They are the ultimate accoutrement – I have no need for necklaces and earrings to detract the viewer’s eye from the cleavage: mine scream LOOK AT ME! No wonder my neck has been sore as of late!
Having fake tits seems to give some people the impression that they are there for anybody to comment on or touch! Not that I mind either, truthfully, but when a complete stranger gropes you in the passing – it does give one pause for thought. It wasn’t even crude male behaviour – it was a woman who did the feeling up! “Are those real!?!” she asked incredulously. I could tell she was a little bit in awe and a little bit envious. I looked down at her chest and reminisced the A cup that I was only a few short weeks ago. “Nope, just got ‘em!” How could I lie? They look too amazing to be real – and under a shirt with no bra, they magically stay up! She ogled me awhile longer while firing off questions; where did I go? how much did I pay? and what exactly have I got in there? Just the usual girlgab that began with a grab.
Despite the fact that my beautifully full breasts are silicone, they are all mine – my Visa bill tells me so every month!
Apparently, not only vitamins run the length of the alphabet – cup sizes do, too! I was so happy to finally lose the 1950s-era support garment that I’d been given to wear after the surgery. And what better way to celebrate than to take my two beautiful new twins shopping for lingerie! Into my favourite bra and underwear store I strode. Excited at the prospect of being able to finally fill a proper bra! Anxious to see how they really looked under some sexy lace, I chose all the prettiest C cups I could find and sashayed into the heavily velveted change room. Off with the clothes, on with the first bra – a fun hot pink swirl. Sitting directly on the tops of my nipples and not much else, I quickly came to the conclusion that a C might be too small. I smirked with guilty pleasure and shouted (in my head) ,”I am the proud owner of Ds!” Second time into the damask room, but armed with the next size up – and the biggest the store sold. As I struggled to do up the clasp behind me, I realized that this cup didn’t quite fit properly, either. Since when was a bra supposed to resemble the Golden Gate Bridge spanning two mountains! I stared into the mirror in disbelief. What happens when you don’t fit the largest size the store makes? Does the brassiere alphabet stop at D? I whisked myself past all the cute little colourful pushups that I would never fit again and found the nearest salesgirl. “Where do you shop if you are larger than a D cup?”, I asked in desperation. She pointed across the street, “Over there, at the speciality shop.
One hour, 2 bras and 264CAD later, I was fully aware just how far down the alphabet bras sizes go. I will never regret the choice to “go big”, I will however, have to adjust my budget to accommodate my brand new Es!
Fake Tits. I’ve been dreaming about getting some for a the better part of a decade; continually envious of deep cleavage and longing for some curves that fill up a bra properly! So, after a month of research and not a thought about my credit limit – I finally DID IT! And baby, are they fabulous! The actually surgery lasted about an hour and post op healing took a good two weeks but if I were to do it all again – I would have only done it sooner! I went from an A cup to a D cup and according to all the girlfriends, my sister and mother, plastic surgeon and co-workers…it seems as if I was born to the wrong size of boobs! The Ds look as if they were supposed to have been there all along! A fantastic fit! I have to admit that I love touching, squeezing, and rubbing them – they feel so nice! And damn, do they look good under a t-shirt! Having gone from almost nothing to VaVaVaVoom – feels nothing more than natural! I actually feel good being naked with a lover, whereas before – the bra would be the last thing to come off (in the dark) and the first thing to struggle back into (before the lights came back on). Although the stitches are still dissolving and I’m still wearing a 1950s version of a support bra – I know that I made the right choice for myself… and for all the future bikinis I can finally own!
