Expectations free porn video

Expectations -- I. My life has been shaped by boobs. I'm unsure why now is suddenly the time to declare that. I mean, it is certainly true as I'm about to explain. But why now? Why not three days ago after Emily and I finally fucked each other's brains out and I was on top of the world? Or yesterday when I was beneath it after she didn't answer my texts until midday? Perhaps it is because of what occurred at her 30th birthday the week before. But that is getting ahead of myself. I'm sitting here, naked, just out of the shower and dripping wet abusing my poor computer by covering it in water. I wonder if it will die halfway through writing this in some sort of personal cosmic joke. At least it isn't cold in here, although it is outside - it was snowing earlier. Very pretty. So. Shall we start at the beginning? I was eleven. Boobs were appearing everywhere, one day everyone is happily playing tag, then poof, boobs, and no-one is touching anyone any longer. Except for that weirdo Allison, she didn't get the the memo. Poor girl. Anyway, it all got a bit boring to be honest. Everything became about who had the hots for who, who had apparently kissed who. I lied about that bit. I'm fairly convinced we all did. And then time progressed. Some boobs got bigger, some never showed up. I always felt sorry for those ones who wanted them and they never came. Must be like waking up on Christmas morning and your parents forgot to do the Santa Claus routine so you're left with an empty stocking. Filling it with tissues just isn't the same. Or at least, that's how I guess it was, I wouldn't know, my parents were good with presents. I would ask Emily, but well, she got her boobs early and they're large so she wouldn't be of much help. For me there was no expectation, and of course no result. Perhaps that was it, lack of expectation causing nothing to happen? Don't they say that if you can dream it it will come? The secret? I honestly have never seen that work - some things just are not meant to be, wishing or not. And I didn't think to wish anyway, not then. There was of course desire, plenty of that. Lots of staring at boobs, attempted touching of boobs, obessing about boobs, getting teased for staring at boobs. Wearing sunglasses to hide staring at boobs. It all came to a head when I was nineteen. Jennifer was her name - she was adventurous. And she let me touch her boobs. They were on the small side, but being young they were perky and lots of fun. We did other stuff too, that was fun as well. It should have ended there I think after I had found the holy grail and touched boobs. I mean, we all had our lives ahead of us, great vast grand plans and no idea how to action them, and I felt like I understood the whole world. Then Jennifer went off to the coast, and well, she didn't ask me to join her. That hurt. It was Emily who I first spoke to about getting my own boobs. She's always been a good fried, happy to talk, supportive. And honest. Yes, honesty is perhaps her greatest attribute. Which is of course why, after hearing what I wanted to do, how I researched surgeons, implant materials, placements, incisions, possible complications, ongoing maintenance, you know, just a quick look into things, she looked at me sideways and said, and I quote, "Are you fucking crazy?" As I said, honest to a fault. I mean, to Emily's credit she was literally correct as it turns out - I was dating this girl named Crystal then. And I later found out she was. Crazy, like proper insane, the last I saw her was being dragged away naked by the cops while she screamed abuse at a lamp post. I heard they sectioned her. It's a shame, before the lamp post intervened we were having a great time in bed, and her boobs were awesome. Medium size, long and pointy with huge nipples. There is a technical term the doctors use for that shape but it escapes me just now. I find that sad actually, why do they feel the need to label perfectly healthly, lovely, boobs like a disease? Her boobs didn't need fixing. I get a pleasent tickle in my groin just thinking about them. I wonder where she is now. When I asked Emily what she thought I should do instead she didn't have a good answer. She talked about thinking of the bigger picture, where this could lead, what the consequences would be - short term, then long term as well. How it would affect my life, that I might not like the attention, that there were lots of things I hadn't considered. She had experience of course, her boobs are big enough that unwanted attention is a constant issue, and she was doing her best to counsel me about a big, life changing decision. But it still wasn't a good answer, because she didn't just say "Go for it!" That would have been easier, more direct. I wanted boobs. I buy boobs. That's how my mind works. Thinking about this, I should ask her again about what she remembers of that time, and if given the opportunity again would she change her mind. With how things have turned out maybe she would. I mean, I got them in the end, they're here, right in front of me. I can see them when I look down, hanging there on my chest. They're big of course. Emily would say too big, but then she would. She doesn't much like all the attention, whereas me I don't mind, it's just a side effect. I like the shape, gentle slope down the top, to a nice rounded profile capped by thick nipples. They've gone hard, my nipples, the water's almost dried up now and it's getting a little cold so they do that. And the little goosebumps on the skin, they're cool (hah, I like that pun). They're jiggling as I write this. That's funny, I wiggle my fingers and my boobs move. I never noticed that before. No one can tell they're made of silicone, although I do get lots of questions. Big boobs are like that, everyone has opinions and nothing seems to be out of bounds. I got a good surgeon though, and you really can't tell - I do tell though when people ask directly because I like to be honest. I never did visit that surgeon I was planning to go to when I first spoke with Emily, maybe that was fate intervening. Anyway, we're back to the present which is still in the future so I'm out of order. Carry on. I did a lot more research after speaking with Emily, down a deep rabbit hole that took me months to explore. I remember I sort of cut myself off from everyone while I exhausted every avenue in the search for the ultimate answer to my boob quest. I can be a little obsessive like that. Emily called me one day, thinking I was angry with her as we hadn't spoken since I first talked about getting boobs. She was worried I was depressed, that I might do something I would regret. I told her everything was fine, I was just figuring out the bigger picture like she said, and I promised she would be the first to know when I had a plan. That made her happy, I think - she called every week following. It was just over six months all up when I had my plan sorted. I had it all laid out, which doctors to talk too, which surgeons I needed to book with, the order of things, all the steps. I even drew up a budget, my small inheritance would almost cover everything if I didn't spend too much on living, I mean, that wasn't a problem. If it's a choice between boobs or food, of course you choose boobs right? But in the end the boobs were the cheap part anyway, and by far the quickest too. It was all the other stuff that had to happen first that got in the way, and cost all that money. The problem, the big picture as Emily put it, was that only woman had boobs. I mean real boobs, like big and a bouncy and jiggly and soft and feeding babies and all that. Not moobs. Some men have them but they're not boobs, they're moobs. And I wanted boobs. And I wasn't a woman. I have to agree Emily's logic was sound in the context of what normal people think and expect, but still why can't men have boobs? I mean, moobs aren't boobs because they're hairy, and the nipples are too small, and the shape is all wrong. But we're fundamentally built of the same building blocks, men and woman both. All men have potential boobs, you just need the right conditions. Now of course, creating those conditions can have other side effects, softer skin, different weight distribution, changes to your sex drive - but isn't that trivial compared to having boobs? Anyway, in the end I followed Emily's logic, in that it wouldn't be easy to be a man with big boobs. With small ones you could probably pretend they were moobs, but big ones? No, for those I needed the whole deal so that of course meant becoming a woman. Nowadays people in my opinion don't take that seriously enough, the 'becoming a woman' part. If you are going to do it you have to do it right, you can't just change your name and ask to be referred to as 'she' and 'her'. To everyone who sees you, you're just a man playing dressup games, at least initially, which is not what I wanted. I admit some do eventually get there, to being a woman that is, but it takes such a long time. And I don't have much patience I have learned. It was Emily of course who pointed that out to me when we were still in school, that I couldn't do anything slowly - that whatever I did was all and everything at once. She did say I have dedication though, which is good because otherwise I would never get anything finished, like my project to get boobs, by becoming a woman. When I finally told Emily my plan, explaining it all in detail with all the steps I would need to take, about how the budget worked, going through what the expect resuts would be, figuring out how long it would all take, she didn't say a thing. Not for the entire time I was speaking which is not like her at all. She did listen though, not once while I was explaining did she look bored or lost. She concentrated, took it all in, and did her best to understand. I know that wasn't easy for her, she does art stuff and makes pretty posters and other things that I can't do. Doctors, and medications, and hormones, and surgery and legal papers, and accounting, she doesn't do all that - her brain just isn't wired that way. When I finished my explanation she had tears in her eyes and she still didn't speak for a long time, she just watched me. I admit that freaked me out a little, but I had to trust her, she was processing it all. I knew it was a lot to take in. Eventually, when she spoke I remember it was almost a whisper, as if she didn't want to say what she was going to say. She said she would miss the old me, she was properly crying then. And I was crying too, because until then I hadn't thought I was changing, not really, but her tears pointed out that I was. Then she told me she looked forward to meeting the new me. I really appreciated her then, that she didn't tell me no, or even tell me yes. She just accepted. And she laughed that I was doing all this for boobs. She even offered to let me feel hers, so I could learn that there wasn't anything magical about boobs. But I pointed out that it wouldn't change anything, that I had already touched many boobs and nothing had changed. Sometimes I am sad I missed the chance to see her boobs then, she and I were only 20, they must have been spectacular. It was only last week, almost 10 years later before I got to seem them for real and they're still very nice, but back then? I will always imagine. Emily also pointed out all the things that were missing from my plan, like how to do make up, or learning about womans clothing, and learning to look after long hair. That had me a bit panicked to be honest, both that I had completely not thought about it, nor did I even know where to begin. When I told her that she offered to teach me - everything I know I know about being a woman comes from Emily and for that I am endlessly grateful. She also advised me not to mention the boobs thing when I went to see the doctors which to my error I promptly ignored. I thought by being open and honest the doctors would be more willing to help but I could not have been more wrong. The result was a referral to a psychiatrist for a mental evaluation regarding my 'sexual obession with breasts' before they would even consider prescribing the hormones I would need. And the different doctors obviously communicated because no matter who I saw after that I got the same result. In the end with my plan stalled I changed tack and went underground, researching myself what pills I would need, the dosages, and then obtained them on the grey markets. I knew it was risky and I definitely would not recommend that to anyone who isn't crazy, but I was lucky. I used to go across the border occasionally and get blood tests done so I could see how things were progressing, checking levels were within acceptable ranges listed articles in medical journals I found published online. I stayed incognito for 18 months, barely leaving my tiny apartment for supplies then hunkering down to await the changes. Emily would visit regularly, giving me lessons on makeup, critiqiing my mannerisms, endless conversations trying to perfect my voice, and browsing clothing magazines. That was fun, she loved to test me on outfit styles by cutting out the pictures from magazines and then having me rearrange them into different combinations. I think she enjoyed that, she's a good teacher. I also got really good at video games. That bit I reget, I wish I done something more more useful to pass the time. The hormones didn't do as much as I had hoped. I'm not sure if I had the wrong dose, but whatever the cause my body didn't respond that well. I did grow some tiny boobs and my nipples got huge, but otherwise not a lot changed other than I got fat, and I put that down to a lack of exercise. I did scrounge an old running machine but it isn't my thing, running on the spot or running at all really, so I didn't use it. I was lucky in that my manhood didn't really change either. I tried a few times to convince Emily that we should make use of it, but she was firm that we would be girlfriends and nothing more. The 18 months was a self-imposed deadline to give my a body a chance to change on its own before I elected for surgery. My plan covered everything I thought I would need, but after actually consulting with some local surgeons it ended up there was even more that I hadn't thought of. It became apparent that I didn't have nearly enough money for my goal. That's when I got properly depressed. Have you ever had depression? It's not like the movies where you pop a pill or have a chat to a friend and the world is suddenly bright again. It just feels dark all the time. You wake up it's dark. You don't get out of bed because it's too dark. You don't eat because it's too dark, and because you haven't be out of the house in a week because it's too dark so there is no food. You sleep, think about how dark the world is, and then sleep some more. I lost a third of my body weight in six weeks and the only reason I'm still alive is because of Emily. She used to visit, forcing me to engage, continuing to practice. Often it was just her sitting on the foot of my bed reading a gossip magazine out loud. The darkness ended quite suddenly and unexpectedly one day when she pointed out that I had only lost weight in the places that "didn't matter". We had our first real argument about that because I thought nothing mattered and proving that to her became the only thing that did matter. Which weirdly was an improvement, because I suddenly had a reason to act. It wasn't pleasant and I am still amazed that nobody called the police on us screaming at each other. I apologised to Emily about that episode later and she would not accept my apology. She said that as soon as I started shouting she knew we had a breakthrough and decided she would not back down. The fact she had the presence of mind to do that still amazes me. And she also said she was thrilled that I was shouting at her using a woman's voice. I don't even remember that. Anyway, the outcome at the time was her screaming at me to shut up, then physically dragging me across to the mirror to show me what she meant. I didn't actually shut up until she got me in front of the mirror. And then I was silent. Standing in front of that mirror it was like I was looking at a different me for the first time. When she said I lost weight in the places that didn't matter I understood it backwards. Or actually I hadn't cared to understand it at all. The reality was that another way to put it would be I lost weight in all the places that did matter. Like my waist. I had curves, admittedly small ones but they were there. The fat had mostly gone from my stomach, but stayed on my thighs. I was a semblence of the classic woman's pear shape the magazines talked about endlessly. Progress! It was exactly then that Emily showed me her own research into surgery options overseas, specifically Thailand. I could get a package deal of everything I needed done including airfares and accomodation for almost exactly what was left sitting in my savings account. I was astounded, not just that she thought to look, but that she had contacted them, got pricings, added it all up and then waited until I was able to listen before showing me. I booked flights that day, and then Emily dropped her final bombshell. She would be coming with me, at her own expense. I didn't know what to say. I truly didn't. I still can't think of anything adequate I could have said. Instead I hugged her and started crying, and by crying I mean weeping and wailing like the world was ending. But I think it was because my new world was just beginning, or perhaps it was just the hormones because I kept it up for three hours, and then slept for seventeen. I would like to say we had a magnificant adventure in Thailand, and maybe we did, but I don't remember. That is another thing I should ask Emily about. I do know it was the greatest leap of faith I have ever undertaken, other than perhaps my first telling Emily that I wanted boobs. We landed in Bangkok early morning, it was something stupidily early like 3am local time. After customs we went straight to the hospital for a meeting. I showed them the list of what I thought should be done and they just nodded. I found that odd, perhaps it is a cultural thing, I don't understand things like that, but there was no pushback or contrary opinions. Emily noticed too and pulled me aside, both of us barely awake, and suggested I needed to somehow get their feedback, but she didn't suggest how. I was too tired to think about much either so instead I just sat down in front of the lead surgeon and asked him how many operations like me he had done. He hesitated for a while, then answered that while he had done the individual pieces more times that he could count, doing everything at once on a single person was less than a handful. I asked if he thought they turned out well, but he wouldn't say. Just that the patients seemed happy enough. I then asked him if he understood the difference between beauty and femininity. That properly confused him, but it seemed to mostly because we had a difference in definitions. Once I got him to understand what I meant he broke into a huge smile and just sat back, nodding, as if we had finally agreed on a fundamental answer to life, the universe and everything. I of course think that answer is boobs, but I didn't tell him that. Instead, I picked up my list and theatrically tore it in half. He watched, amused I think. Then I told him straight up that I did not want to be beautiful, but that I simply wanted him to do whatever necessary to ensure that if someone looked, that even if they studied me, there was to be no doubt in their mind they were looking at a woman. He pondered that for a long while, his collegues around the table didn't seem to dare speak, they were obviously nervous. Finally he simply asked that I undress so he could inspect me. I did it right there in the meeting room, stripping naked and standing in front of everyone with my fat thighs, tiny boobs and protruding manhood. He smiled at that, in a kind way that showed respect for my commitment. And then proceed to prod and poke just about every inch of my body - he continued long enough that I got tired standing and had to sit down when he inspected my face. When he finished he talked briefly with his collegues in Thai and then just offered me his hand, saying, "I will do what you ask." We shook. The last thing I properly remember from that trip was Emily very deliberately instructing the surgeons they were not to touch my manhood. Looking down past my boobs at it now, poking out between my legs in the semi-erect state that always happens when I'm naked or otherwise aware of my boobs, it terrifies me to think what might have happened if she had not been there. The rest is a blur. I was in Thailand for 9 weeks all up and can barely remember another thing. The list of operations on the final bill had, I think, calf implants, hip implants, brazilian butt life, butt implants, internal corset, breast augmentation, tracheal shave, and facial feminization which included chin contouring and implant, cheek implants, a nose job, eyelid surgery, forehead contouring and hairline lowering. I think that is all? I would go look it up but I can't remember where I put the records, might be in the attic. Hmmm. I'm looking down at my body as I write this, trying to figure out if I missed anything, but all I can really see is my wide hips and thighs squashed out on the chair. And of course my boobs, but they're now on their third iteration anyway. Oh, I can also feel the bags I'm sitting on in my bum. And I'm biting my lip but I do remember those never changed. I always had lovely full lips, I used to get teased about that in school. Anyway, that's the idea - they went to town and filled me up with so much plastic that barbie is jealous. But they did a lot more too that didn't directly involve silicone - nicking, tucking, filling, shaving, stitching. I am still finding the tiny little hidden scars around my body I don't know about where they went in to do something or other they felt was important. What is truly amazing is that no-one can tell. I, and I swear this is true, have never had a single comment asking if I've ever had anything done. Well, other than about my boobs, which is understandable, they're sort of obvious. Emily took me to a gay bar once where a friend of hers works and had the women there rate me. I was kind of offended, but as usual she had a point. The consensus is I'm a solid 7 out of 10 in the looks department - high enough to appreciate but not high enough to stand out. I call that perfect, my boobs stand out enough on their own! That was bar was also where I learnt that my days of free wheeling sexual escapades were over. As a guy I always had at least one steady girlfriend, and normally something on the side as well because the allure of boobs does that to you, don't they. Several of my judges it seems wanted to take things further, and Emily and her friend ended up having a hushed conversation where Emily revealed my secret - her friend was good about it, promising not to to tell. But she did strongly advise me that if I valued my safety I should just tell everyone I'm already committed. In no uncertain terms she informed me that many gay woman do not take kindly to finding their mates don't have all the right equipment. I can't say I blame them, I honestly can't think of many worse things that having to deal with someone elses manhood either. In that way at I'm a lot lot like those gay woman, I'm just not wired that way, it's nothing personal. Now, back to boobs. My boobs. My boobs. My boobs. Finally, we're at my boobs. Right now I consider them perfection, still sitting here jiggling away while I type. I'm getting harder just thinking about them, it's difficult concentrate, trying to watch the screen and type this I tell you. I can seem them in the bottom of my vision even when I'm looking at the text here, I keep finding my gaze being drawn down to my breasts. I really do have such a beautiful cleavage. This is the third set of silicone boobs I've hard. The Thai doctor did a beautiful job, but there was a limited amount he could fit in then because my chest was so small. To his credit he somehow got 500 cubic centremetres of silicone implanted in each side. It took me another 18 months of hard work camming to save up for my second set. Camming was something I sort of fell into. Back then it was popular but nothing like it is now. In many ways it was easier to get started, sure the cameras really sucked and the internet wasn't very reliable. But there wasn't much competition, particularly, as I found out, if you have decent boobs and a working dick. That category had zero competition. I was researching boobs again, particularly boobs on transsexual patients because I wanted some examples of the differences between implants on males and females. Males have stronger pectorial muslces, and that changes how the implants sit and thus how they look, which had implications on how my next set of boobs would be done. I was not having much luck, there were some porn sites with offshore models and terrible boob jobs that I couldn't afford to join, and then I found a cam site with a 'Shemale' category. Some people find that term derogatory, but I've never much been one to be offended. It is a clever play on words at least. For a while it became 'Transsexual', then 'Tgirl', and now it is 'Trans'. I can't keep up, it will be something else soon. Again, I couldn't afford to join as a member, but I did figure out that if I joined and got verified as a performer I got free access to the other streams. Bingo. It turned out for my research purposes to be a hopeless waste of time. But the headless profile picture of me naked, boobs and manhood out for all in sundry got a lot of interest. And I mean a lot, it went to within the top 3 profiles on the site in my category and I had never even streamed a single session. So I started camming, and the rest, as they say is history. I keep my identity a closely guarded secret. Camera shots are always neck down, and if I do anything else I wear a full face mask - something stylish like you might see at a masked ball. The room I film in is nondescript, generic mail order furnishings. I could earn a lot more if I showed my face, but I prefer privacy. And safety, some of the fans are well past fanatical. Which brings me to Donna. She found my cam site when I still had no idea what I was doing and the chat was out of control. Most channels were like that, and I figured it was just normal. Donna started off as a consistently good tipper and has never let off. She asked to be a moderator early on, I was hesitant because I had tried that a few times already but the volunteering guys instantly becamse insufferable assholes. Donna said she was a woman, but on the internet everyone is a woman if they want to be. So she messaged me a pictre of herself topless with her channel nickname signed across her boobs in felt tip. That got my attention. She had massive boobs. She still does have massive boobs, they're considerably bigger than the ones I have in front of me right now. So I made her a moderator. She prompty cleaned things up, and then what she alone tipped in that first 18 months paid for my second boob job. Everyone else's tips paid my living expenses. Just. My second set of boobs were were 800cc of moderate profile silicone. Because the tissues in my chest had begun to stretch, along with the higher profile and greater volumne my new implants made my boobs appear a lot bigger. I went from just having boobs to having big boobs. They looked like classic pornstar boobs - they bounced and jiggled well enough - but they were obviously fake. None of that seemed to matter to the tippers - my income doubled after I got them. I had concerns that I had undone some of the success in Thailand by getting boobs that were so obviously not natural. But Donna pointed out the flaw in my logic, and assured me that it didn't matter. Under scrutiny in public if it ever came to that I would just be a woman with fake boobs. And plenty of woman have fake boobs. I asked her about her own boobs. In the verification photo she sent they looked amazingly real yet seemed overly large for that to be true. She took that as a complement, then gave me the name of the clinic that implanted her monster bosom, and the boutique manufacturer that created her custom made silicone capsules. Weirdly the the clinic was local to me, so I of course asked where she was, and she was local too. That was a little spooky to be honest. Donna was the first fan that I met, and all going well also the last. Her boobs in person are just as spectacular as the photo depicted, perhaps even more so. Huge and soft and jiggly and warm and pliable and just generally delicious. I came twice while fully tucked, which for me is normally impossible even just once, when I visited the first time and she let me touch them. I honestly wasn't expecting that to happen because her letting me touch them wasn't particularly sexual, but still, excitemnent obviously got the better of me. The damp patch that soaked through to my skirt made the trip home a little awkward. She and I have an odd relationship, she rules my chatroom with an iron fist and is still by far my largest tipper which sort of makes her both my best employee and my best customer. She is also the first person I have ever met who rates the importance of boobs higher than I do. High enough in fact that you can't call her anything else but obsessed. She even openly admits to that if you ask her. Most people would go further and call someone like Donna crazy, but she is filty rich. So Donna is just eccentric. I honestly have no idea how rich, but their 'house' just outside the city is the size of a small town. There are dozens of people living and working there. Money as far as I can see is no object. If Donna wants, Donna gets. We have an arrangement whereby Donna hires me occasionally to attend some sort of role playing she does with her husband. I don't pretend to know or understand what is going on and I don't ask questions because I don't want to know the answers. I just have a small part and get paid very well. I turn up, get led to their bedroom by one of the rather buxom housekeepers where Donna will be dressed in some sort of fancy lingerie the she has had custom made to contain her massive boobs. Her husband will be sitting on a chair in the corner wearing a nightshirt, or sometimes naked. He has rather large moobs which give him the appearance of being severely overweight, but he is not. Given Donna's obsession I can only assume there is silicone involved. I do my best not to look. My task is simple. Strip naked, get hard, and penetrate Donna from behind as she stands, leaning forward to rest her boobs on the bed. I continue until her husband rings a little bell, which the first time this happened was before I even got the condom on. I assume that is when he cums. Recently he has made the amazing time of 29 seconds. I know, because Donna times it and announces the result before I even have time with withdraw from her. You will not be surprised to learn that visits to Donna's are normally followed up by a visit with Fiona - who I'll get to explaining shortly - because well, seeing Donna's boobs in person makes me super horny, and I have never even come close to cumming before the bell rings. Now, back to the boobs sitting here on my chest distracting me right now, busy jiggling away as I type. These are are my third set, 1050cc of silicone custom made just for me and paid for courtesy of Donna. They were on on order for almost three years, and I finally got them fitted just over a year ago. They were worth the wait. My 800s were over seven years old when I replaced them, and the weight had stretched my skin enough these ones went in without a hitch. There wasn't even any pain, I just had to throw out all my bras again. Actually, Emily got a lot of them as she is coincidently the same size I used to be. These don't actually look that much bigger than before, but they're what I term zero-profile - custom-made to my specifications. I learnt a lot with all my research, I've even had surgeons ring me up for advice for their patients who want custom implants. Anyway, back to these ones. If you dropped one of them on a desk (not the ones in me - like, imagine a test one) it would go almost flat. Squeeze it with your fingers and there would be almost no resistance, they just mould around the pressure. And that's exactly what they do inside me too, laying on my back my boobs sort of disappear, as much as a little over two litres of silicone can. If I try to heft one of my boobs up in my hand - I'm trying to do it now so I can describe it better - it's difficult, the mass just sort of flows around and over my hand. If you have seen big natural boobs on the internet before you know what I mean. These result is my boobs are as soft, if not softer and squishier than the real thing. I admit, they do look a little bit flat in comparison to so many fake boobs that have a higher profile, but with the high profile there is always some position or some angle where they don't look natural. But mine darn well look like they grew there, no matter what position I'm in or how I move. And when I move, oh boy! My boobs let me know they're there every moment of the day, they never stop moving, and jiggling, and bumping into things. I absolutely love them. These boobs are also how I met Fiona, who I like to call an acquantince with benefits. She's a nurse at the clinic that fitted my custom boobs so was privy to all the details of my body. New boobs is a medical procedure and hiding that I have a penis between my legs was never on the agenda. But Fi was great at fudging the paperwork trail so that almost no one else knew, I think in the end only the surgeon and the anesthetist did. Or maybe even the surgeon didn't know? I can't remember. Fi of course knew very well, paying particular interest when I got changed. When I asked how could thank her for her efforts she blushed bright red and told me it was nothing. I initially took her at her word, and in hindsight she got more and more frantic to make sure that I would indeed get back in touch with her. She kept giving me appointment cards for my checkups - serveral for the same appointment, and adding her personal phone number in case 'I had any concerns whatsoever' or just 'needed to talk things over'. I'm slow on such matters, subtley has never been a strong point for me. Finally when when I was discharged she gave me another card as I left reception, telling me I forgot it. It was blank with no appointment, on the back was just her name and number. When she realised that I had finally understood the relief on her face was immense. She skipped off down the hallway much to the bemusedment of the receptionist. I txted her as soon as I was out of the building, reminding her that the doctors instructions we no strenuous exercise for at least 2 weeks. She replied that she was well aware, and had the date marked in her calendar. So Fi was the first to get to see my new boobs in action, so to speak. She is great in bed, knows exactly what she wants and tells you so. I mean, for me that wasnt difficult because what she wanted was my manhood inside her, and she was happy to be on top runnng the show. And it is a good show. Her boobs are obviously fake, I suspect they consider it an unofficial job requirement to work in a cosmetic surgeons office because I have never met a woman working in one yet who isn't carrying silicone in her bra. And Fi's boobs are decent, the implant is quite obvious if you know what to look for but they move and bounce, particulary when she rides on top. I asked her once if she could show me the before pictures and she was surprisingly hesitant, I expected her to be proud. After explaining that I love all boobs, and it doesn't matter what they looked like before she showed me. They were spectacular, and she pretty much told me as much. That she regrets getting them made bigger, and that she didn't know what she had until it was too late. I commisserated with her, I mean I can hardly sympathise because mine have always been plastic, but it is such a crying shame that so many woman damage their beautiful natural boobs with implants trying to attain some arbitrary standard of beauty when they truly don't need them. I really do prefer natural. It just wasn't on the cards for me. We meet regularly now, especially when I need a followup to a session at Donna's. I just give her a txt and even at short notice she's always up for it, meeting me when she finishes her shift. So, back to Emily. She turned thirty a week ago last Thursday. After Thailand I wish we could have been together, but it wasn't to be - she married a very nice man on her 23rd Birthday - I got to be the maid of honour! Much to Emily's chagrin I may have selected a dress that was a little too small around the bust. I spent most of the night fighting keep my boobs contained under the watchful eyes of the groomsman. Ooops. They were good together those two, he was kind to her in a way that taught me a lot about respect and relationships. I'm proud to say that over the years he became a good friend. But, you know I'm crying now as unfortunately he passed away two years ago in a car crash, along with his and Emily's young daughter, Jasmine. She was my god-daughter, and I miss them both terribly. Have you ever felt grief like that? I haven't before, this is as close as I've come but I've watched what it's done to Emily and it shreads my heart. For everything she did, for him, for her daugther, for everyone she touched, and for me, she didn't deserve this. She copes, I think, but I really don't know how well. I worry about her, a lot. As I said, she turned thirty last week, as a widow. We threw her a birthday party to celebrate, friends and family. I initially thought a surprise party would be good, but a mutual friend talked me out of it and she was right. I do take notes when I'm wrong you know, and try better next time, but this stuff is still hard. For the party we elected instead to make it dress up, light hearted and silly. Emily didn't want to go alone to her own birthday, so I went as her partner. She selected the costume - Adam and Eve dressed in a weird leaf toga thing. She was nervous when she told me what she had chosen, and as usual she was right - I didn't react so well to the idea of being Adam, of dressing up as a man. I immediately started shaking and had to sit down. She calmed me down slowly, she's good at that, explaining how to her it represented a new beginning. The party was great fun. Emily's parents-in-law were there, and the event was wholesome and healing in a way that blew me away. Emily laughed again, I mean a truly, happy laughter - she hasn't done that since the accident. There was a prize for the best dressed, and of course we won. Don't tell but it may have been rigged - given the costume prize was also Emily's main present. Her in-laws bought her a new car - she never replaced the one from the crash and has been borrowing vehicles of various people ever since. When it was revealed the whole room went silent and I got a sinking feeling like it was all a huge mistake. Then her father-in-law Peter gave a speech, thanking Emily for being such a wonderful daugther. He was kind and gentle, declaring that this was Emily's day and that she had her life to live now. We all cried, and then laughed again, together. It was beautiful. To be brutally honest I never much liked the man, but I have a solid respect for him now. But Peter said something else that I think now is the real reason I'm writing these words, sitting here with just me and my jiggling boobs writing a story I never thought to tell. He thanked me too as part of his speech, for supporting Emily. And he made an odd comment, I'm guessing in jest because of my costume that night, but it has stuck with me. He said that I 'was the best Man to stand beside Emily that she could have wished for, despite me not having a single male bone in my body'. He, of course, doesn't know what is currently sitting erect between my legs. Amongst friends and family only Emily knows that. And it has me thinking. You see, I am, to put it directly, rather well endowed down there. And being in all other appearances female the expectation is that I don't have anything prodtruding between my legs, which means that I have to tuck it away, or attempt to anyway because it is a mighty uncomfortable experience. I make, or at least extensively tailor, my own clothes nowadays as my figure is a lovely hourglass that almost nothing off the rack will fit. I'm always careful to keep the crotch on clothing tight to help keep things well contained, but as I said, it is really uncomfortable. When I first talked to Emily about my getting boobs she pointed out that it is not expected that a man will have boobs, particularly not giant big boobs. So in order to keep that expectation and get my boobs I became a woman. But I never actually tested that hypothesis. What would happen if a man had giant, feminine, boobs? I have no idea. I can speculate, but I don't really know. Three days ago Emily and I were at her house exercising. I've learnt to appreciate that a certain level of fitness is required to maintain my physique, and also rather painfully that big boobs and most aerobic exercises do not go together well. Thus the rowing machine is my workout of choice. I still need a good sports bra, and I wear yoga pants for two reasons, one of them is because yoga pants are the only things that will stay put under the rowing motion when I'm on the machine. When we were finished Emily needed to go the the supermarket, and she asked if I would like to join her. It seemed like a good idea, so I agreed. Now, yoga pants do not in any way hide my features, in fact they do the opposite. From behind they really show off my bum well, curves, wobble and all. When I used to visit a public gym my bum was my star attraction, more popular even than my boobs. I would wear a very tight g-string and carefully squash everything in so that from the front, despite my narrow waist, wide hips and solid thighs forming a nice concentric frame around my groin, all that was there was a well flattened crotch line. But for comfort, and because I have nothing to hide from Emily, nowadays when we are at her house I just wear plain stretch briefs, and well, I get a lovely big bulge right there in the middle, right where your eye is drawn in and perfectly framed by my curves. The briefs I wear do contain it to a single, solid bump at least - it's not like I have the appearance of a snake in my pants. Hence in the past I've always changed before leaving the house. That day I did not, I simply grabbed a zip up sweatshirt and put it over my sports bra. Emily didn't notice until we were exiting the car at the shopping centre. When she saw my bulge her eyes went wide and she discretely attempt pointed it out to me. Bless her. I simply nodded and smiled, well aware, and Emily to her credit did not say another thing, although she did keep nervously glancing at it whenever she could. She would do that when were lazing around at her home too, sneaking a look now and then. That's the second reason I always wear yoga pants when exercising. And what happened at the shops? Not a thing. I noticed a few people staring, but they just looked confused or amused. Mostly amused. A few that that made eye contact I smiled at, and they smiled back. No one said anything, no one did anything. We bought what we needed and came home. What did happen was Emily. No sooner that we had got inside her front door she dropped her shopping on the floor, looked directly at my crotch and informed me in no uncertain terms that we were going up to her bedroom. She stripped my of my clothes faster than I thought possible, and we then spent the next hour having the most glorious sex. I got to explore every inch of her beautiful body, that woman should have been on the front cover of a mens magazine. I also found out to my immense surprise that her boobs aren't natural. Or at least, they are no longer natural. Could have knocked me over with a feather at that. But they still look and feel amazing. Different to mine, she has much more actual boob covering things up which changes the texture. She told me that after her daughter stopped taking milk her old boobs just up and disappeared, so she had them 'refilled' as she termed it. I asked why she never told me, which, as it turns out, is related to why she had always carefully kept herself covered whenever we were near naked together. I always found it odd, I am a woman now after all. I did ask her a few times if she minded me walking around around fully nude around, boobs bouncing and dick swinging. She always insisted it was fine. Now she tells me it was protection from herself, that whenever she noticed me looking at her lovely boobs she got so horny she was worried whe would fuck me on the spot. And me walking around naked had a similar effect, but she didn't think it was fair that I should have to be the one to suffer by having to change my behaviour for her lack of self control. It seems that my little experiment that morning in public broke through her protection and she could no longer resist. It did neatly explain why we almost got into two traffic accidents on the way back from the shops. As I said, ask the right questions and that woman is honest to a fault. So here I am. At the beginning of my boob journey I bowed to the expectation that men do not have feminine boobs. But I'm sick of trying to align with expectations. Tomorrow I'm getting my sewing machine out, my clothes already have extensive accomodations for my oversized bosom, and now I am changing my wardrobe to make room for my oversized manhood as well. I missed my chance at trying out what it's like to be a man with boobs. Instead I'll be a woman with a penis. Seems fair. And as for Emily. In two weeks it is the anniversary of the first time I spoke with her about boobs. I call it my boobie day. That day I'm going to talk with Emily. And I hope in the future to call it our wedding day. -- II. I asked Emily today about that question, when I first wanted to get boobs and she asked me if I was crazy. She said we wouldn't be together today if I had got them then, so no, she won't change her answer. I asked her why not, and she said it's because I am crazy, it's what she loves about me but it took her a long time to accept that. To see that I am the okay kind of crazy and not the lamp post kind of crazy. She said if I had got boobs right at the beginning then it would have been too much for her, guys don't have boobs, and especially not big boobs. It was a step too far, and she would have had to tell the mental health people, who would probably have had me sectioned. And that she could not bear to think of that happening. That's why I love her. Always honest. -- III. She said yes! Wow. I'm back here sitting at the table, naked and wet - why is it that I always get the idea to write when I'm in the shower? I'm practically bouncing with excitement. My boobs are merrily joining in which is making it worse, it's like a positive feedback look. The more I bounce, the more they bounce, the more excited I get, and round we go. Calm down girls! So, yeah, Emily and I are getting married. Not for a while, another year at least, she needs more time to get settled. But, I have a lovely engagement ring on my finger. I even wore it in the shower - I don't want to take it off! Yesterday, my goodness yesterday was an awesome day. It started when I went around to Emily's for our morning workout - I've been doing that almost every day since the accident, so that wasn't anything new. But after we showered, I asked her to come sit with me in her lounge. She has a beautiful view from there, floor to ceiling windows looking out at the mountains. Everything covered in snow. It was perfect, that view. And we talked, and talked and talked. Not since I had to learn my new voice have we talked that much. I told her about boobie day, what it means to me that she has always been there, grounded and supporting me. She told me about her side of boobie day too, although she didn't have that name for it, it is the same day. It is the day she lost her dearest childhood friend, the man she hoped to one day marry. It hit me like a ton of bricks when she said that, and I'm still wincing now thinking about it. I cried and I cried and I cried. She did too. She explained how grieving the loss of my old self taught her things she had to call on again after the accident. And how my depression was much longer than I remember, and that she was depressed too watching me change, then watching me give up. She told me how looking after me, teaching me through that time was the only thing that kept her going after losing the old me. I apologised to her, for everything I put her through. For thinking only of my boobs, for always putting my boobs ahead of her, for failing to notice her distress, for failing to consider her needs too, and for failing to notice we could have been a couple. She told me she understood now, that while for her boobs are just boobs, and that even though she made the choice to fill hers up with silicone she still wishes they were smaller, that for me they're more, more than she will ever know. She told me again that I am crazy. That I am obsessed. And that she dearly loves me anyway. After talking all morning we both needed a drink, so I went to get us some water from the kitchen. When I returned she was standing facing the window, her bathrobe open, watching the snow drifting down. If someone had been outside they would have got an amazing view of her lovely body. But there was no-one, everything was dull, that faded grey of a dark snowy day. Except for a single small beam of sunlight crossing the yard. And each time a snowflake passed through the beam it twinkled. I wrote before that the sight from that window was perfect, at that moment it was magical. She must have heard me put the glasses down on the table, because without turning she started speaking. Saying that she had something to say that she should have said a very long time ago, that we should have done a very long time ago. She was crying again, I could hear it in her voice and she kept tripping up on the words. My robe too was open, I blame my boobs for that, they constantly push it apart, but it didn't seem to matter at that moment either. Instead I took out the small plastic yellow ring I had found at the charity shop the day before. It was cheap, a throwaway toy but it struck me as perfect. When she turned I was down on one knee, holding the ring out. She didn't flinch at all when she saw me, she just smiled and nodded silently while walking over to take the ring, slipping it onto her finger. She held it up to the light like it was some sort of fancy diamond studded masterpiece. Finally, she finished her sentence, "...yes...we should..get married." And all I could do was nod in agreement, staring up at her beautiful boobs. -- IV. I gave up trying to write about the rest of our amazing day in the last entry. I just couldn't keep things still and calm enought to write any more, so I'll try again now. After lunch we went shopping for rings. It's been a feature of our friendship since we became girlfriends that neither allows the other to get obsessed with bling. It is why the plastic yellow ring was perfect, she knew exactly what it meant. For the afternoon I wore a long sleeved, knee length 1920s style printed cocktail dress. It was the first thing I made after getting my current boobs, and I am pround to say it fits perfectly. I would have worn something more suitable for the season, but my sewing hasn't been going so well. The cut on womans jeans for example, there is nowhere to create space for my package nor anywhere enough material. Everything is wrong, even the fly is high up around my waist somewhere making it useless. I'll have to do some more research, maybe buy some men's clothes to tear down. Isn't that a laugh, buying mens clothes to learn how to alter womans clothes to comfortably accomodate male genitals. So dress it was. And as previously, I also let my bulge be, just wearing a pair of comfortable woman's stretch cotton briefs. The pleated skirt hid it most of the time, but if I stopped moving and the skirt fell just right, the protrusion was unmistakable. Emily noticed immediately this time and stood staring for several moments as we were about to get into the car. She started to say something, then stopped and just nodded her head. That was the last I heard of it until that evening. We spent hours at the jeweller trying rings, both engagement and wedding rings. We kept going for similar items, and playfully bickering over who would get which. That was until the shop assistant measured our fingers for fit and informed us we were both the same size. At that point we had two rings we liked, identical cut and style - a mostly plain band with a faint weave and a single small gem. One was white gold with a sapphire, the other yellow gold with a ruby. We could not decide who got what, and of course as is the way with these things there was only one of each available. We both agreed we loved them, even going so far as to elmininate the engagement side and deciding just have these for both engagement and wedding. We had half-settled on just sharing them going forward when the assistant, hearing that we wanted one ring for both purposes suggest we swap. It was the pefect idea. On my finger right now is the yellow gold with the ruby, and on our wedding day I'll swap it for Emily's white gold and sapphire. And then it got a bit weird, the manager who had been with us earlier but excused herself forced the lovely young lady who had suggested the swap off the checkout and stole her sale. And she had then forcefully gave me the receipt, despite Emily making the payment. Both Emily and I were aghast, but what could we do? It was a small store, there was no-one above the manager to complain too. So we just continued on, having dinner at a nice restaurant where the food was excellent. But the service was honestly terrible. The waitress was highly distracted, and incapable of speaking to me directly, instead everything was relayed through Emily. I was going to complain, but Emily stopped me, so what else could I do? I let it be. It bugged me more than it should have, the bad service on what was otherwise our perfect day. When we got home Emily and I went another two rounds in bed, an excellent ending to the day. And then, when we where lying on our backs on the bed side by side, exhausted, Emily told me about the jewellers, or her interpretation of what happened at the jewellers. And then about the restaurant. It seems that my little (or should I say, large) experiment had paid dividends, of sorts. At the jewellers the manager had pulled Emily aside and questioned her about what was under my dress. Emily had avoided the question as best she could and the woman had declared that if it was what she thought it was she hoped that somebody (aka Emily) was making good and proper use of it, then stormed off in a huff. And then Emily showed me the receipt for the rings which she had obviously fished out of my handbag. On it the name of the till operator - the manager - was circled in red pen, and on the back was a phone number in the same ink, alongside the text 'Call me, I'll make proper use of that endowment'. Both of us burst out laughing at that, it seems that perhaps crazy attracts crazy. For safety we confirmed again that I had no interest in lamp posts. And then there was the young waitress. She too had spoken with Emily while I was away using the bathroom shortly after we first arrived. What had intrigued her was the same thing - what was under my dress. But rather than attempting to bully her way into my skirt, she had tactfully approached Emily, who again had answered non-committally. And then the poor woman had frozen up speaking to me, nerves was our best guest. Emily showed me the meal receipt and on the back another phone number in lovely feminine handwriting alongside her name, 'Jo'. I laughed that one off too, making a joke about what a shame it was because the waitress was super cute and had lovely big boobs. But Emily didn't join in. Concerned, I told her about Fiona and Donna, and how I was happy to commit to just us now. But she brushed me off, insisting that perhaps my 'gift' as she has recently taken to calling it needed to be shared. She also pointed out that Donna was essestial to my work, that we needed the money, and that Fi might be useful in the future so I should stay in her good books. She wouldn't elaborate on that last one. I objected, pointing out I didn't need anything more than her, and that we can make do if we have too. She just laughed at that, and told me I needed to realise it wasn't all just about me, that me walking around showing my gift to the world and demonstrating that I was fully endowed in more ways than one had consequences, for the both of us. And that she had needs and wants too. She proceeded to spend the remainder of the evening looking at strap on plastic sex toys on the internet, pestering me occasionaly about this feature or that, as if my flesh and blood version had any direct relation to using the plastic equivalent. I did at least point out to her that too large or too long wasn't ideal and she appreciated that. And that going balls deep from behind, slamming your hips into a good soft backside had a certain appeal, particularly if the receipient had large boobs that swung wildy. She just rolled her eyes at the last bit, and went back to shopping. Married life is going to be interesting. -- V. I'm writing this one from Emily's house, after last boobie day I haven't been home, other than to collect my laptop, the cameras, and some clothes. I sat down again as per usual soaking wet out of the shower to get this down before I forgot but now I'm dry and wearing a gown. Emily insisted, said I can't be catching a cold on my first week here. I did pull my boobs out though, they're as much a part of this writing process as my fingers. I just couldn't get going typing this out with them hidden away. Everying needs to move together, then I can type. Thailand came up in conversation today, friends of Emily's have just come back and were raving about how much fun they had. They asked Emily what she had done there, and she couldn't give them an acceptable answer. I felt sorry for her, they knew she had been, but she couldn't exactly blurt out, 'I was helping my long time best friend, the man I wanted to marry, and now future wife become a woman so he can have big boobs'. Or maybe she could, if it was less of a mouthful to say. Something discreet - I should talk to her about that. It's not exactly a secret any more, is it?. Later, after they had left, I asked about our trip to Thailand and what she did while I spent all that time in hospitals half comatose. I was hoping she would say she went exploring, found some nice beaches or at least saw some interesting sights. But she didn't. She spent the entire stay at my bedside, vigourously defending my manhood - it seems there were a few close calls with some overzealous doctors. I told her she is my guardian angel. She just laughed, and then told me I am her fully developed woman-child. I do appreciate she mentioned the fully-developed bit, that has taken a lot of effort. -- VI We've come up with a code for when I'm cammimg to make sure that when I finish I still have something left for Em. 'Hot' is whatever the tippers want, or as much as I am capable of at least. 'Warm' is no more than two ejaculations, and 'cool' is none. I did have to explain to her that after a full day of keeping an erection for the camera if I didn't come I would be in a world of hurt - that blue balls are real so she need to be careful with the cool. So when she asked me to keep it cool yesterday I found it a little difficult to keep it that way to be honest. She wouldn't give a reason for her request, saying I had to wait and find out - it was a very long day of being horny and frustrated and getting sore. Her surprise was waiting for me when I finished mid-evening, my balls ready to burst. By waiting, I mean that literally, she was in the dining room still wearing her uniform when I walked in, having a glass of red wine with Emily. Jo had unbuttoned the top of her blouse so her magnificent cleavage was clearly visible, and then when she saw me enter while she was mid sip, promptly spilt the remainder of what was in her glass all over herself. I think that blouse is probably a write off. Not expecting quite that sort of surprise, I had figured there was no harm in surprising Emily back, and had strode into the room naked, boobs bouncing and my member fully erect. With me barely holding my cum in, as soon as I recovered from the shock of seeing Jo and before either of them could say anything, I told them that they needed to deal with my problm, pronto!. Emily and Jo just looked at each other, and when Emily suppressed her fits of laughter long enough to clearly nod, Jo stripped instantly. I mean, like instantly. If I had snapped my fingers it would have seemed like magic. And before we had even said a word of to each other I was fucking her from behind while she lent over the counch. Emily called it a perfect introduction. It turns out Jo is older than she appears, only a few years younger than us in fact. And that her and Emily have been regularly texting each other ever since our meal at the restaurant. I got a proper introduction, with words, and then the three of us spent the rest of the evening having sex in every which way and position we could think of. Emily introduced me to her new toy, which I was happy enough with once she agreed it wasn't to be used on me. So Emily and Jo took turns wearing it to fuck each other, and I took turns fucking both of them. I came seven times that night, which equals my record for camming incidently. I do think I could push it to eight, but things are getting serously sore by that stage. The only downside is that Jo's boobs aren't real either. They're good, quite a lot like my last set in fact, but still, I would love to get my hands on some real boobs again. I'll make a note to speak with Em. -- VII I tried to bring up the real boobs thing with Em, and well, it didn't go so well. It lead to our second real argument, after that one so many years ago. She starting ranting about how I regularly got to feel up the boobs of four different woman, and not only that but to fuck them whenever I wanted. And now I wasn't satisfied and wanted even more. I did try to point out that Donna didn't count as I hadn't touched her boobs since our first meeting years ago, but that was definitely not the right thing to say. After rolling her eyes so hard I thought they wouldn't come back, she pointed out the I have my own to feel up whenever I want as well, so the total was still four regardless, and that was three more than most men got. That really stung when she called me a man. I don't think it should have, I mean she's technically right. Or at least, in as far as I'm still biologically male. But I don't think of myself that way anymore so that really hurt, and I couldn't keep up the argument after that. When Emily realised what she had said the looks mortified, immediately apologising. But it's hard to take something like that back you know? I told her I accepted her apology, and I do want to, but I'm having trouble letting it go. It helped a bit when, a few hours later she told me part of the reason she got so upset was she truly regrets getting her implants, and would love her natural boobs back. I asked why she didn't just get them taken out, and she looked at me oddly and asked why I would agree to that, that she thought I loved big boobs. I told her that, yes, I do. And that I love medium ones too, and little ones. And droopy ones. And uneven ones. And pointy ones. Anything really, as long as they are boobs. She then asked me about man boobs, and I had to go through the whole man boobs are moobs which are not boobs explanation. After that she told me I'm still crazy, and that she still loves me. We've now set up an appointment at Fi's clinic to see what is involved in getting Em's implants removed. -- VIII Jo visited again last night which was lovely. It got kind of surreal on my third round of the evening though. Jo was on top, I was lying on the bed being mesmerised by her boobs as she ground herself against my pelvis, my member deep within her. It was about as perfect as you can get. And then she and Em started talking about boobs, and implants, and how Emily is getting hers out soon. Which was all good, except Jo did it all while sitting on top of me happily griding away. Is that the multitasking that woman are supposedly good at? Conversation while having sex? Emily tried to bring me in a couple of times, asking me to explain the differences between moobs and boobs, and then boobs on a man vs woman with a penis. I did my best, but I don't think I was very coherent. It is really hard to think when you have a beautiful woman griding on top of you, her boobs on full display, and she is asking what the volume of silicone is in your bum. I can't remember! It's a little less than my boobs, I know that much. I did learn that when Jo saw me at the resaurant it wasn't her first time, and that after a few moments she knew exactly what I was. Or more precisely, exactly who I was - it turns out she is a fan and has been for years. One of the silent watchers in the channel who never comment or tip. And that the reason she couldn't talk to me during our meal was she was starstruck. Jo was a bit hesitant telling me all this, saying she thought maybe I would consider it stealing to watch without paying. I just looked at her, fully naked, still grinding away and said I figure she's made full payment. I did have the presence of mind to ask how she knew it was me. But she said she couldn't concoiusly say how, just that when she saw the bulge in my skirt it all fell into place and she was certain. So, second fan down. Ooops. -- IX I've been sewing all day today, it's a nice break from camming. I've dropped that back a bit - the camming - between Emily's needs, our now regular sessions with Jo, work with Donna, and keeping on Fi's good side I'm strugging to keep it up, if you know what I mean. The Fi bit did pay off, literally, when she got Em a discount on her reduction. So the sewing is because Em's smaller boobs mean her clothes need taking in around the bust. She's now back to natural, and she seems so relieved. She had a lift to raise them back up a bit, and she says they now look a lot like they did when she was a teenager. Me, I think they're awesome still, and the no silicone is really nice. There's a pleasent tingle in my groin when I'm massaging them, knowing that it's all just Em in there. I do like that. I told her it looked like she had a weight taken off her shoulders which she laughed at and then told me I should be careful of making Dad jokes. I got offended again, so she had to explain what she meant. Once I understood, I then told her I've finally properly forgiven her for calling me a man, because it lead to me getting my wish for some natural boobs and she got what she really wanted to. My own personal sewing project is still not going so well, and Em and I ended up having a long discussion about it all again. She started off by admitting that the day we walked around the supermarket together with me out in full view was the hottest thing she has ever done. I told her that from her reaction when we got home I figured as much, but she said I really have no idea. I asked if we should do it again and she said definitely, but she asked for some warning first. And she also suggested Jo might like to come along as well. I haven't done it again yet. I think I got a bit spooked by the jewellery manager, and while Jo is awesome I think I need to be careful, and think of Emily too. But I'm still really uncomfortable tucking, so I need a long term solution. Emily did point out then when it comes to being a woman with a penis there is no standard for me to adhere to, that I'm almost treading new ground. She used the example of boobs, probably because she knew it would get my full attention. She explained how as woman we can do pretty much anything we like with them short of full exposure in public and no-one cares. Everyone knows women have boobs. And seeing evidence of them is expected, so much so that lack of evidence is almost seen as a fault. What's more, implicity seeing them, for example well covered as a simple bump on a woman's chest is perfectly acceptable. An explicitly displaying them is fine too, a crop top with mile of cleavage isn't a problem. For men it's not the same. Everyone knows a guy walking down the street has a penis. And that being seen implicitly is fine - a rough shape in some loose trousers for example. But explicit is not good, and almost all mens clothing is designed to either provide space for implicit visibility, or to flatten out the explicit as much as possible. Where that isn't the case, lycra bike shorts for example, people get all edgy and don't want to look. I know I'm like that, I always look away. The problem, as she pointed out, is that because woman's clothing is not constructed with my attributes in mind it inadvertantly becomes explicit. And that is what we need to be careful about. Take the yoga pants for example, that ended up being rather explicit, like bike shorts. But what about my cocktail dress? I didn't set out to protrude from that, but I obviously didn't prevent it either. We went back and forth for a while, before settling on some basic ground rules. Where I would otherwise directly violate the explicit exposure norms tucking is essential unless we want the attention - that applies to things like yoga pants and probably also unmodified jeans. Where there was reasonable accomodation, effort should be made to keep within the bounds of it. When I last wore that lovely skirt I had on woman's stretch briefs, which do hold my gift but at full stretch and rather firmly in a high profile package that protrudes quite a distance. I would be better off with something constructed in the way that male briefs are, which would give a more relaxed and lower profile. There might still be something visible outside the dress, but it would be less pronouced and more acceptable. So, next up for sewing is putting some gussets in some woman's briefs, and trying that. I really hope it works. Emily was pleased, saying our communication is getting better and I am learning to compromise. -- X. Em and I finally talked about what do with with regards to our history. Or I guess my history, as much as it relates to our life together. The Thailand thing was awkward, and I know it's going to keep cropping up in unexpected places. Two women marrying is unusual enough, and two woman who have supposedly known each other almost their entire lives even more so. Eventually someone who knew both of us in the past is going to put two and two together, and then we could have a scandal to resolve. Em is terrified it could sully the memory of her husband, and I can see her point. I mean, we both know that nothing ever happened between her and I during those times, but gossip doesn't listen to fact. We decided that while it doesn't need to be public knowledge 'what' I am, it should be known by at least our close friends and family who I was. Defining close in that context, of who it means we should include and who we should exclude was rather difficult, and we've been putting it off until today. Em finally had the nice idea of making the list the same as our invited wedding guests. We've been wanting a small quiet wedding anyway, and this has helped us thin down who should be on the guest list too. So, who should we tell first? Em didn't think it mattered, but I thought it did mostly because deciding gave us more time to think, or that is, me more time to think about how to say it. Emily rightly told me that was procrastination, and then proceeded to write all the names - except for Jo, she obviously already knows what I've got, intimately - down on scraps of paper, folded them, then put them in a bowl. She told me to choose one. It was Peter, her father-in-law. I must have gone white as a sheet because she didn't say a thing, and just hugged me. When I had somewhat recovered, she then suggested we do it right then. Drive over and tell him about me, and about our wedding. She said otherwise I would just fret until it happened, and she was right, I would have. So, as I write this I'm just out of the bath, dry and in my bathrobe, but boobs out of course. It went fine, no need to worry about that. But I got so stressed I needed a long hot soak to calm me back down. Lying there, watching my boobs float in front of me, that's relaxing like little else I can think of. You know what the funny thing was though? He already knew, and has done since before the day I met him at Emily's first wedding. His son knew - he didn't know the details of how but that bit really shocked Emily - and his son had told him to behave around me, that inspite of me having a hidden surprise in my briefs he was to be kind to me, because I meant more to Emily than anyone else in the world. Apparently Peter has a reputation as quite the larrkin. I'm unsure if that meant he would have tried to bed me or beat me to a pulp if his son hadn't intervened. Explains why Peter and I never used to get on that well. And it also explains his odd phrasing when he thanked me at Em's birthday, that I "was the best Man to stand beside Emily that she could have wished for, despite me not having a single male bone in my body." He knew exactly what he was saying. I think from now on every time I see him I'll wear a lot cut top with as much cleavage as Em will let me out the door with. Just because. It's getting busy planning for our wedding and life in general is intense, so I think this will be the last entry for now. Keeping four woman satisfied is hard work, I'm just pleased that the best one by far wants to be my wife. After what happen with my boobs in the bridesmaid's dress last time Em has insisted on her personal approval over my choice of dress this time. I'm really hoping she likes what I have in mind. The bust won't be a problem, I can assure there will be no loose boobs. I mean, nobody can miss these one's I've got now anyway regardless of what I do with them. But my other protrusion? Well, it would be a shame if there was not at least a hint of things buried beneath. Wouldn't it? --- Thanks for reading. Comments and feedback welcome!