Ouch, Darn Bra

Yesterday was a red-letter day. Why? Because my bra hurt my back so much that I took it off.

It’s hurt me many times before, but until yesterday I toughed it out.  See, I’m wearing “outplants” instead of implants. They’re basically breast-shaped thingies with a similar shape, gel-like, substance and weight as would eventually get implanted under my skin when / if I decide to proceed.  And, every day for the past several months, I have been wearing them.  And yesterday, for the first time, I took a break from that — and it felt really, really nice.

Being a t-girl and having the not-feminine-enough body shape that I do, I’m always overcompensating. I wanna look extra feminine and have extra-big hips and an extra-thin waist and an extra-big butt and huge boobs. Some large-breasted friends and acquaintances have warned me that large boobs are a mixed blessing at best. I understood what they were saying but they didn’t dissuade me. When I chose my outplant breast size, I went quite large — not huge but certainly very large.  I like the look.  I also like the effect.  Sometimes people are unable to maintain eye contact and I like that too.

I have two acquaintances who are both the same general age and have the same natural breast size, 40 inches or more. Neither quite qualifies as young any more. One lady admits to not maintaining her physique, and not wearing a bra much. Unfortunately, gravity was not kind, and it shows  The other lady wore a bra diligently and her boobs are gorgeous.  If I ever wanted a reminder that there’s “cause and effect” as to wearing a bra, that was it.  I’m clear that, if I am going to get breast implants, it makes sense to also commit to wearing a bra diligently.  No problem, I thought initially. I was highly motivated. Key word: “was.”

But, yesterday, after months of thinking “owee” every now and then, I have officially failed my own test.  I was unwilling to keep my bra on.  So now, I’m officially reconsidering, which validates the whole point behind the exercise. It’s like the process of prototyping in software: make a simulation of the real thing, and spend time with it to see how you like it.

I still like the idea of having large boobs, but I also like the idea of taking a break from bra pain without shirking my maintenance responsibility. And with outplants, that’s what I have today. I could just take a break from them. With implants, that’s not an option.

Before I abandon the whole project, one obvious solution is “go buy a much better bra.” That’s a good plan and I plan to do so, and see how that plays out.  The not-all-that-expensive bra I have now has certainly done a tolerable job for a few months.

But, regardless of what I decide, I like that I’m being so methodical about it.

Busty Me, Two Months Later


No, the above isn’t a picture of me. It’s a statue at Treasure Island resort and casino, Las Vegas. But, curvy, wow.

Below are two pictures of me, with my new fake boobies. They’re not implants. They’re … outplants: bra stuffers. I’m getting used to their shape, size, weight, feel, etc. before I go further.

IMAG1653IMAG1656After two months of this, yesterday was the magical day I’d been waiting for.  Until now, I’ve always been giddily happy with my new boobies, even though (yes, I know) they’re even more fake than implants are.

But, yesterday was different. For the first time, I felt lazy when it was time to put my bra on.  I’d worn my favorite bra for enough days that it was due for laundry day yet again, and so I needed to choose another (and less-comfy) bra.  I chose one from my stash. It looked nice enough. It felt … not bad.  So, more out of routine than sheer delight, I put the bra on. Into it went my pretty boobies and … yay, I’d passed the basic test!  Even when the excitement wore off, did I have the discipline to still go through the process? Yes! It’s almost like these fake boobies are part of me now, like contact lenses might be for someone else.

By the end of the day, my shoulders were hurting. The bra straps had carved into my shoulders, ow. On a hunch, I weighed my fake boobies. They weighed a puny one-and-a-half pounds each. That’s almost nothing.  And yet, there I was, feeling sore.  By contrast, girls like Chelsea Charms have boobies that weigh approximately 30 pounds … each.  Wow.  That really puts things into perspective, for me.

I’ve always fantasized about owning a V-12 BMW 750iL.  And now I do, with all of the glory and the issues, including having to buy two replacement fuel pumps. Until I can get them installed the car is parked in my yard and has been for several months. The reality of the total ownership experience … it’s good to have the entire picture.

This reminds me of two specific friends / acquaintances (they’re right in that “middle ground”). They’re both nice ladies. They also have the same size boobs and they’re about the same age (beyond early 30s). One of the ladies admits freely to not having made bra-wearing a priority.  How do I say this nicely … it shows. Gravity, over time, is not kind. The other lady made bra-wearing a priority, and wow, does it show. Her breasts look perky and gorgeous, and even though she’s personally lovely anyway, boobies or no boobies, her lovely curves certainly add to the overall “wow” look. So, whenever I feel inclined to be lazy about wearing a bra, I think of these two extremes. Conclusion: bra-wearing is a good habit to maintain even if it’s sometimes tedious.

When I’m feeling less-realistic, I fantasize about having huge porn-star style breasts. If I wanted to be cynical, I might say that from then on I wouldn’t even need facial feminization surgery because nobody would look at my face anymore except maybe passport and security officials.

But, it seems to me that if one-and-a-half pounds of weight, times two, can be enough to give me sore shoulders, then I need to buy a better bra, and also be more cautious as to how bigger and heavier boobies would feel.

Although my plans to have  nice curves are congruent with who I am, I do suspect that my enthusiasm for an unusually large size might be: I’m overcompensating for a time when I hated being flat-chested and looking less feminine than I basically am.  Overcompensating is not necessarily a bad thing, as long there is basic self-awareness as to one’s decisions and the underlying elements.

Busty me, Sort of


Once I realized I’m mentally (and thus fundamentally) a girl, I was initially intimidated and embarrassed to live like that in public. With the exception of a few times when I was bold enough to go make a statement in public, I wore androgynous clothing and hoped nobody would notice me whenever I was out in public.

After a few months, I gained enough confidence to realize that I don’t just want to be a girl; I want to be the girl I’d always secretly fantasized about being; a gorgeous, busty leggy blonde with a nice butt.

As to the contents of my head, I’ve invested enough in intellectual pursuits to where I can conclude that I have led an unbalanced life, with too heavy an emphasis on the cerebral. So, my focus on being a hot blonde aesthetically … this actually brings it all nicely into balance.

I’ve been growing out my long blonde hair and having it professionally cared for. At a time when I could afford to fund it, I had my Adam’s apple removed, and my face feminized with surgery, to some extent anyway. I’ve been working out and managing what I eat, so my tummy, legs and butt are starting to look good.

The problem is that nothing short of breast implants are going to give my the busty figure I want, and the $7000 price tag means that this surgery is very far away because I have a lot of business debt to pay off before I can justify spending money on being more curvy.

Meanwhile, however, if I can’t have implants I can have … outplants. Some fake and large yet realistic-feeling and realistic-looking boobies have become part of my daily life, and the effects are significant. In the past, some folks have called me “ma’am” and some have called me “sir.” With this new addition to the mix, most now call me “ma’am” and some yell “freak!” out of the window of their red Dodge pickup truck at 2:30 a.m. in Fallon, NV — all in all, a big improvement. Assholes aside, I like how I’m being treated noticeably nicer now that I’m more busty.

One day, when I can afford implants, the only difference as to the public view will be that my boobs will be below the skin instead of above. Most folks who see me with my clothes on can’t tell the difference as such anyway, especially as I learn how to choose bras and outfits that fit better (and hide the erect nipples better). For me personally and privately, the surgery will be a big thing but as to how I come across in public … not. So, with my “outplants” I’m really “there” now, already, today — which is nice.

With my new figure, I also feel more at ease, because this is the physique I’ve always wanted. I suspect the confidence is also noticeable.

Last night, at the Sparks Nugget, a friendly though not-quite-sober young lady came up to me and proceeded to compliment me (on the premise that I’m obviously a transgender girl) because she thought it’s great that I choose to live my life openly, in a way that is consistent with who I basically am.

That was very nice for me to hear. I already hear wonderfully encouraging words from those who are close to me, but to have a total stranger come up to me and be so nice … I appreciated that very much.