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Genetics are a bitch, I remember from my youth that my grandmother had giant breasts. When you are young, and she is coming at you to give you a big hug and kiss, her breasts just are enormous and swallow you whole until she releases you.
Later, I see that my mother is also ginormous. She is not overly over weight, but her bras on the line just caught the wind and exploded in a giant sail. And then, my sister was also so big that she had to have a reduction just to be able to walk normal.
So, I shouldn’t be surprised that I also have huge breasts, but I am a male. My breasts were always big growing up, so big that a doctor checked my genetics, and checked for a disease called gynecomastia. Which I didn’t have, just had a big chest. In High School, they were so big it hurt when I got hit in the chest in football because of the shoulder pads pinching down. I won’t go into the teasing here, that is another story.
This story takes place much later in life. I married a woman who had a young daughter, just turning 10. She was a great kid, but her mom didn’t teach her manners too much. So, the first thing she said when she saw me with a white t-shirt on was “Mom, why does he have breasts like you? I thought boobs were just for girls?” I don’t know how she explained it, but it didn’t stop her from keeping up talking about it all through her teen years, and into her 20s.
She would come up to me and ask if I was comfortable. I would say sure, why, and she would ask if I was in pain from my breasts not in a bra. I would just turn back to what I was doing and ignore it. Or she would come up from behind me and grab one and say “Hmmmm, I think a C”. I would yell “Cut it out” and go about my business. Then once, she came into the house early home from school. I was walking from the kitchen to the bedroom without my shirt, and she just stared. I stopped, looked at what she was looking at, and then started walking briskly, covering my chest like a woman would.
But I wasn’t fast enough. She ran up and said “yep, big B or a C. Just admit it, and let’s get you measured”. I said no, and pushed past and got into the master bed room and shut the door.
Now let’s fast forward. My marriage was going downhill, and I found food to be the only thing that made me happy, so I started gaining weight. But, unlike most men, the first place I put on weight is my chest and legs… yeah, just like a woman. Well, I wore sweatshirts, and big bulky things to keep my daughter from really noticing them. I would avoid her except when I was sitting down, and when I would hear her coming I would evade as quick as I could.
Fast forward a little more, I move out. Soon, my step daughter asks if she can move in with me because she is experiencing the same thing from her mom. I would never refuse her in this and gave her a room, and I slept on the couch. It’s nice. She is a great roommate. Cleans, cooks, doesn’t bring weird people home. I am loving it.
One night, she said she has some booze and wants to know if I would share. Sure would! We sat on the back porch and drank quite a few. I was getting warm and took off my sweat shirt, and she saw my larger breasts for the first time for real. Being a couple of sheets to the wind, she said “Dad, really, let’s just see what size you are. It’s just you and me. Let’s do it.” I said “You are never going to let this go are you? Fine, if this will get you over this, let’s do it.”
She goes in and grabs that floppy measuring tape from her sewing kit. She makes me take off my shirt, and puts the tape around my body, just under my breasts. She then puts it under my arm pits, then measures around the fullest part, over the nipples. “Jesus Dad, you are a double D! I never thought you were that big, but I…” and she measured me again. She sat down, pulled out her phone (I thought she wanted to take a photo) and typed something into it. “You didn’t tell someone did you?” She said, “No, just wanted to make sure. A double D dad. That is awesome!” “Well if you think so.” I said. “I’m going to bed”. And walked off to her protests.