Stages

[Busty]

With a subject like that, one might expect to see a discussion of physical development, such as Tanner stages. Instead, I’m going to focus on the emotional stages as we have gone through physical stages.

Oblivious:  I developed breasts the same time as the girls in my class, but I was totally unaware of the soft mounds growing on my chest topped by puffy nipples. 

Denial: Of course, before long, my growing breasts were getting me teased, the most common being, I needed to wear a bra. Even so, I kept telling myself I was like the other boys, and I never asked myself why I had stopped looking at my body in the mirror.

Admitting: under the barrage of constant teasing, I finally had to admit to myself that I did have breasts. And they were getting bigger! 

Awareness:  now that I had admitted, I let myself feel. For example, notice the jiggling. Or how my nipples got saluted when in contact with something cool

Curiosity, dare I call it morbid: I began to examine my breasts, both visually and tactically. How my breasts were soft, fuller at the base, conical in shape, topped by a soft nipple that reminded me of a space capsule.

Embarrassment: Now that I understood my breasts, instead of taking pride in them the way the girls in my class did, I was ashamed.

Camouflaging: I tried to hide my breasts, both by what I wore, and by my posture. I would look in the mirror to see which tops showed less, and I was always hunching my shoulders. 

Lurking: I would surreptitiously study the girls in my class. The size of their breasts compared to mine. The types of bras they wore. 

Bras: Despite my attempts to camouflage, I was constantly being told I needed to wear a bra. I was continuously checking out girls’ bras. I was assiduously studying all the bras in mail order catalogues and advertisements.

My mother’s bras:  I wanted to be able to touch and examine a bra, So I began sneaking into my mother’s lingerie drawer, and checking out all her bras. Knew all the styles, underwire, soft cup, Demi, etc. As a latch key kid, I had a few hours every day.

Me in a bra: like water on a stone, I was being worn down, and it was inevitable that I would think about wearing a bra myself.

Mixed feelings :  As I thought more and more about me wearing a bra, I realized my feelings towards my breasts had been evolving to where I no longer felt purely humiliated. While having breasts was inconvenient to say the least, there was also something aesthetic and sensual about them.

My First Bra:  One day at school, I decided when I got home, I wasn’t going to just go through my mother’s bras, I was going to put one on.

The rest of that day, I was more aware of my breasts than ever. Every jiggle. How the insides of my top felt as it glided over my nipples with every jiggle. 

I had trouble concentrating at school that day. My mind kept drifting back to my mother’s bra collection. In one of my mother’s magazines, I had found an article about what to look for in a girl’s first bra. It had such characteristics as soft, comfortable, gentle support, coverage, modesty.

My mother’s soft cup bras were soft and I guessed they would be comfortable to wear.  I thought about support, and wondered how that would feel. I guessed, no more jiggling.  That would be nice. I also thought about how the size and shape of my breasts was often evident through my tops, or why else would I get all these comments, so some coverage would be nice, too. Then I thought about the times that my nipples would poke through my tops, clearly visible little hard bumps. Yes, I was all in for some modesty there.

As the day were on, I began more and more to look forward to getting home and getting into one of my mother’s bras. I thought the school day would never end.

And my mind kept coming back to this one bra. It was white with a white lace overlay. And it was anything but the description of a girl’s typical first bra. The cup was underwire, structured push-up, Demi.  It was made by Montgomery Ward. I even had practically memorized every detail about it from the catalog lol. 

When I got home, I raced up to my mother’s bedroom. Pulled off my top and dropped it on the floor. Looking back, my attitude and actions not so different from a woman eager to be in her lover’s embrace.

I had read an article about how to put on your bra. Loop the straps over your shoulders. Lean forward so that your breasts hang down. I even remembered the joke in the article. This is one time that gravity is a girl’s best friend. Line up the bottom of the bra at the base of your breasts. Adjust the shoulder straps if needed, and I did need to lengthen my mother’s, reminding myself to put them back in place afterwards.

All of this, I did in slow motion, because I wasn’t at all experienced. Plus, there was a savoring of every little step.

Once the bra is in the right position vis a vis your breasts, pull the band behind you and clasp behind your back.  The bra had two hook and eye closures, and a few length choice so I chose the loosest.  I had a number of tries and misses. Then I got one, but it was misaligned, so I couldn’t get the second, and had to undo the first. Then I finally got one, and then the other.

Straighten the position of your bra, and then reach into the cups of your bra and do swoop and scoop, adjusting your breasts in each bra cup. I was surprised at how much side tissue I had, and how with swooping and scooping, my bra seemed to gather up everything and use it to fill my bra cups.

I could actually feel myself filling the cups of my bra. I mean, my bra was filled with me!

I could feel how the bra was containing my breasts, from below, in- and out- sides, my nipples, But interestingly enough, the coverage did not extend fully to the tops of my breasts.

I, also, could feel how my breasts were sitting up on a shelf-like padding inside the cups of my bra. It felt really nice having the support of that shelf under my breasts.  My breasts felt plumped up.

I looked in the mirror. I have to admit I was stunned. That bra looked so good on me. I looked really good in a bra.

Pride:  I had a new feeling that I never had before with my breasts. I felt proud I could fill the cups of my mother‘s bra. And I had this crazy thought, I am young and still growing.  I wanted to get bigger!

I loved how my breasts looked in a bra. How a bra looked on me. The conical shape and shallower upper breast had been replaced by a rounder, fuller look.  And my breasts looked so lifted and out there. 

I tried walking around, and you will probably laugh, doing jumping jacks. The jiggling had been replaced by controlled movement of my breasts. 

Epiphany:  I realized I belonged in a bra as much as any girl in my class.  And I wanted to tell everyone who had teased me, that they were right. I did need to wear a bra. Even though they had been mean, I felt like thanking them.  I wished I could show everyone.  Let everyone see how good I looked in a bra. And I wanted to be in a bra as much as I could after that.

[Evolver]

Kudos for being so open, Busty. Around 6 months ago the importance of privately journaling was suggested to me for my own unique story, and I found it to be an extremely cathartic experience. It also turns all those little breadcrumbs into a slice and onwards towards a loaf, enabling a glimpse of the future maybe. And whatever the reason for the journey itself, it is also nice to be able to look back and see how far you've come during times of doubt. 

Thank you.

[Justagirl💃]

My own journey is quite different.

Born intersex, but assigned male at birth I went through quite the process. My mom abandoned me when I was seven so her mother, my grandmother, stepped in to help raise me. Grandma was Raising me as a tomboy, I went to ballet class, piano lessons, learn to knit, learn to sew, and cater weddings including the dresses. This lasted until my early teens.

Puberty brought wide birthing hips and breasts.

I was quite content with who I was other than the problems I had at school in the locker room and of course the constant titty twisters the other classmates would give me. Kids can be so mean.

At about 17 my father stepped in and told my grandmother to butt out. He shopped around for a doctor that would prescribe testosterone treatments and enlisted me into as many sports as he could think of. According to him, it was time to man up.
Of course I failed miserably in all the sports except for tennis and bicycling.

I was taught that I had a birth defect, and society would never accept me for who I was so I had to hide it at all cost. Boy mode was an absolute necessity. That started the baggy shirts, layers, and bib overalls. Of course because of my curves I still had to make my own clothes.

At about 17 years of age I snuck out to go to a party, and somebody slipped me a roofie at the bonfire. I woke up naked about several hours later on the floor of a van in all the other cars were gone. The bonfire had burned down to ashes. I collected my clothes and walked home never to tell my father what had happened because I had snuck out. It seems other kids at school had figured out my secret.

I never dated much for the simple fact that when things got down to that point, it would entail quite the conversation. The few times that I dated were very awkward. When it comes to my first wife I had bigger boobs and much curvier than she was. As for my second wife, we were built about the same. I did however continue in boy mode for about 45 years. I had only try to bra on once in my teens, and it was a perfect fit. It was my cousin's bra. I never wore a bra again until my mid fifties when horrible neck pain was sitting in and the nurse recommended support. Where I was only about a C cup graduating high school, I had grown to a D cup by my fifties. The weight was too much for my neck. I was recommended by the social worker to visit this site about gynecomastia, and told to start wearing support everyday.

Purchasing and wearing bras again got me to reflect upon my youth, and my wonderful experiences I had growing up with Grandma living as a tomboy. Deep down inside I was still the tomboyish little girl that Grandma was raising.

Buying all my bras at Torrid brought me closer to shopping across the aisle, and buying cute outfits at Torrid as well. I came to the realisation that the real me needed to come out again. The last few years has been an interesting Journey, and I no longer own any men's clothing at all. I basically live 100% female. Understandably I still have some male parts, but I also have some female equipment as well. I think being intersex I have a right to choose?

That is basically my journey in a nutshell.

[Busty]

Kudos for being so open, Busty. Around 6 months ago the importance of privately journaling was suggested to me for my own unique story, and I found it to be an extremely cathartic experience. It also turns all those little breadcrumbs into a slice and onwards towards a loaf, enabling a glimpse of the future maybe. And whatever the reason for the journey itself, it is also nice to be able to look back and see how far you've come during times of doubt.

Thank you.

Thank you for the kind words.  Growing up, I kept a journal. It was more description than analysis. I don’t believe I was capable of analysis back then. I was rereading that old journal and realized there are distinctive steps along the way. It was both cathartic for me to share, and I hope it is helpful to others in somewhat similar circumstances  

[Busty]

Justagirl, Thank you for sharing your journey. Yes, different from mine. Probably we are different from others. But we also share similarities. And by sharing our journeys, maybe we help each other. And then helping each other, maybe help ourselves.  

[taxmapper]

The van thing I didn't know about before.  

I posted before that i strongly believe that children can pick up pheromones that are given off and when something doesn't align, they instinctively know one of us "doesn't fit it". 

I had that while growing up and a strong aspect of being called gay, wussy, p8ssy, weeny-gurl, weakling, worthless gurl-boy, and a long list of other not so nice words as well. 

Constantly left out of groups and last to be picked for any team in sports.  Defiantly an outsider. 

Middle school and High School was hell for alot of other reasons.   
It wasn't that I developed breasts, though that did start somewhat around 16ish or so. 

But my father kept referring to me as a "conniving bastard", "panty waist", "worthless girl", and kept saying that I would make someone a good wife some day. 

Lets say our relationship was not the best.   My mother wouldn't tell me anything. 


Ill repeat what happened last month.  My now 95 year old Aunt who had a stroke about 6 months ago I talked with her over the phone and let her know that I had started to develop sizable breasts and other physical aspect not indicative of male. 

(I am 56/57).   She said, "...well, it happens to all of us, you finally there I guess..." 

What she meant, IDK. But I am assuming that she knew I was different and that my body finally caught up.   As I said before, the girls are initiating a hostile takeover and pushing the boys out. 

The one aspect for me is that I have longed for wanting hips, and though extremely slow, I am starting to see something going in that direction.