My Entire Life Story | Sakura Geisha Group

My Life Story

Language, Culture, and Family Origins

My parents were both born and raised in China, my mother in Guangdong and my father in Fujian. My mother's side came from a wealthy, well-connected family involved in the textile industry and local governance. They lived very comfortably, with deep-rooted influence and resources that extended through periods of national hardship. In contrast, my father's family was quite poor, but he worked tirelessly to build a successful life. I was born in Hong Kong and raised in an upper-middle-class household. At home, we spoke Cantonese exclusively. Both of my parents were also fluent in Mandarin. In addition to Cantonese, my mother spoke a local dialect, and my father spoke Hokkien, the native language of Fujian province. During the Cultural Revolution, my father and his family, like many others, were sent to work on rural farms. It was a period of deep struggle, where food and necessities were rationed using rice coupons, small tickets that dictated a family’s access to meals. Without these, survival could become a daily battle. My mother’s family, however, was one of the very few who remained largely insulated from these effects. Their social standing and contributions to the state offered a level of protection, and they were never in want of food or resources. That kind of security was nearly unheard of for the time. Although I would not consider myself fluent in Hokkien, I can understand it fairly well. It’s important to clarify that Cantonese, Mandarin, and Hokkien are not simply dialects, but separate languages entirely. Dialects can often be mutually intelligible within a region, but speakers of Cantonese and Mandarin, for example, would not understand each other without formal learning. This distinction shaped my multilingual upbringing. I grew up speaking Cantonese and Hokkien and learned Mandarin through formal education at Chinese school. English is widely spoken in Hong Kong, so it has become part of daily life, depending on your school and environment. I also studied French from an early age through university, and I speak it fluently. My husband is from Austria, so I learned German and picked up some Austrian as well. These, too, are different languages. While most Austrians speak standard German, their native tongue, Bayerisch, is distinct and largely unintelligible to German speakers from places like Berlin. I only learned enough to communicate with his older relatives.

Upbringing and Education in Hong Kong

I had a very fortunate upbringing, and I am fully aware of that. My father came from poverty and was determined to create a better life for his children. He worked hard and was always cautious with money. My mother, on the other hand, was raised in a wealthy family with deep roots in both business and social influence. Her strict values, religious devotion, and disciplined nature shaped how our household was run. My parents had three children: my eldest brother, myself, and my younger brother. All of us were given access to private schooling, which was a privilege not many could afford. I was sent to an all-girls private primary school, while my brothers attended an all-boys private primary school. It was a very structured and academic environment, but looking back, I definitely missed out on some of the more typical co-ed interactions many children experience growing up, simple things like innocent flirting, forming crushes, or sharing awkward kisses with boys. Because of the gender separation, much of that early social learning was absent from my youth. Hong Kong's educational system is shaped by its British colonial history, and many of the most prestigious schools follow a British-inspired structure, especially at the private level. Unlike public education in China at the time, these institutions were often established by foreign missions, churches, or international organizations. Many offered English-language instruction, were taught in part by foreign educators, and included global history and Western academic disciplines not taught elsewhere. These schools were highly sought after by upper-class families who wanted their children to receive an internationally competitive education. Formal education in Hong Kong begins with kindergarten, followed by six years of primary school, which correspond roughly to grades one through six for children aged around three to eleven. These years are referred to as P1 through P6. After primary school, students enter secondary school, which lasts seven years and covers what would be considered grades seven through thirteen. These years are referred to as F1 through F7, with "F" standing for "Form"—the local naming convention used instead of grade numbers. For example, the third year of secondary school is called Form 3 (F3). When I describe my school years and educational development, I will be using this form-based terminology.

Family History of Large Breasts

My maternal family has a long and well-documented history of large breasts spanning several generations. This pattern appears to have begun with my great-grandmother, who was naturally very well-endowed. Although her breast size was not considered a medical condition at the time, it likely laid the foundation for what developed in later generations. In her time, medical terminology like hypertrophy or gigantomastia was virtually unknown, and social norms would have prevented any open discussion of such matters. Of her children, two were identical twin daughters who both developed extremely large breasts. One was later believed to have macromastia, while the other exhibited symptoms consistent with gigantomastia. This level of development significantly impacted their lives, but their family did not treat it as a burden. Rather, it became part of their identity. In a time when options for treatment were limited or nonexistent, their condition was quietly managed within the household. Due to the family's wealth and status, they had access to custom garments and medical consultations that were far beyond what most people in China could obtain during those decades. Their marriages were arranged to a powerful and well-connected man who was captivated by both women. He provided financial stability and social standing, and the family benefitted from this arrangement for decades to come. This established a generational pattern where young girls in the family were raised with the awareness that they might one day experience significant breast growth. Rather than being fearful or unprepared, the family became proactive. Girls were monitored as they matured, and if any signs of excessive development appeared, steps were taken early to manage physical discomfort and promote muscular support. By the time my mother was born, this knowledge had become second nature to the women in the family. She was raised with structured routines, support systems, and access to private healthcare. While she did not have a medical condition, she was prepared for it and passed that awareness down to me. I was fortunate to grow up with relatives who understood the science behind breast development and emphasized physical training, strength conditioning, and early intervention. We had private seamstresses, supportive family doctors, and tailored advice handed down across generations. As a result, I grew up in an environment where large breasts were not treated as abnormal. They were seen as something to be understood, managed, and even celebrated. While my own condition did eventually cross into medical territory, it was never a mystery. It was the product of years of inherited traits, familial knowledge, and cultural understanding. What could have been a lonely and confusing experience for many girls was, in my case, something anticipated and supported. Because of the known risk of breast hypertrophy and related abnormalities in our maternal line, every female in my generation maintained a developmental journal. When girls were very young, these records were kept by parents; once they were old enough, responsibility transitioned to the individual. Tracking began at approximately age four and included height, weight, underbust measurements, nipple and areolar changes, and any early signs of asymmetry or discomfort. This systematic documentation allowed family members and physicians to identify emerging patterns early and respond proactively rather than reactively.

Table of Contents

1986 - born on September 30th
1995 - turned 09 - P3 - Puberty begins, nipples growing quickly
1996 - turned 10 – P4 - Nipples growing quickly
1997 - turned 11 – P5 – chest started growing quickly to 26I. My first kiss
1998 - turned 12 – P6 - chest grows 9 more cups, to 26R cup, breasts quickly 1 inch past my belly button
1999 - turned 13 – F1 – grew 3 cups to 26U, breasts, 2.3 inches past my belly button, nipples growing quickly
2000 - turned 14 - F2 - grew 3 cups to 26X
2001 - turned 15 – F3 - grew 3 cup sizes to 26ZZ
2002 - turned 16 – F4 - 3 more cup sizes to 26ZZZZZ, no bra fits - moved to the USA in December, start of Junior year
2003 - turned 17 - High School Junior - Grew 6 more cups, no bra fits
2004 - turned 18 – High School Senior - More growth. Graduation. Holiday. Growth. Hospitalized. Missed Birthday. 74lb chest
2005 - turned 19 – College Freshman - Delayed college start. Freshman year. Meet future girlfriend Juliet. Reduction surgery
2006 - turned 20 – Finish of Sophomore, start of Junior - Living with Juliet. More reductions. Down to a 20-pound chest
2007 - turned 21 – College Senior. Living with Juliet. Anorexia, chest down to 14.9 pounds
2008 - turned 22 - Law School 1L. Living with Juliet. Anorexia, chest down to just 10 pounds
2009 - turned 23 – Law School 2L, Living with Juliet, we are both dating Andrew and having 3somes - chest is 10lbs
2010 - turned 24 – Law School 3L and graduation. New job in the fall. We are both exclusively dating Andrew
2011 - turned 25 - Working. Nothing to report other than Juliet is engaged
2012 - turned 26 – Working. Dating Justin and sharing him with Juliet. Couple swapping. Juliet gets married
2013 - turned 27 - Dating Justin gets serious. Informal swapping begins. Early Bitcoin investments through Justin.
2014 - turned 28- Engaged to Justin. Chest regains weight. Old vows with Juliet resurface.
2015 - turned 29- Married to Justin. Honeymoon. Chest settles heavier and fuller. Parents divorce.
2016 - turned 30- Chest softens and stabilizes. Swapping intensifies. Met Tiffany. Move into new estate.
2017 - turned 31- Pregnant, then miscarried. Major chest growth and strain. Mother joins Sakura
2018 - turned 32- Post-miscarriage weight settles. Chest grows heavier. Swapping becomes structured. Joins Sakura planning.
2019 - turned 33- Weight lightens. Chest redistributes. Swapping formalized. Promoted to junior partner.
2020 - turned 34- Pandemic year. Lockdowns. Swapping largely paused. Mother lives with us. Chest mass settles.
2021 - turned 35- Pandemic exhaustion. Justin’s affair with my mother exposed. Marriage shaken.
2022 - turned 36- Reset viewpoints. Threesomes with my mother. Sakura events begin at the estate. Juliet and Andrew’s tenth anniversary.
2023 - turned 37- Chest weight rises. Swapping resumes. Andrew retired. Closer ties within Sakura.
2024 - turned 38- Chest grows heavier again. Swapping continues. Sakura expands. No major career changes.
2025 - turned 39- Chest enters heavier yet stable phase. Tenth wedding anniversary. Extended international travel together.
2026 - turned 40- End of my life due to turning 40

Age 9, 1995 — Primary 3 (P3)

At age eight, my body still appeared largely childlike in overall proportions, but several anatomical features were already distinct. My breasts were naturally set lower on my chest than what was typical for girls my age. This low base height was evident because the inframammary fold sat noticeably lower on my torso than on my peers'. Within my maternal family, this trait was well recognized; many relatives had similarly low-set breast bases long before any measurable breast development occurred. Although there was no visible breast tissue at this stage, the position of the base itself provided an early indication of how my chest would develop over time. By the end of age eight, my nipples were already 0.65 inches long, which is longer than most adult women's. This was a common developmental growth in my family line, and my mother and aunts tracked my changes throughout each year. Around age nine, puberty began, and the first clear biological signs of maturation became apparent. My areolas and nipples started to enlarge, changes I noticed and reported to my family. These early developments were not treated as unusual, as long nipples and early areolar thickening were familiar hereditary traits within our extended maternal line. Several relatives had exhibited similar characteristics even in the absence of breast volume, so these signs were understood as part of our family’s normal developmental spectrum. By the end of age nine, my nipples measured 0.8 inches and were on course to surpass my mother's. This year also marked the point at which my family expanded its formal record-keeping. In addition to height and weight, body mass index (BMI) and underbust measurements were documented systematically. Because of the known possibility of atypical breast development in female relatives, tracking these metrics early was considered prudent. Establishing a detailed baseline enabled the identification of patterns of change well before breast volume emerged. This was done by every family for every female starting at age four. All of my cousins and relatives went through this. Before any noticeable breast growth occurred, the combination of a congenitally low breast base and early nipple-areolar changes already foreshadowed how my body would respond as puberty progressed. These features were structural and hereditary, present before hormonal influences became dominant. Recognizing these early markers helps explain why my developmental trajectory differed from that of girls whose breast bases were set higher or whose nipple morphology followed a more typical prepubertal pattern. Life at school and at home remained focused on ordinary childhood routines. I was in Primary 3, participating in regular lessons, activities, and social interactions appropriate for my age. Although the physical changes were subtle and largely internal at this point, they were quietly laying the groundwork for the significant transformations that would follow in the years ahead.

Age 10, 1996 — Primary 4 (P4)

At age ten, my overall body proportions were still clearly those of a child, and to an outside observer, I would have appeared flat-chested. However, several underlying anatomical traits were already well established. Most notably, my breasts were naturally set low on my chest. Even in the absence of visible breast tissue, the base position was evident: the inframammary region sat lower relative to my torso than was typical for girls my age. This low set was not new or developing—it had been present since early childhood and was a common structural trait on my maternal side. By this year, puberty had clearly begun. The initial signs had appeared during the previous year at age nine, and in 1996, those changes became more measurable rather than merely anecdotal. While there was still no breast mound or glandular volume to speak of, my nipples and areolas continued to enlarge and thicken. The one-inch nipples were noticeably oversized relative to my flat chest, both in length and (0.55) diameter, and the areolas expanded proportionally. This created a visual contrast that felt unusual compared with my peers, despite the absence of any breast mass. My bush continued to grow out, and my mother and aunt helped me with basic anatomy education and prepared me for what might come. Within my family, these developments were expected and closely monitored. Long nipples and early areolar hypertrophy were recognized as hereditary traits, often preceding breast growth by several years. Because of this history, my family did not interpret these changes as abnormal or alarming. Instead, they were seen as confirmation that my developmental trajectory was following a known familial pattern. This year also marked the continuation of formal measurement tracking. My height, weight, underbust circumference, and body mass index were recorded alongside nipple and areolar measurements. Although my chest remained clinically flat (26AAA), these records provided important baseline data. The emphasis at this stage was not breast size, but structural markers: low breast base position, nipple morphology, and proportional changes over time. Despite these physical developments, daily life remained largely unchanged. I was in Primary 4, focused on schoolwork, routine activities, and normal childhood socialization. The physical changes were not yet disruptive or externally visible, but they were biologically significant. In hindsight, 1996 represents a transitional year—no breast volume yet present, but with puberty clearly underway and hereditary traits beginning to express themselves in measurable ways that would later define the course of my adolescence.

Age 11, 1997 — Primary 5 (P5)

At age ten, my giant nipples continued to enlarge at a noticeable rate, while my areolas remained comparatively modest in size. This imbalance made me feel self-conscious, as my chest was otherwise flat, but my family quickly reassured me that this pattern was common in our lineage. I was told and shown that my second cousin was 1.5 inches at the time, which made me feel far less alone. As an adult, she has 2-inch nipples with a 32AA flat-chest, so they stick out like antlers. I was also shown my grandmother’s 1.3-inch nipples, my mother’s 1.02-inch nipples, and my aunt's 1.5-inch nipples. Learning this helped me understand that what I was experiencing was hereditary rather than abnormal. By the latter part of my tenth year, approaching my eleventh birthday in September, the earliest signs of true breast development began to appear. By that point, my nipples, which had already been enlarging for over a year, measured approximately 1.72 inches in length, 0.97 inches in width, and 1.02 inches in height, with a circumference of about 3.6 inches. Growth was not perfectly symmetrical; one nipple consistently developed slightly faster than the other, something my relatives explained was typical during periods of rapid change. Soon after, my chest began to develop in a way that was no longer subtle. By November, I had reached a 26I cup, roughly equivalent to a 34E in conventional sizing. Although some of my peers had entered puberty earlier, the pace and scale of my breast growth quickly surpassed theirs once it began. Given the family history, my grandmother (36R) and great-aunt (38ZZ) recommended that we begin documenting my development in detail. With their guidance, my mother helped me transition from casual observation to systematic measurement. At this stage, my underbust circumference measured about 24.8 inches, and my inframammary fold sat approximately 5.03 inches below the base of my chest. My overbust measurement had just exceeded 50 inches, and my BMI was around 20.3. These figures marked the clear transition from a flat-chested state to the earliest phase of rapid breast growth. Comparing my measurements with those of maternal relatives became a way to contextualize what was happening and to anticipate how my development might continue. This year also saw my first kiss. Girls would have girlfriends and Valentine's in P5, but it was mostly superficial, and the most advanced relationships might see closed-mouth kissing. My "girlfriend" was P5A, and I was P5C, meaning we were in the same grade but had different classes. This was also the last year that I saw my great-grandmother nude in the bathhouse at age 83. My mother would always remind me growing up that it was my great-grandmother's K-cups and beauty that led to our generational wealth.

Age 12, 1998 — Primary 6 (P6)

By the middle of P6, my chest had grown by nine cup sizes, reaching a 26R (equivalent to a 34N). This growth occurred over approximately four months, and my aunts, grandmother, and great-aunts largely dismissed it as unremarkable. At the time, each breast weighed 9 and 7 pounds, respectively, and measured 10 and 9 inches, respectively, in length and 6 inches in width, extending approximately 1 inch past my belly button. That year was the first time I began taking detailed breast measurements, encouraged by my grandmother and aunts. It was also the first time I ever measured my overbust, which was 44 inches. My grandmother, who wears a 36R bra, told me she had been around a K cup at age 13 and insisted there was nothing to overreact about. Overall, my family was very dismissive, and I had essentially no education about puberty, bras, or breast development. My parents had to help arrange and pay for custom school uniform tops for me, which the headmaster disliked. My breasts were very pendulous, and I was frequently teased at school. Their growth pattern seemed more downward than outward, which felt strange to me, especially since I was only 11 and already had a larger chest than my mother. It was somewhat comforting to have my 34K and 34P cup aunts around, as they at least had some understanding of what I was experiencing. In addition, four of my great-aunts (my grandmother’s sisters—34G, 32H, 36L, and 38ZZ) were living in China, but I was still able to get advice from them. My cousin Orange, who was 18 at the time, wore a 30J. now 30P. After consulting with my aunt, my mother had a brief conversation with me and bought me larger bras, describing everything as a “growth spurt” and leaving it at that. That was the first year my siblings managed to get me into a properly fitted bra, which was a 30P. Some background: Growing up, female nudity was ubiquitous in clearly female-only spaces and was treated as normal and practical, not casual or public. At home, bathing or changing took place with mothers, aunts, grandmothers, cousins, and other female relatives, with no men present. The reason I knew my grand aunt's breasts were four inches past her vulva was never a guess; it comes from seeing them eye-to-eye as a child thousands of times. In public bath houses, the same rule applied: spaces were strictly separated by sex and filled with other girls and women of all ages. Back then, during Chinese New Year, it was common for me to see ten of my female relatives walking around the bath house with breasts to or past their stomachs. These settings were functional and communal rather than private, and bodies were neither hidden nor displayed. Nudity in these environments carried no sexual meaning and no sense of exposure to men; it was simply an accepted part of everyday female life. In Hong Kong primary schools, we wear standard school uniforms, but we also have separate PE uniforms that are worn only during physical education classes. On PE days, this means changing clothes at school before the lesson begins and then changing back into our regular uniforms afterward. This is routine and practical rather than optional, and it applies to everyone. By P6, PE was scheduled with two classes combined, such as my own Class C together with Class D, which meant changing alongside girls who were not part of my daily homeroom and whom I otherwise had limited interaction with. Hong Kong girls can be mean, to the point of driving people to suicide. Rather than being timid, I took my cousin's advice and went a different direction. On the first day of PE, while everyone went to change, I got butt naked and jokingly announced to everyone to form a line to ask their questions. There was some initial mocking, but I won the crowd over with humor and joking about myself, which helped reduce the tension in the room. When I initially got naked, the room was quiet, followed by staring that was open and unguarded. Questions came quickly and without much filtering, sometimes curious, sometimes practical, sometimes awkward. The attention was not hostile, but it was intense, driven by comparison and surprise. By being upfront and open, some girls started asking some questions, and some friends of mine were curious to touch. I kept this approach throughout the school year, which helped make me far more relaxed. This was the first year that I ever kissed with tongues. My girlfriend at the time was shy, but we had heard about this from other girls and tried a few times. I think that was probably the first time I ever felt a tingle in my skirt.

Age 13, 1999 — Form 1(F1)

Starting secondary school in Form 1 marked a major transition, both academically and socially. Even though the primary and secondary sections were part of the same Catholic school system, Form 1 functioned as a new environment in practice: different teachers, a merged intake from multiple primary schools, new routines, and a noticeably older peer group. This alone would have been challenging, but it coincided with a period of accelerated physical development that adjusted significantly harder. In the year prior, I had been approximately 4'5", and by the start of Form 1, I had grown to 4'9", reinforcing the sense that my body was changing rapidly on multiple fronts at once. That same year, my breasts increased by roughly three additional cup sizes, continuing a growth pattern that had already been underway since late primary school. This was not a subtle change. By Form 1, my chest was visibly larger than that of any other student in the school, which immediately set me apart and made me a target for persistent attention and unkind behavior from other girls. Socially, the beginning of the year was particularly difficult. Entering Form 1 meant integrating into a cohort that included students from other primary schools, many of whom had no prior relationship with me. The combination of a new social hierarchy, heightened self-consciousness typical of early adolescence, and my visibly atypical development made forming new friendships challenging. I stood out before I had any opportunity to define myself academically or socially. Fortunately, a small number of friends from my primary school transitioned into Form 1 alongside me. Their presence provided a needed anchor during the early months of secondary school, offering familiarity and emotional stability at a time when both my environment and my body felt increasingly unfamiliar. This transition was especially pronounced during physical education classes. Although changing before and after PE was not new to me, I had already done so in Primary 6, but Form 1 introduced a completely different social setting. The changing area now included many girls from other schools who were encountering me for the first time, without the gradual context of having grown up alongside me. In that shared, routine setting, my body was immediately noticeable, and the contrast drew attention in a way that had not occurred to the same degree in primary school. With my breasts now down to my butt crack and many girls in sexual becoming sexually active, I was unsure how to approach changing, so rather than attempting to withdraw from an unavoidable situation, I adopted a pragmatic approach. I again addressed the attention directly, used humor to lower tension, and openly let girls touch, lift, and answered straightforward questions matter-of-factly. This openness helped normalize what would otherwise have remained a source of speculation and discomfort. Over time, this approach reduced whispering and allowed interactions in the changing room to become more functional and less charged. While the attention did not disappear entirely, managing it openly proved far more effective than avoidance in a setting where privacy was limited by design. One of the girls in PE was also in my class, and her questions became more personal over time. Her casual touching or lifting turned into caressing and groping in a sexual way that I had never encountered before. From a physical standpoint, the changes during this year were substantial and measurable. My overbust circumference reached approximately 47 inches, and each breast weighed on the order of 21 pounds, with dimensions of roughly 11 inches in length, 8.5 inches in width, and 2.86 inches in depth. The forward projection and vertical length of my chest meant that breast tissue extended several inches below my navel line, marking a clear transition from early pubertal development into a phase of sustained hypertrophic growth. Based on measurements, my technically correct bra size at the time would have been approximately 26U. In practice, however, I was fitted into a custom 32R, reflecting the limitations of available sizing and the need to prioritize structural support over numerical accuracy. This was also the first year in which the vertical length of my breasts aligned with the upper contour of my lower torso, a milestone that underscored how rapidly my body had departed from what was typical for my age group. Looking back, Form 1 stands out as a convergence point: a new institutional environment, a broadened peer group, and a clear inflection in physical development. The growth that occurred during this year was not an isolated event but rather a continuation and amplification of trends that had begun earlier, setting the stage for the much more extreme changes that would follow in subsequent years.

first girlfriend

This marked the first year I was sexually active, as were most girls in my grade. The way a classmate fondled my breasts in the locker room was the first time I ever got wet before, which was very confusing since sex ed basically does not exist in Hong Kong. It was also the first time I ever masturbated in private, even though I had no clue what I was doing. We started spending time together after school, and it was both confusing and exciting to me because I had never really had sexual feelings before. She was the first person I was ever fully nude with in private before. We dated throughout the next two school years. A lot of amazing first experiences with her. Since we went down on each other often, I was convinced I must be a lesbian. That seemed correct since I was only surrounded by other girls, and it was relatively commonplace. She was my first real girlfriend and the starting point of my entire sexual life. Amazing to look back on it.

Age 14, 2000 — Form 2(F2)

Entering Form 2 (F2), I was 13, turning 14 in September. This year marked a relative slowdown in the pace of my physical development, particularly in my chest growth. I only increased by one cup size (26X), which, compared to the rapid changes of previous years, felt like a welcome reprieve. This slower rate of growth gave my body more time to adjust to its existing proportions, and I experienced fewer of the physical discomforts and social anxieties that had previously accompanied larger growth spurts.

Because the overall dimensions and measurements of my chest remained largely consistent with the previous year, I did not record many detailed changes during this period. My overbust measurement, breast weight, and general proportions stayed stable, offering a brief period of physical consistency in what had otherwise been a turbulent developmental trajectory. Emotionally, this gave me a bit more space to adapt to the changes that had already occurred, and I began to feel slightly more in control of my appearance and how I navigated daily life with an unusually developed figure for my age.

Second year with my girlfriend, and we expanded our sexual play by trying some new things.

Age 15, 2001 — Form 3(F3)

During Form 3, something changed that made a significant difference in how I coped with school life. The administration made the decision to relocate a teacher who they believed might be a better fit for our class, particularly in terms of classroom dynamics and social support. She was a younger woman, warm and approachable, and crucially someone who visibly understood what it meant to stand out physically. She was a natural 38L cup, and while that detail may seem superficial to some, it created an instant unspoken bridge between us. For the first time, I felt like someone at school genuinely understood a part of my experience that had always been isolating.

This teacher quickly became more than just an educator. She acted as a kind of unofficial guidance counselor, someone I could speak to when the relentless teasing became too much or when I just needed someone to listen without judgment. She never made me feel ashamed or self-conscious. Instead, she offered both practical advice and emotional validation. She knew what it was like to grow up different, to have your body draw attention before your personality even had the chance to speak for itself.

The girls in my year could be incredibly cruel, and while their words still hurt, the presence of a single adult who genuinely understood made all the difference. Over time, we developed a special bond. I began to look forward to her classes not just because of the subject matter but because I felt safe in her presence. She gave me the strength to keep showing up, to hold my head a little higher, and to believe that there was nothing shameful about my body, just a different set of challenges to navigate.

Technically, I was a high school freshman that year. I grew another inch, reaching 4'10", and my chest increased by three more cup sizes. My measurements at the time were a 56-inch overbust; my bust weighed approximately 34 pounds and was 17.55 and 15.65 inches in length, nearly ten inches in width, and 6.7 inches in thickness. They had dropped significantly, extending 7.62 inches past my belly button, and began saying hello to my vulva. That was the first year that I stopped measuring relative distance to my stomach and had to start using my vulva as a guide. Over the previous few years, the rapid growth had caused many of my Cooper’s ligaments to stretch or tear, which led to increased sagging and noticeable changes in breast shape. Because of my naturally low breast placement and body structure, most of the fatty tissue was concentrated at the bottom, which further pulled my chest downward as the weight increased. A young body is simply not designed to cope with that level of physical strain. I was still very petite, with a relatively thin frame, and I weighed only 83 pounds. During one school break, my mother sent me to stay with my extended family in Guangdong, the identical twins being my grandmother and my great-aunt. Both women were in their sixties at the time. My grandmother had long been understood to have breast hypertrophy, while my great-aunt Ingrid had lived with untreated gigantomastia for decades. Of the two, Ingrid’s condition was more physically extreme, with breasts that extended well past her vulva and down toward her knees. She quickly became the person I confided in most, not just because of our similarities, but because of how open and matter-of-fact she was about her body. From her, I learned early on that gravity cannot be defeated, only managed. That philosophy was largely shaped by the household norms set decades earlier. My grandfather, who had married both women in 1955, had banned bras in the home. His reasoning was largely financial. In mid-century China, bras beyond standard sizing didn’t exist, and commissioning them required specialized materials, skilled textile workers, and high cost. While he occasionally had formal bras created for special events, these were limited and not intended for daily use. Instead, the women wore custom-made Lycra slings that covered the lower poles and nipples for modesty, but offered no real lift or structural support. These slings did not wrap around the back like a conventional bra, and the breasts were allowed to hang naturally throughout the day. Over time, this approach took a toll. The prolonged lack of support led to advanced ptosis, downward stretching of the inframammary fold, and significant strain on the connective tissues. By the time Ingrid was 65, her breasts measured 26 inches in length, hung approximately six inches below the vulva, and rested just over five and a half inches from her knees when standing. My grandmother’s breasts, while less extreme, still measured 19.5 inches and reached near the bottom edge of her vulva. Ingrid’s lived experience became a deeply important reference for me as I entered puberty. She was supportive, empathetic, and uniquely positioned to understand what I was beginning to go through, both physically and emotionally. More than anyone else in the family, Ingrid offered practical, lived-in knowledge of what long-term breast conditions could look like. She became a critical reference point for me as I entered puberty and began noticing the early signs of similar traits emerging in my own body. They brought me to see a doctor, which must have been a confusing sight for everyone involved. At first, the doctors had no clear explanation and ran multiple tests, eventually asking me to return in a month if the condition continued. Meanwhile, I went back to Hong Kong, where my custom lycra school uniforms had to be entirely remade, with my parents paying out of pocket. I was fitted into a custom 38V bra, although my great-aunt was far more helpful than anyone else when it came to finding skilled bra seamstresses. The school itself was extremely difficult. I lost many of the friends I had grown up with, and found myself the target of relentless teasing and cruel jokes. The sudden physical changes I was experiencing became the subject of gossip and ridicule, and the social environment quickly turned hostile. I felt isolated and exposed, especially as I couldn’t blend in the way other girls could. The attention wasn’t flattering; it was invasive and often humiliating. Even teachers sometimes struggled to know how to respond to the way I looked, which only made things worse. The emotional toll of that year was heavy. I began to dread going to school each morning, anticipating the stares, whispers, or offhand comments that chipped away at my self-esteem. I felt like my body was defining me before I even had the chance to understand it myself. But amid all that difficulty, a few key things helped me stay grounded. I eventually formed new friendships with a handful of international students, many of whom came from families that were more culturally open or sensitive. They didn’t ask invasive questions or treat me like a spectacle; they treated me like a peer, which meant everything at the time. More than anything, though, it was the support of my extended family that helped me cope. My relatives, particularly the maternal women in my life, gave me context, reassurance, and a sense of belonging. They knew what this kind of development looked like and what it could feel like. Their emotional availability and practical advice helped me stay mentally stable during a period that could have otherwise spiraled into something much darker. Addendum: Over a period of several months, I also began to notice new physical changes that were difficult to make sense of at the time. My breasts had started to twist slightly inward, a shift that became more noticeable with each passing week. My areolas were also enlarging and beginning to stretch as my breasts continued to expand. At that age, these changes were deeply confusing and unsettling. My nipples gradually shifted downward and began pointing more directly toward the ground. Their overall shape started to round out further, and the inward rotation slowly continued from there. I didn’t yet have the language or knowledge to describe what was happening, but I knew it wasn’t something my peers were experiencing in the same way.

Age 16, 2002 — Form 4 (F4)

By the start of Form 4 in September, I had just turned sixteen. In many ways, the beginning of the school year felt deceptively ordinary. I was coming off a rare period of emotional stability in Form 3, where a supportive teacher had helped me regain some confidence. That carried over briefly into the new year, even as my body continued to change at an accelerating pace. Physically, 2002 marked a clear escalation rather than a new onset. Over the course of the year, I grew another inch in height, reaching 4 feet 11 inches. My non-chest body weight stabilized around 99 pounds, but my breast mass increased substantially. Between January and late autumn, my chest gained just over eight pounds, bringing the total breast weight to approximately 42.24 pounds. This growth translated into a net increase of roughly three cup sizes over the year, placing me at a 26Z5 by the end of the Form 4 term. Although I had already learned some coping strategies in earlier years, the social pressure did not ease. My school uniform had been an ongoing problem since Form 1, as standard dress shirts had not fit for several years. The school had previously approved custom Lycra pullover tops with mock collars so I could remain in uniform and wear my tie, but these garments required frequent replacement as my chest continued to grow. Each new top became obsolete within months, which caused ongoing tension with the school administration and left me feeling personally responsible for the inconvenience. Because of the size and weight of my chest, wearing bras under the uniform tops was not feasible, and there was no practical way to conceal nipple prominence. As my nipples continued to thicken and orient downward with increasing ptosis, the Lycra fabric molded tightly to their shape. This drew unwanted attention and led to ridicule from some classmates, including cruel nicknames whispered behind my back. The cumulative effect was exhausting, even when I tried to ignore it. Administratively, my appearance became a frequent point of complaint. The headmistress repeatedly raised concerns with my parents about how I looked in uniform, framing it as inappropriate rather than unavoidable. My mother, who had little patience for this framing, responded bluntly and refused to treat my body as a disciplinary issue. Teachers reacted inconsistently—some became overly cautious, others avoided eye contact altogether. The sense of isolation I had felt in earlier years returned as I entered a new academic cycle with unfamiliar classmates. Socially, the environment continued to narrow around me. Several close friends from earlier years had moved away or changed schools, and those who remained struggled to relate to my experience. My body created an unspoken barrier between most of my peers. The constant awareness of being observed—whether through stares, whispers, or awkward silences—made it difficult to focus on schoolwork or feel at ease in daily routines. At home, life remained relatively stable. My mother was largely hands-off emotionally, but I remained surrounded by relatives who understood what was happening to my body. During this period, I became increasingly methodical in how I approached my development. I spent more time journaling, recording measurements, and trying to understand the mechanics of what was happening in a structured, almost scientific way. By late autumn, the physical impact of the year’s growth was undeniable. My overbust measurement had reached 56 inches. Breast length increased to approximately 19.46 inches on the left and 17.25 inches on the right, with widths becoming increasingly asymmetrical at roughly 12.1 and 9.5 inches. Maximum depths reached 7.61 and 7.15 inches. As ligament support diminished, the lower pole descended further; by this point, the breasts extended about 2.34 inches past the top of the vulvar slit, or roughly 9.5 inches below the navel when measured vertically. Looking back, the first eleven months of Form 4 were defined by this contrast: externally routine, internally tense. Nothing about the year marked a clean break from what came before, but the cumulative changes in mass, shape, and physical burden made daily life increasingly difficult to manage. Despite that, I continued attending school, completing coursework, and maintaining a surface-level normalcy, aware that this phase was still only part of a longer progression. I had two girlfriends during F4, one in C class and an upperclassman in F5 that we spent time outside of school together. Having, by far, the largest breasts in an all-girls school filled with horny girls made me both a target of harassment and desirable to certain types of girls. Given how I was raised and my family background, I never really had qualms about taking my clothes off in front of other women. Girls were always going to be talking about me no matter what I did, so I followed my cousin's guidance and leaned into companionship. By F3, I felt myself becoming more and more sexually frustrated. I slept with, I think, like six girls, and just stopped caring by F4 and started hooking up with upperclassmen. To be honest, once I found there was a good deal with girls who were sexually interested in my body, I leaned into that. I stopped having committed girlfriends and just hooked up with pretty girls that gave me the tingles. Fully convinced I was a lesbian, I kept pushing forward with girls. Looking back, I remember feeling unfulfilled but had no idea why that was; perhaps I had not met the right woman yet, perhaps not the right sexual experience. Having quite literally zero exposure to men, I had no idea the thing missing in my life was cock. Many of the actual lesbians felt fulfilled, so I figured something was wrong with me. Fortunately, some other girls were confused as well and could not explain what was missing. It's hilarious in retrospect, how clueless.

Age 16 was my third year with breasts past my vulva 42.23lbs

During the winter break following Form 4, my family abruptly left Hong Kong and relocated to the United States. The move was driven by my father’s work, but the timing could not have been worse. I was pulled out of school midyear and transplanted into an entirely unfamiliar environment at a moment when my body and social world were already under strain. Although I had visited the U.S. twice before and had extended family in New York City, nothing about the transition felt familiar or safe. Upon arrival, my parents used their resources to secure placement in the American school system at what would have been the equivalent of tenth grade. It soon became clear, however, that the academic gap ran in the opposite direction: the Hong Kong curriculum I came from was significantly more advanced. I was therefore advanced directly into eleventh grade at an elite all-girls private school, joining classmates who were a full year older than I was. This elite school was small, with only 57 girls in my entire grade! Everyone knows everyone. Academically, I was ahead; linguistically and socially, I was not. My English was functional but far from fluent, and the sudden age difference amplified an existing sense of isolation. The school itself was small, predominantly white, and socially insular. Asian students made up roughly 8 percent of the student body, and international students made up less than 2 percent. The psychological impact was severe, even if I did not allow myself to process it at the time. I knew no one. I had lost my extended support network, my aunts, great-aunts, and grandmother, almost overnight. The cultural shift was jarring: the racial makeup of the school was very different from Hong Kong, and I stood out immediately. Rather than reacting outwardly, I retreated inward and buried myself in work. Most of my classmates could not locate Hong Kong on a map, and I was constantly referred to as "that Japanese girl". Even when making new friends, girls would ask me what Tokyo was like. To be fair, we did not learn so much about America or Europe in school either, as we have our own areas of study. Back then, I could list maybe 6 American states. So I understand where they were coming from. Academics became my refuge. I overloaded my schedule with honors and AP classes and joined nearly every competitive or structured activity I could: decathlon, mock trial, chess club, student government. Staying busy was not an ambition so much as survival. If I were constantly occupied, I would not have to think about how disoriented or alone I felt. Oddly, this is how I gained most of my friend group. Being in clubs meant I was surrounded by people with similar interests, and it was pretty easy to make connections. Finding girls who were interested in me sexually took zero effort. My chest was the obvious talk of the school, and rumors swirled. Now being four inches past my slit, I intentionally spent more time being fully nude in the locker rooms before and after PE to see what type of attention I would draw. A few months into school, I was already being accepted and attending school social events and private parties. Had my first threesome at one of those house parties. Meanwhile, my chest continued to grow steadily through this period. From December 2002 through the end of the school year in early June 2003, the breast mass increased further, and asymmetry became more pronounced. The physical burden intensified even as I attempted to present myself as composed and high-functioning in a new academic environment. Shortly after arriving in the U.S., my parents arranged consultations with specialists, including a cross-country trip to a major hospital. After extensive testing, I was formally diagnosed with juvenile gigantomastia. My mother declined participation in case studies or experimental approaches; she had lived through related experiences herself and wanted clear, practical guidance rather than academic curiosity. Surgery was discussed but firmly rejected. The doctors were candid that in many cases, surgical intervention during adolescence leads to aggressive regrowth, sometimes far exceeding the original size. In retrospect, that warning was accurate. My parents’ response was shaped as much by faith as by experience. They believed that my body was not a mistake and that drastic intervention was not justified unless my life was at immediate risk. While I shared their religious framework, I was deeply frustrated by the lack of definitive medical answers. Treatment plans focused on monitoring and mitigation rather than resolution—something my family had already been doing informally for years. By the end of my junior year, my chest had reached proportions that were difficult to comprehend even for those familiar with my history. My overbust measurement peaked around 63 inches, and total breast weight reached approximately 57 pounds. Lengths extended to roughly 21.9 inches on the left and 19.2 inches on the right, with increasing asymmetry in width and depth. This growth pattern contributed to further inward rotation of the breast mass, altering nipple orientation and distorting the natural geometry of the chest. Despite everything, I remained outwardly functional. American classmates, many of whom were sexually active, were generally kinder than those I had left behind. Without a school uniform for the first time in my life, I made little effort to conceal my chest; doing so would have required more energy than I had to spare. I easily became very popular among the girls in my new school, which I had not anticipated. I was something new and fresh for them. My aunt Penny arranged for custom bras from the UK, which provided some relief but did not fundamentally change daily logistics. Looking back, this period represents a paradox. It was one of the most destabilizing transitions of my life, yet it was also when I learned how to compartmentalize, adapt, and push forward under extreme pressure. The academic success masked the cost, but it did not erase it. What followed would demand even more from my body—but that would come later. The amount of teasing at school was actually really low, especially compared to back in Hong Kong. The girls were mostly curious about me and asked a lot of questions. Most of these girls grew up together, and their families all knew each other. I knew no one, which meant it did not matter who I was dating or sleeping with. I was not part of that social class. Needless to say, I gravitated towards the few Chinese students in the school and made close friends. Sex was pretty similar to Hong Kong; most of the girls were convinced they were lesbians, and people chatted about similar topics. I only had half of the school year, so there is not too much else to say about my time in that grade. Crazy times though.

age 16 - third-east-asian-seas-youth-forum_edited.jpg

2003 NYC Asian Scholars Decathlon - Honors and AP students selected for academic competition.

Age 18, 2004 — High School Senior

Graduation was more subdued for me than it seemed to be for many of my classmates. I had only been in the United States for about a year and a half and was finishing school a year early, so the moment carried a different weight. While other families were emotional—parents crying, girls clinging to friendships that had spanned most of their lives—I felt more detached. I had formed real connections and friendships, but I was keenly aware that my time there had been brief, and those bonds existed within a much shorter frame than those of classmates who had grown up together. It was bittersweet rather than celebratory. I was closing one chapter, but it didn’t feel like a true ending in the way it did for others. Part of me was still oriented toward Hong Kong, toward the people and history I had left behind, even as I stood in a new world that I knew I would not fully remain in for long.

After graduation, I traveled back to Hong Kong with my family and reunited with friends and relatives there. I spent much of July in Asia. Looking back, it appears that between late June and late July, my chest gained roughly five pounds, though I didn’t notice it at the time. I was eating constantly while I was back in Hong Kong and assumed I was simply gaining general weight, not realizing that something more specific was already happening.

March 2004 New York State Mock Trial

June 2004 High School Graduation

my girlfriend

my ex

June 29, 2004 in Manhattan with school friends and my girlfriend

Lesbians

After celebrating my high school graduation, I traveled back to Hong Kong with my family and reconnected with friends and relatives. I spent most of July in Asia. In retrospect, it appears that between late June and late July, my chest gained roughly five pounds, though I didn’t notice it at the time. I was eating constantly while I was back in Hong Kong and assumed I was simply gaining general weight.

These photos were taken in mid-July. At the time, I had no awareness that anything unusual was happening. Looking back now, it’s clear that I was already entering a period of rapid growth, likely driven by accumulated stress, emotional tension, and the resulting hormonal surge that pushed my body into overdrive.

Senior year unfolded more quietly and more steadily than the years that preceded it. By that point, I had fully adapted to life in New York and understood the rhythms and expectations of my school. I remained at the same all-girls institution and continued with a rigorous academic schedule composed entirely of Advanced Placement and honors coursework. Academically, I was thriving. I made the honor roll again, as I had during my junior year, and school became an area where I felt competent, respected, and in control. It was a good escape from reality. Socially, there was a clear shift compared to my first year in the United States. By late junior year and continuing into senior year, I was fully established within the school community, not despite standing out, but because of it. My chest had been developing since childhood, and by this point, I was long past self-consciousness or adjustment; I did not care what anyone thought about it anymore. What others initially perceived as shocking or overwhelming was, to me, ordinary. That comfort translated outward. I was openly extroverted, engaged, and visible, and my body—rather than isolating me- made me memorable. Once classmates associated me with academics, clubs, leadership roles, and humor, my physical difference became background context rather than my defining trait. I was still visibly different, but it no longer controlled the narrative. I became increasingly involved in extracurricular activities, joining multiple academic teams and clubs where shared interests made social connections easy. By senior year, I was fully integrated into the school’s social life. This was an elite academy, and socializing reflected that reality: parties were often held in large private mansions when parents were away, with space, resources, and privacy that made these gatherings feel expansive and intense rather than casual. The scale alone changed the dynamic. Boys were chaotic and immature, so they were not allowed to attend parties. Some girls mentioned they had too many property damage experiences. Girls' parties often turned into drunken orgies with toys. I also spent time outside of school with friends and on-off girlfriends, and moved comfortably within those circles. I had a stable group of girlfriends, and the isolation I once felt had largely disappeared. I was still visibly different, but by then, difference was neither shocking nor defining; it was simply one aspect of who I was, and I carried it without hesitation. Physically, however, my body continued to change. Breast growth that had accelerated toward the end of junior year did not stabilize as I had hoped. Instead, it progressed steadily throughout senior year. While the changes were gradual during the school year itself, they were consistent and measurable. I often wondered whether the cumulative stress of relocation, academic pressure, and adaptation to a new culture played a role, or whether this was simply the natural continuation of a process that had begun years earlier. Regardless of the cause, the growth did not stop. In my senior year, I vented sexually and started hooking up with more girls. I had some girlfriends, but they knew I was not serious and was playing the field at parties, so we never took things seriously. I was more of a fan of receiving than giving. I sort of always felt horny and masturbated a good amount. Being popular at school and having an assortment of girls I could stick between my legs was a blessing at the time. It provided me with the needed confidence as I deal with the growing problem of my chest. Towards the end of school, I dated my girlfriend at the time (below right) for four months, and we figuratively fucked like rabbits every chance we got. We were both young and horny. She loved my unique body, and I loved her body and how soaking wet her taco would get when we kissed, very sexy. When school ended, we were heading to different Universities in the fall, and I was spending the summer traveling in Asia, so we would not have much time together.

At the end of July, I flew to Italy with friends and began to notice the weight gain in a way that was impossible to dismiss. It was no longer just general body weight; a disproportionate amount of it was clearly accumulating in my chest. What had seemed negligible weeks earlier now felt confusing and increasingly alarming. Looking back, the change was rapid—nearly ten pounds since graduation—most of it presenting as breast growth rather than evenly distributed weight. I was concerned, but I was on holiday and consciously tried to minimize it so it wouldn’t dominate the trip or disrupt the experience.

Physically, the changes were already taking a toll. I experienced persistent tenderness, a constant pulling sensation through my shoulders and upper back, and intermittent sharp pains that felt unfamiliar and unsettling. The strain affected me psychologically as well. I became more irritable, fatigued, and emotionally unstable, likely driven by the combination of physical discomfort and growing anxiety about what was happening to my body.

By the time we visited Pompeii, the situation had escalated significantly. My breast weight had reached approximately 68.82 pounds, and the progression was no longer subtle. Basic mobility, posture, and endurance had become increasingly difficult, and it was clear that the growth was not slowing but accelerating. What initially felt like normal post-graduation weight gain had crossed into something unmistakably abnormal and serious—something I could no longer rationalize or ignore.

By early August 2004, I flew from Italy back to Hong Kong to attend the wedding of a close cousin. This was not an optional trip. We had grown up together, attended primary school and part of secondary school side by side, and missing the wedding was never considered. By that point, I already understood that something was wrong with my body, but the plan was to attend the wedding, spend time with family, and address the situation afterwards if necessary. During this period in Hong Kong, my condition worsened rapidly. The growth that had become apparent in Italy did not stabilise after travel; it accelerated. Measurements taken in the days surrounding the wedding showed my combined breast weight surpassing 65 pounds, with individual breast lengths exceeding 22 inches, widths approaching 14.5 inches, and depths nearing 8 inches. Circumference per breast expanded into the mid-40-inch range, reflecting extensive tissue stretching driven by mass rather than proportional volumetric growth. The increasing downward traction altered my posture and balance, making prolonged standing and ordinary movement progressively more difficult. The wedding marked the final period in which I was still functioning socially despite the physical strain. Friends and relatives who had last seen me only months earlier immediately noticed the severity of the change. The contrast was unmistakable. By then, I could no longer rationalise what was happening as gradual or temporary. Pain, fatigue, and mechanical limitation were constant, and it was evident to both my family that the situation could not be managed without medical intervention. Following the wedding, I remained in Hong Kong briefly to consult with family and begin arranging a formal medical evaluation. During this interval, the added mass pulled my chest downward further than at any prior point in my life, increasing overall breast length and altering nipple and areolar orientation primarily through mechanical traction rather than intrinsic tissue growth. Shoulder pain, upper-back strain, and chest tenderness were continuous. Maintaining posture became difficult, and even minimal activity led to rapid fatigue. This was no longer something that could be addressed through adaptation or routine monitoring. By the time I was evaluated for hospitalisation in mid-August, the condition had reached its maximum documented severity. At admission, total breast weight measured approximately 71.16 pounds, representing a gain of nearly 30 pounds over roughly 74 days. Breast width had expanded from approximately 12 inches earlier in the year to over 14.6 inches, depth from roughly 5.6 inches to nearly 7.9 inches, and overall length exceeded 23 inches. Areolar tissue was markedly stretched, and nipple dimensions reached their maximum recorded size during this phase, driven primarily by rapid mechanical distension rather than normal pubertal progression. Following admission in mid-August 2004, I remained hospitalised in Hong Kong as physicians attempted to stabilise the condition and determine an appropriate course of action. Although multiple specialists were consulted, no effective intervention was offered locally. The focus remained observational, despite the fact that growth had already reached a documented extreme and posed clear mechanical and systemic risks. During this period, my parents declined repeated requests from physicians to document the case for publication or formal study. Their position was firm: I was a patient, not a subject, and they were unwilling to turn a medical emergency into an academic exhibition. I also spent my 18th birthday in a hospital bed, which underscored how completely the situation had displaced normal life. By early autumn, it became evident that continued hospitalisation without intervention was not productive. Arrangements were made for my transfer back to New York, where additional specialists could be consulted. The period between September and November was marked by medical uncertainty rather than further escalation. While overall breast mass remained extremely high, the explosive growth phase had slowed, suggesting that the condition had reached a plateau rather than resolving. In December 2004, a treatment option was proposed that aligned with my family’s constraints and medical philosophy: tumescent liposuction breast reduction (LBR). This approach was viewed as a load-reduction strategy rather than definitive surgery and was therefore considered acceptable. The goal was not cosmetic correction, but to reduce breast mass to a level closer to my pre-escalation baseline while minimising surgical trauma and the risk of rebound hypertrophy. The plan was initiated in December 2004 with the first staged tumescent liposuction breast reduction, undertaken as an emergency load-reduction measure rather than a definitive solution. During this initial procedure, approximately 7.3 pounds of fatty tissue were removed per breast, for a total reduction of about 14.6 pounds. This brought total breast weight down from its documented peak of approximately 71.16 pounds to the mid-50-pound range. The December intervention was intentionally conservative. Physicians were concerned about the risks associated with aggressive single-stage reduction, including vascular compromise, shock, and unpredictable tissue response. As a result, the procedure focused on stabilisation, not restoration. While the reduction significantly decreased mechanical load and acute pain, overall breast dimensions—length, width, and depth—remained largely unchanged, reflecting the irreversible tissue stretch that had already occurred during the rapid escalation phase. By the end of December, the condition had shifted from uncontrolled progression to medical containment. Growth had been arrested, but the underlying structural changes persisted. The December procedure established a safer baseline from which further treatment could be considered, marking the close of the acute crisis period and the beginning of a prolonged recovery and management phase rather than resolution. Recovery required prolonged medical supervision and delayed my transition into college. I remained under care through the end of December, focusing on stabilisation rather than further correction. Although the immediate crisis was resolved successfully in terms of weight reduction and systemic strain, the structural changes to my chest, including increased length, altered areolar morphology, and nipple orientation, were permanent. This marked the end of the acute 2004 episode and the beginning of a longer phase of adaptation, monitoring, and staged management rather than emergency intervention.

Age 19, 2005 — College Freshman

I began college in January 2005 after a delayed start due to hospitalization and recovery. I attended a private all-girls college and lived in a shared triple dorm room with two roommates, Sarah and Juliet. The adjustment was difficult at first, particularly given communal living arrangements and shared changing spaces, but these dynamics normalized within weeks. I had already spent years fielding curiosity about my body, and by this point, openness and humor were simply part of how I moved through the world. Once the initial novelty faded, day-to-day dorm life settled into something ordinary. Physically, the year marked a period of relative stability. Following the emergency reductions performed in late 2004, no renewed hypertrophic growth occurred. Breast mass remained high but manageable due to redistribution rather than protrusion. By mid-to-late 2005, after an additional planned tumescent liposuction procedure, total breast weight was reduced to approximately 41.89 pounds. At that point, individual breast length remained extended at approximately 22.8 inches, confirming that elongation sustained during the 2004 escalation was permanent. Breast width had decreased to roughly 8.4 inches, depth to approximately 1.2 inches, and circumference to the low-20-inch range per breast. While length did not regress, the reduction in mass substantially improved balance, posture, and daily endurance. From a functional standpoint, the difference was significant. The load was no longer concentrated high on the chest but distributed vertically, making it less fatiguing and reducing shoulder and upper-back strain. Clothing choices adapted accordingly; I frequently wore dresses without structured support, which was more practical than attempting to fit conventional garments. Socially, I made friends, dated, and participated fully in campus life. Teasing occurred early on but dissipated quickly. By that stage of my life, my body was not a source of embarrassment or conflict; it was simply a known constant, one I managed competently while building an adult identity beyond it. Dorm life, however, was a big change. My freshman housing assignment was a triple room, three students sharing a small space with bunk beds, desks, and limited storage. I was assigned the lower bunk for obvious structural reasons. My roommates were Sarah, a straight Black girl from the South, and Juliet, a Korean student. The communal bathrooms and showers were down the hall, which made the first few weeks particularly awkward. Coexisting in such close quarters required a period of adjustment. As had happened many times before, curiosity surfaced straight out of the gate. Questions were asked. Once those questions were answered, the novelty faded, and daily life normalized. Socially, freshman year was uneven but formative. Some teasing occurred early on, but it did not last. I made friends, joined activities, and slowly found my footing. Over time, Juliet and I grew to be close friends, but that relationship quickly became romantic. I found her stunningly beautiful and loved the curves of her body. She loved my unique body. Sleeping together was limited in dorm housing, but we spent time together when Sarah was spending time with her part-time campus boyfriend. The relationship became an important source of emotional grounding during a year defined by recovery, transition, and recalibration. By the end of freshman year, I was no longer living in crisis mode. The medical emergency of the previous summer had been contained. While the long-term physical consequences remained, the pace of change had slowed, and I was learning how to function within a body that had been permanently altered. College marked the first time since early adolescence that my life was no longer defined by escalation, but by management, adaptation, and forward momentum.

Age 20, 2006 — College Sophomore

By my sophomore year of college, my condition had entered a comparatively stable phase. The emergency escalation of 2004 was over, and throughout most of the academic year, my total breast weight remained close to 42 pounds, with no renewed hypertrophic growth. Breast length remained extended at just over 23 inches, reflecting permanent elongation from the prior year, but width and depth were reduced and stable, allowing for significantly improved balance and mobility. Day-to-day physical strain was markedly lower than it had been during the crisis period. Juliet and I moved into a single dorm together and made it official. After a lifetime in all-girls schools, our world had finally opened up, no rules, no uniforms, no supervision, just two sexually repressed girls making up for lost time. We were naked constantly, fucking endlessly, using toys on each other until we were sore, wet, and raw. Juliet’s sex drive was already extreme, and without any structure holding her back, it exploded. She was a squirter with no shame, waking me up some mornings by sucking my toes while moaning into a bucket she was already halfway through filling. We pushed boundaries together, but eventually the curiosity turned outward. We weren’t confused about loving each other; we just knew something was missing. We agreed: it was time to lose our virginities, to try cock, just to see what it did to us. No jealousy. No emotional strings. Just experience. The first guy I tried with didn’t even make it that far; he saw my chest, barely grazed one of my breasts through my shirt, and came in his pants. At the time, I was confused because I did not understand what happened to him, but now it’s hilariously obvious: seventy pounds of breast mass hanging past my vulva was too much for him to process. So I moved on, found a tight end from the football team, and finally got what I needed. Juliet, unintentionally, went for size; she found a tall forward from the basketball team with a thick cock and made him her first. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even intimacy. It was experimentation, and it unlocked something in both of us that we hadn’t even known was repressed. Medically, this year marked the beginning of a longer-term reduction strategy. While no major procedures occurred during the early part of sophomore year, planning was underway for additional staged tumescent liposuction breast reductions. My grandaunt continued to support me practically, including shipping custom bras as sizing and support needs evolved. By the end of the following academic year, cumulative reductions would bring total breast weight down to approximately 21.16 pounds, achieved through four additional tumescent procedures over two years. Importantly, while mass decreased substantially, breast length did not regress, confirming that elongation and mass were no longer directly coupled. Overall, sophomore year represented a transition point. The medical emergency had passed, my body was no longer dictating every aspect of daily life, and I was able to function as a student rather than a patient. The focus shifted from crisis management to long-term maintenance, marking the beginning of a more sustainable phase of adulthood.

Age 21, 2006 — College Junior

By late 2006, during my junior year of college, I underwent a second major round of tumescent liposuction breast reduction. The objective this time was more aggressive load reduction. Two-stage procedures were performed several weeks apart, each removing approximately five pounds of fatty tissue per breast. In total, just over twenty pounds were removed from my chest. This brought my total breast weight down to approximately 21.16 pounds, a level I had not experienced since I was thirteen. Post-reduction measurements showed an overbust of approximately 50 inches, breast widths reduced to the 6–6.3 inch range, and a dramatic decrease in central thickness. The middle of my chest became mostly flat, with the remaining mass redistributed inferiorly, creating a pronounced horseshoe-shaped contour that varied with posture. Although overall length remained elongated from earlier stretch damage, the reduction in mass fundamentally changed how my body felt and functioned. I dropped approximately nine cup sizes, landing technically around a 34T, though I wore a 38R for comfort and fit. The reduction was not cosmetic in intent, but it reshaped my chest in a way that significantly reduced physical strain and restored mobility. Reaching this weight was psychologically significant. For the first time in years, my chest no longer dominated every aspect of daily life. The reduced load gave me the confidence to re-engage with exercise and physical conditioning, and I became curious about how much additional improvement could be achieved through fitness rather than further surgical intervention. Juliet had told me she grew up on a farm in Korea, but this year she admitted her dark secret. She gained all of her sexual experience with the family dog and advanced techniques on the farm horse. That was a bit shocking to hear, but I was supportive of her admitting her past. Things with Juliet only got wilder. We weren’t confused; we were bisexual, hungry, and insatiably curious. We didn’t want boyfriends. We wanted bodies, variety, and experience. After my second reduction, dropping over twenty pounds from my chest, I finally felt light enough to move freely, and with that freedom came boldness. I started working out, partly to see what else I could change, partly to test limits, and yes, that turned obsessive. Meanwhile, Juliet’s appetites outpaced even mine. She brought home our first threesome, a tall, thick black guy she’d been seeing casually. She warned me, and I was open to it. That night changed everything. The sex was intense, messy, and thrilling, but not enough for her. Next time, she invited his friend too. We both ended up taking cock in ways we hadn’t imagined, our first time being filled at both ends. That opened the floodgates. We started hitting frat parties, and it was instantly obvious: getting laid was effortless. Juliet learned fast that in college, a pretty girl didn’t need to ask. She just took. It clicked for her. This power wasn’t limited to campus. If she was hot enough, if she pushed hard enough, she could have anyone. By the end of that year, we weren’t just sleeping around. We were getting passed between entire fraternities, not because we were desperate, but because we could.

Age 22, 2007 — College Senior

My senior year was medically stable in the sense that there were no renewed growth events and no further surgical intervention. However, it was not physiologically neutral. Over the course of the year, I lost a significant amount of body weight, approximately 14 pounds, driven by increasingly restrictive eating behaviors that, in retrospect, clearly met the criteria for an eating disorder. At the time, I framed this as “discipline” and experimentation, including prolonged fasting, with the explicit goal of determining how much breast mass could be reduced through metabolic means alone. By late senior year, my total breast weight had decreased to approximately 14.88 pounds. This represented the lowest documented breast weight of my adult life. Measurements showed continued structural elongation from earlier stretch damage, with breast length remaining in the 23–24 inch range, but with markedly reduced volume and thickness. Breast widths had narrowed to approximately 5.6–5.8 inches, and depth was reduced to under 3.2 inches, resulting in a visibly thin, flattened chest profile. Clinically, the appearance was one of volume depletion rather than further reshaping. Floppy is an understatement. More like windsocks on a gusty porch. My overall BMI had dropped to approximately 20.5, and my body fat percentage to the mid-20% range. The reduction in breast weight during this period was not due to targeted medical treatment, but rather generalized fat loss associated with caloric restriction. While the decreased load reduced physical strain, it came at the cost of systemic fatigue, hormonal disruption, and diminished overall health. Socially, the year was otherwise steady. I lived with my girlfriend, Juliet, throughout senior year, and day-to-day life was comparatively calm after the medical turbulence of prior years. Graduation itself was a positive milestone. Friends and family traveled in for the ceremony, and it marked a genuine sense of closure, not because my body was “fixed,” but because the most volatile chapter had finally ended. In hindsight, senior year represented a transition from medical crisis to metabolic overcorrection. While the numbers reflected a dramatic reduction, the method by which it was achieved was unsustainable and unhealthy, setting the stage for later normalization efforts rather than further loss. By senior year, what began as casual experimentation had escalated into something far more intense and far more strategic. We would spend time at other Univeristies and hit frat parties and turn the scene into an orgy. Through Juliet’s boldness, we built a parallel social world that existed entirely in shadows and on weekends. We were completely anonymous and could indulge in fantasies through Juliet's strength. We were those misguided girls being fucked by the entire football team. Nothing was ever enough for Juliet. She was looking to meet her match, a single man who could thoroughly satisfy her and make her collapse. Some women are just built differently. My appetite was never nearly as large as hers, but she was my girl, and I indulged her fantasies and was there with her every step of the way. I will not list our body counts, but Juliet was just below two-hundred. During senior year, Juliet floated what felt at the time like a half-joke, half-philosophy. After everything we had done together, all the men we had shared, all the lines we had crossed, she insisted our relationship existed on a different level. Men, to her, were interchangeable. Temporary. Experiences, not partners. She argued that if we were really “forever,” then no man should ever be able to come between us. If I had a boyfriend, I would share him. If she did, she would share too. And then she pushed it further. What if one day we married men? Would I really choose a husband over her? Wouldn’t sharing keep us from drifting apart? That was when she proposed the pact: if we ever ended up married to big cock men, we would agree to share each other’s husbands. At the time, it sounded wild, abstract, almost theoretical, the kind of idea that lives in the clouds where Juliet’s mind always drifted. I went along with it, not realizing how deeply she meant it, or how much that logic would end up shaping my life years later, when she was no longer imagining it, but actively living it. Looking back, that pact haunts my dreams as it would become a lopsided affair.

Age 23, 2008 — Law School 1L

After college, Juliet went on to graduate school for her master’s degree, while I entered law school. We stayed in the same town, our campuses were close enough that living together made sense, and we moved into an apartment together. She was my girlfriend for six years, though we both had on-and-off "boyfriends" during that time. It was complicated, and rather than trying to explain it to anyone, we mostly didn’t. Girlfriends trump boyfriends; that was the house rule, and we did not need to explain that to anyone. Law school was brutal, and I used the workload as justification to eat less than I should have. My diet shifted toward restriction—skipping meals, letting my body shed weight without much resistance from me. It wasn’t healthy, but it was effective. That year, I dropped roughly nineteen pounds overall and just under seven pounds from my chest alone. Over two years, I lost nine cup sizes and spent most of that time wearing a 28P. For the first time since I was eleven, my total breast weight fell below ten pounds. What remained was long, extremely thinned tissue, flat, floppy, and stretched, like two-foot-long pancakes. My breasts were still over 23 inches in length, but their depth had collapsed to roughly 1.3 inches, with widths in the 3.7–3.9 inch range and almost no forward projection left. Most of the remaining mass sat low and distributed rather than protruding outward. Hiding them under clothes became easy, and for the first time in my life, I could completely reinvent my wardrobe. At around ninety-six pounds, I was very thin, deep into law school, working out regularly, and, somewhat unexpectedly, enjoying myself. Dating, however, was complicated. I dated regularly, but very few men were willing to deal with the practical realities of my body. Sex was fun, they’d say, but helping me get out of bed when they were tired was “annoying.” Tragic, I know. Juliet, meanwhile, was always there, steady, present, unfazed, year after year, even while we were both seeing men. She was my constant and, frankly, my anchor. We both dated men but never exclusively, and we were both looking for something very specific, and it was not love - we already had that with each other. During those years, I started to feel genuinely proud of my body. I learned where it opened doors and where it closed them. I also learned, through experience, that women hold most of the leverage in dating, whether they admit it or not. Men court; women select, unless they’re deliberately trying to date above their station. By then, I’d developed a very clear sense of what I liked, particularly when it came to well-endowed men. My chest drew attention, and let’s be honest: most men are interested in that long before they’re interested in your inner life. I jokingly refer to this period as my “double-digit dating” years. Given our experience over these past few years, we both became addicted to large cock,s and I refused to date anyone with less than what I was interested in. Selfish, for sure. But at least I can be honest. I had finally found "that thing" that was missing for years of my life. I would only date men for two reasons Casual dating: objectively attractive, athletic, with a verified big cock. That bar is not especially hard to clear; professional athletes tend to manage it just fine. Potentially serious: The right schools, the right career trajectory, the right family background. It sounds calculated because it was. If I were ever going to marry and have children, I wanted access to private schools, elite networks, and an Ivy League-caliber future, if possible. I’d seen firsthand how much the right partner opens doors, and I wasn’t interested in pretending otherwise. I was asking for a lot - handsome, tall, athletic, from elite schools with a huge cock. But I am a unique woman and felt I deserved a unique partner. That year, Juliet began seriously dating an NBA basketball player named "Andrew". He was nearly 7 feet tall, physically imposing, and effortlessly confident, the kind of presence that drew attention without trying. Juliet and I were the primary partnership, and the men we dated existed within that structure, not outside of it. Juliet introduced us after only two weeks of dating, and it was our first threesome together. That was the largest cock I had ever seen in my life!! Hand measured and verified at 14.46 inches. His cock was so long that it could not get properly erect. It would get to a semi-erect hanging state. It was as thick as a Coke can, and I could not suck that much of it. Even my vagina could only take half of him. Fortunately, the butt has some solutions for that! Unlike me, Juliet could deepthroat him like ten inches. He was handsome and had an amazing body, and he made me squirt pretty easily. The first encounter was incredible, but Juliet was already obsessed with his cock. We had many threesomes prior to them becoming a bit more serious. Their relationship escalated quickly, and it had become natural for us by that stage. Sometimes, when Juliet was not available, he would arrange dates with me, and we fucked many times without Juliet and developed our own unique bond together. I did consider him my boyfriend, but knew I was sharing him. His background and trajectory did not align with what I ultimately wanted in a husband, and that distinction was clear to everyone involved. There was no jealousy or competition because expectations were explicit. We dated him both separately and together, casually and without pretense, and the situation worked precisely because it was honest. No one was competing since Juliet knew that I was enjoying sex with him, but it was not the right match in terms of personality or bonding relationship, so she was not worried.

Age 24, 2009 — Law School 2L

In my second consecutive year with ten-pound breasts, my body had settled into a strange new equilibrium. The mass was low, but the tissue was still long, stretched, and structurally altered. My breasts measured just over twenty-three inches in length, with widths in the mid-five-inch range and a depth closer to two inches rather than the paper-thin extremes people tend to imagine. Projection was minimal, and most of the remaining weight sat low, giving them a flat, elongated profile that folded easily against my torso. Functionally, they behaved less like breasts and more like soft, draped tissue. Hiding them under clothing was effortless, and for the first time in my life, my chest stopped dictating my wardrobe choices.

I was still very thin, hovering around ninety pounds, and deeply entrenched in law school. My eating habits were restrictive, my workout routine, and my energy was uneven but manageable. Bra sizing at that point was mostly academic. When I wore one at all, it landed somewhere in the high O range on a narrow band, but most days I did not bother. The reduction in bulk gave me a sense of physical freedom I had not experienced since childhood, even if it came at the cost of overall health.

Socially and romantically, I was unapologetically selective. I knew what I liked, had options, and did not pretend otherwise. That confidence irritated some men and bruised more than a few egos, but I had long since stopped managing other people’s insecurities. Juliet and I were still living together and remained very much a unit, though the dynamic had shifted. She was now exclusively dating Andrew and spent most nights at his place. I still saw him regularly, and we continued sleeping together, but it was understood that I was secondary in that arrangement. Juliet was his girlfriend. I was not. Meanwhile, I kept dating on my own, still searching for men who met my standards, especially physically, but without much success. It was a quieter year. Less about new experiences and more about understanding what no longer served me.

By then, my body no longer felt like a spectacle to manage or a problem to solve. It was simply mine, altered, unconventional, and finally light enough that it stopped running my life.

Age 25, 2010 — Law School 3L

During my final year of law school, I stayed relentlessly busy and often skipped meals. I had carried roughly a ten-pound chest throughout law school, and while I tried to keep my weight down, it gradually crept back up despite my efforts. Juliet strongly disagreed with how I was managing my body and my eating, but she never withdrew her support. She stayed steady even when she did not approve.

By that point, my breasts were extremely thin and elongated rather than bulky. Each measured just over twenty-three inches in length, with widths around five and a half inches and depths under three inches, giving them very little projection. Most of the remaining mass pooled low, and structurally, they behaved more like soft, draped tissue than conventional breasts. Because of that, traditional bras were often more trouble than help. I started using improvised solutions, including oversized underwear or tights, to keep the tissue compressed and secured against my body. It worked remarkably well. I could run, exercise, and move freely in ways that had been impossible for most of my life.

Visually, this was one of the few periods when my chest could nearly disappear under clothing. In fitted outfits or structured layers, I appeared almost flat-chested. That carried into graduation. Under my gown, with compression from tights and careful layering, I blended in completely. Looking back, it was a rare and brief window where my body allowed that illusion, and it has never happened again since.

By June, I graduated with family and friends present. That fall, I began my first full-time position at a law firm. At around ninety-seven pounds body weight and just under eleven pounds of total breast mass, most people I worked with had no idea about my history or my anatomy at first. For once, my chest did not announce itself before I did, and that alone made the transition into professional life feel lighter than anything that had come before.

Juliet and Andrew were spending more time alone by then, and it was clear their relationship had deepened. They still included me occasionally, but the energy had shifted. I no longer felt like part of a shared arrangement. I focused on school, pushing hard through the demands of 3L, and dating took a back seat. I was not meeting anyone who held my interest, and I lacked the time or patience to chase. My priorities were narrowing, and for the first time in years, sex was not at the center of my life.

Law School graduation!

Age 26, 2011 — First Professional Job

By 2011, I had fully transitioned into working life at a law firm, and the change in routine showed quickly. Long hours at a desk, stress, and a more sedentary schedule led to noticeable weight gain. My body weight increased from roughly 108 pounds to just under 129, and my chest followed suit. Total breast weight rose by approximately 4.9 pounds over the year, bringing it to about 15.6 pounds. While still far lighter than in earlier periods of my life, the tissue thickened slightly, with depth returning to just under three inches and widths remaining in the mid-five-inch range. Length stayed largely unchanged, still exceeding twenty-three inches, meaning the added mass settled into already elongated tissue rather than changing overall shape.

Even with the gain, my chest remained structurally thin and low-projecting compared to conventional breasts. It was easier to manage than anything I had lived with before surgery, but the contrast to the extreme lightness of the prior two years was noticeable to me physically. Bra sizing drifted upward into the low-Q range on a slightly wider band, though support remained more about distribution than lift.

Socially, things shifted again. Andrew proposed to Juliet that year, and the two of them moved in together. That marked a clear boundary. I stopped sleeping with him and redirected my focus to my own dating life, which by then was highly selective and driven more by long-term considerations than curiosity. Work consumed most of my energy, and relationships took a back seat to stability and independence. The year felt less experimental and more grounded. My body was changing again, my social circle was evolving, and for the first time, my life was beginning to resemble something stable and recognizably adult. Andrew still texted me occasionally even after the engagement. I was never sure how to respond, so I mostly didn't.

Age 26, 2012 — Meeting Justin

By 2012, I had gained ten additional pounds, and for the first time in years, the weight felt evenly distributed rather than concentrated solely in the chest. That said, my breasts remained the most dominant physical feature, now measuring over 19.88 pounds in tissue mass per side. The added volume pushed my chest circumference up by 4.23 inches, and while the shape continued to sit low, the weight gave it greater fullness and a more defined fold along the inframammary line. Projection remained modest due to the elongated profile, but the underlying fat percentage had increased to 39%, giving them slightly more structural softness than in prior years. Measured flat, the left breast measured 23.86 inches in length, 5.62 inches wide, 3.43 inches deep, and 14.42 inches in total circumference. The right breast, slightly fuller, measured 20.76 inches in length, 3.71 inches in depth, and 15.48 inches in circumference. Areolar measurements were near-identical, with left and right diameters averaging just above 2.05 inches, and nipple projection held consistent at 2.07 inches with little change in angle or vascularity. Bra sizing had become increasingly complex; technically, I was a 32T, though most days I defaulted to 34S for comfort. At this point, band size remained an estimate more than a strict measurement, due to changes in thoracic fat distribution and muscular tension. Functionally, I had regained some of the burden I’d shed years earlier. The tissue was heavier, fuller, and slower to move. Folding remained effortless, but vertical drape was now paired with more bottom-heavy mass. Sag coefficient increased correspondingly. My chest no longer felt invisible under clothing; it once again demanded consideration. Professionally, I was well into my legal career, fully integrated at the firm, and leaning into the grind. My BMI had climbed to 27.12, my body fat to 33%, but my overall energy was better. Juliet, still my closest partner in most aspects of life, remained a presence in both my personal and romantic decisions. We still dated collaboratively, though our relationships had begun to diverge. In May, I started seeing Justin, though at the time it felt casual and unremarkable. We met through a professional contact, part of the loose web of post-law school networking I jokingly called my D3 scheme. He was tall, built, and carried himself with an effortless confidence that came from years of competitive sports. At 6'6" and about 250 pounds, with a background in both lacrosse and tennis, his physical presence was impossible to ignore. He had immigrated from Austria as a teenager and spoke with a measured calm I found grounding. By then, Juliet had moved in with Andrew, and I was living alone for the first time in years. My nights were quieter, but not lonely. What surprised me was his monster cock. It was unlike anything I had seen before. I hand-measured it as 12.33 inches, but the craziest part is that the very base is like a wine bottle thick! Most of his cock is Coke can thick, and the head is huge. Proportionally pairing were massive balls hanging over nine inches between his legs. It's like two tennis balls in a floppy sac, and they sure can swing! Due to the length and thickness, his cock is quite heavy too, but so are his balls! Beneath it, his balls were just as striking. Each was roughly the size of a tennis ball, together hanging nearly nine inches when relaxed, their weight and length clearly visible even through clothing. They added to an overall sense of mass and balance, giving him a distinctly imposing, almost overbuilt silhouette. What began as curiosity quickly settled into something more familiar. I didn’t know where it would lead, but the connection, physical and otherwise, was unmistakable. Naturally, I had told Juliet all about him straight away. She kept asking to see photos of his cock, which I did not have. So she asked me to take photos, which I was not going to do. Three weeks into "dating" him, I arranged a dinner so she could meet him; looking back, that was a mistake. Dating was still very unofficial and chill. Meeting him at dinner, I think she came in her underwear. Justin is extremely handsome and far more attractive than her fiancé, Andrew. He is also highly educated, foreign, cultured, and speaks multiple languages. Juliet was infatuated from the start. She flirted with him throughout the dinner. We had wine and drinks at dinner, more bad choices. At the end of dinner, Juliet asked what he was doing after this and suggested we all go back to her house to chat a bit more. He was not stupid and agreed. I am not sure if the door even fully closed before she began kissing him and sticking her tongue down his tipsy throat. But I certainly know it was under two minutes before she was on her knees and pulled his monster cock out and had that down her throat. She was figuratively trying to break her jaw to the throat more. I was tipsy and stayed back to see how things went. He made out with her a bit differently than with me. They got into the bedroom, and it was not long until Justin buttfucked the literal shit out of her. I don't think I ever joined in. Just let him obliterate her. I intentionally left out a key detail until now. The average guy ejaculates around 4 to 7 shots, totaling roughly 4 mL. That’s usually enough for 10 shots to fully cover a woman’s face. But Justin is on another planet. He releases between 38 and 64 shots, with a total volume ranging from 142 to 250 mL. Do you understand? At peak output, that’s the equivalent of taking facials from 60 men. The guy is a one-man bukkake. And the aftermath isn’t just messy. It’s soaking. My hair ends up drenched in cum. My face gets completely glazed to the point of being unrecognizable, and my entire upper body is covered. It’s not just over the top, it’s absurd. It gets everywhere. It’s the kind of finish that leaves you half blind, sticky in places you didn’t even know existed, stumbling toward a 45-minute shower just to peel it all off. I am not the biggest fan of this, and he unfortunately knows this. Well, Justin thoroughly fucked her for hours, and I think I fell asleep for well over an hour, and they were still going at it. When Justin finally blew his load, she was woefully unprepared. She told me that he utterly unloaded on her, starting at a distance and letting the first dozen shots cover her face, then aimed at her chest, then torso, then to her hair, back to her face, shoulders, then her vulva, legs, and feet. The entire front of her body was drenched with cum. I remember she blindly stumbled out of the room, and I burst out laughing at her. They exchanged numbers, and I agreed we could share like before. I was not too happy since she was engaged and was still going after my prize. I think we both knew he was more temperamentally suited to me. He was several years older, already deep into his law career, and unusually grounded. I liked that he was confused but curious; he found our dynamic strange but didn't flinch. He understood, eventually, that I had no interest in pretending to be “normal.” I’d spent too long curating what I liked to walk it back. He admired my directness, and he respected Juliet’s role in my life, even if he didn’t fully understand it. Most importantly, he never treated my chest like a flaw to work around. He adjusted. He listened. He lifted, both emotionally and literally. Even after I crossed 160 pounds, he could still pick me up with ease. He helped transition me into a much fitter routine, which became critical once I got pregnant. His stability allowed me to pull back from work, raise our first child, then our second, without the guilt so many women internalize. I do believe my chest played a big factor in our initial connection, pun intended, but what lasted was his attentiveness. He didn’t just tolerate the body I lived in. He made space for it, respected it, and in doing so, made space for me. Juliet married Andrew in the summer, and I was the maid of honor at her wedding. I cried quite a lot.

Age 27, 2013 — Dating Justin

In 2013, my body continued the slow trend of regaining mass after years of restriction. Compared to the dramatic losses of earlier years, the physical changes were more gradual, but still noticeable. My total breast weight increased from approximately 19.88 pounds in 2012 to just over 20.5 pounds by the end of 2013. The gains were modest in numerical terms, but the visual effect was more pronounced. My breasts began to fill out slightly, with depth increasing and the flattened, depleted look of the anorexic years giving way to a softer, fuller contour. Widths expanded slightly past 5.7 inches, and maximum depths neared 3.6 inches on the left side. Though they remained elongated and thin relative to earlier phases of growth, they carried more volume, which affected how they moved, how I dressed, and how my posture shifted in daily life. Functionally, the increase was manageable. I was still under 30 pounds total, and my clothing remained adaptable with the help of compression. But the tissue was no longer hanging quite as loosely. The long, windsock-like profile began to round out again, and while the change was subtle month to month, the year marked the beginning of a new trend, regrowth not caused by disease or puberty, but simply by nutritional recovery and age. For the first time in years, I wasn’t trying to control or reshape my body. I was observing it. Letting it settle. Letting it change. My relationship with Justin grew more serious. What began casually was now something closer to commitment. I stayed at his place often, our rhythms aligned, and I felt more grounded with him than I had with anyone before. Juliet remained central in my life, but her dynamic with me, with Justin, and with Andrew became increasingly tangled. She was still married, still exploring, still creating situations where lines blurred, and no one was quite sure what counted as crossing them. She arranged a couple's dinner that went smoothly, then followed it with another, more intimate gathering where alcohol and familiarity took over. That night marked a shift. We didn’t plan a swap. There was no formal arrangement. But once Juliet and Andrew started making out, Justin and I responded in kind, and within minutes, Justin was fucking Juliet while I was with Andrew. It was not competitive. It was revealing. Justin was visibly more aroused by Juliet’s body than mine, and she knew exactly how to pull him in. But I knew something else: he connected with me. Juliet was his fixation; I was his foundation. From that point forward, the idea of a swinger-style arrangement began to form. The rules were unclear, but the direction was obvious. There was tension underneath it all. Juliet was still seeing Justin privately sometimes, just as I had occasionally seen Andrew. It wasn’t exactly betrayal, but it wasn’t fully transparent either. The entire arrangement operated on implication, not rules. And despite the mess, I allowed it to continue because, for better or worse, this is the world we had built. By 2012, Justin was already managing a substantial investment portfolio through his family’s private banking channels in Austria. He wasn’t just wealthy; he was deeply connected, with access to financial intelligence that never touched the public markets. That year, early signals about Bitcoin began circulating through his network, not as hype but as a serious, high-yield opportunity. While most people still saw it as a passing tech oddity, Justin was being quietly told to move. He invested one hundred fifty thousand dollars into Bitcoin immediately, positioning himself well before any mainstream coverage. His Ethereum positions came later, but still ahead of the crowd, long before it became trendy or widely adopted. When he brought the rest of us in, it wasn’t framed as a tip. It was a direction. I invested seventy-five thousand, Juliet added fifty, and Andrew followed with a hundred. None of us was an expert, but we didn’t need to be. We trusted Justin’s access, his calm confidence, and his instinct for timing. Over the years, those early investments matured into real portfolios. Not short-term flips or lucky bets, but layered, compounding wealth. It sat quietly in the background while we lived, while we worked, while everything else shifted. The freedom it gave us wasn’t loud, but it was absolute.

Age 28, 2014 — Engaged!

My chest continued its gradual upward drift in weight and volume. By the end of the year, each breast had gained just under 1.2 pounds, bringing the total combined mass to approximately 42.6 pounds. The additional weight deepened the lower curvature of the breast profile, increased the inframammary fold thickness, and slightly pulled the tissue further downward. Breast length reached 24.25 inches on the left and 21.16 inches on the right. Width remained stable at just under 6 inches per side, but depth increased slightly to just over 3.9 inches, especially during luteal swelling. The result was a chest that appeared heavier and sat lower, despite no change in skin elasticity. The areolar complex remained symmetrical, with diameters now averaging 2.15 inches and increased textural thickening across both nipples. My bra size technically crossed back into the 34U range, though I still rotated through 36T and 38S for comfort depending on activity. Structurally, the biggest change was in how the added weight altered motion and delayed tissue recoil. Bounce became more pronounced even with high compression garments, and day-to-day movement once again required more conscious adaptation. Visually, my chest had reentered a phase of dominance, less ignorable under clothing, more likely to distort fabric, and increasingly the first thing people noticed when I walked into a room. By May, Justin proposed and I said yes. We were officially engaged and living together full-time. The stability was real. Our lives were blending in practical, adult ways with shared schedules, coordinated travel, and planning out the logistics of a future. Juliet had moved into Andrew’s mansion about forty minutes away, and our day-to-day routines had grown more separate, but the bond remained. She was still my closest friend and oldest partner in every way that mattered. Our lives were diverging on the surface, but the undercurrent never changed. When I told her about the engagement, she congratulated me, kissed me on the mouth, and said it was time to revisit our original vow. She was referring to the promise we made back in college that if either of us married, we would share our husbands. Juliet brought it up with a straight face and absolute conviction. In her mind, the commitment between us took precedence, and marriage was just another variable to integrate. I did not say yes and I did not say no. We agreed not to raise it with the men yet, mostly because we did not know how. The emotional math was unclear. It was not about betrayal or deceit. It was about allegiance and legacy. For Juliet, it was a sacred pact. For me, it was a reminder that some bonds do not dissolve just because the structure around them changes.

Age 29, 2015 — Married at last!

By this period, my chest had entered a new phase of density and softness. While the overall mass had increased slightly, the shape was fuller and more symmetrical than in prior years. Measurements showed a return to the mid-twenty-pound range in total breast weight, with each side carrying roughly equal distribution. The tissue had grown more pliable, less fibrous, and settled lower across the torso. Though still elongated, the overall presentation had changed. My left breast extended to just over twenty-five inches in length, while the right followed close behind. Widths reached nearly six inches on both sides, and depth hovered around four inches. The areolae flattened slightly, spreading wider than before, and nipple projection softened, giving them a heavier, almost downward tilt when unsupported. Clothing became more difficult again. Compression techniques that had worked the previous year no longer had the same effect. Structured support was necessary on most days, and I returned to specialized undergarments tailored overseas. Bras remained custom, with band size floating between thirty-four and thirty-six, depending on weight and activity. I had gone from the illusion of flatness back to a silhouette that could not be ignored. While the physical burden had increased, my tolerance had grown with it. I no longer viewed the changes as setbacks. Instead, I accepted them as a recurring part of my physiology. We were married after three and a half years of dating, and it was everything I had hoped for. The ceremony took place on a perfect spring afternoon, surrounded by friends and family. Juliet stood beside me as maid of honor, radiant and unapologetically emotional. Justin’s family flew in from Austria, adding a deeply meaningful sense of tradition and unity to the event. For the first time in my life, I felt like my personal story had settled into something steady and right. Our honeymoon in Bora Bora was surreal. Crystal-clear water, isolated overwater bungalows, and long, uninterrupted days gave us the space to relax in a way we had never known before. We had sex constantly, unhurried and uninhibited, sometimes several times a day. There was no pressure, no experimentation, just full presence and comfort. We took boat rides, swam naked, drank rum in hammocks, and slept late every morning. It was a reset and a reminder of how good the relationship had become on its own. That year was the quietest and most grounded of my adult life. Juliet lived forty minutes away with Andrew, and while we saw each other regularly, the intensity of earlier years had softened. No husband swapping occurred, even though Juliet made several playful comments about renewing our pact. We laughed about it, but I asked to put it off for a while. I wanted one clean year, just Justin and me, no negotiations or open loops. For once, I did not feel like something was missing. I just felt full. Juliet bought a ranch and some horses. She is going big time now. On the flip side of marriage, my parents finally divorced after seven years of infighting. They were married for twenty-two years, and over time, my father just stopped caring about my mother. My mother let her looks go and slowly gave up. She had discovered that my father was having an affair with a woman in China and eventually had a family with her. When my mother confronted him and demanded that he leave that woman, he refused. Things remained rocky for a few years until my mother was finally convinced to divorce him. She figured she would be alone forever after that, but honestly, that is better than being in a failed marriage and being unhappy with yourself every day.

Age 30, 2016 — Meeting my Sakura sisters

That year, I could feel my body softening again. Not in a bad way, just fuller, more stable. My breasts had gained a bit of weight, maybe a pound or so each, enough to notice when I got dressed or leaned forward, but not enough to throw off my balance. The added fullness settled low, making everything feel rounder and heavier underneath. My left side reached just past twenty-four inches, and the right hovered closer to twenty-one. Width crept up to six inches, and the tissue started to carry more depth again, closer to four. Most days, no one would have noticed the change. But I could feel it. I moved differently. I ran slower. Bras fit tighter. And I stopped pretending I didn’t need to adjust for that. The texture changed, too. Softer, warmer. My nipples were more sensitive, and the areolae spread slightly wider, barely noticeable unless you were really paying attention. But I noticed. I always do. My bras had to change again. I rotated between a tight 34U and a roomier 36T, depending on how I felt that day. The shape of my chest settled into something low, curved, and unmistakably adult. It wasn’t a dramatic shift, just a quiet reminder that my body was still changing with me. And for once, I didn’t mind. I wasn’t shrinking anymore. I wasn’t surviving. I was living. That year, our encounters became more frequent and less restrained. What began as casual swapping evolved into more synchronized foursomes, with each couple sometimes staying paired, sometimes trading, depending on mood and chemistry. The men, once hesitant to interact directly, grew more comfortable in each other’s presence. There were nights when bodies overlapped, when hands wandered, when lines blurred, not just between couples but between individual experiences. Nothing felt forced or theatrical. It was organic, fluid, and deeply physical. The sex was louder, sweatier, and far less private than in earlier years. By now, we all knew each other’s rhythms, preferences, and limits. The men didn’t touch each other exactly, but the gap between them kept narrowing. What once required alcohol or excuses had become routine. I first met Tiffany through a hypertrophy support network, one I had joined during a stretch of burnout when I was desperate to feel less alone. She stood out immediately, charismatic, grounded, and unapologetically visible in a body like mine. Tiffany was possibly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She had been a professional model, and it showed, but what struck me more was the way people reacted to her. Her body was like a funhouse mirror made real, impossible proportions that bent reality. Men would crash shopping carts, walk into lampposts, and stop mid-sentence when she passed. And yet, she carried all of that surreal attention with composure and humor. She could command a boardroom with the same ease she owned a runway, and her confidence was magnetic. We hit it off fast. There was no posturing with her, just honesty. We talked about everything: medical trauma, clothing hacks, careers, and how to carry yourself when your chest precedes you into every room. She introduced me to her company, but more importantly, to the women she had chosen to build it with. Women like me. Women who had been through it. That was how I met Lien. She was a bit older than my mother and had the calm, exacting energy of someone who could run a country without breaking a sweat. She had joined the same network years earlier and came into Sakura through Tiffany, who had seen her potential and offered her a leadership role. Watching the two of them together was surreal. They were brilliant, composed, and unapologetically built like me, but also not like me. My body was average in every way except the chest, which always felt more weird than dramatic. But theirs, theirs didn’t just command space, it redefined it. And for the first time, I stopped thinking of my body as something to manage or survive. In their world, it wasn’t a problem; it was proof. They didn’t recruit me, not directly. But they didn’t have to. All I had to do was watch how they moved through the world, and suddenly, I wanted in. We moved into our new home this year as well. A very large property, and we had plans to build a variety of buildings on the property. Tiffany helped us begin hiring staff for our estate through Sakura Estate Services, and even though we paid our own staff, she was able to have the admin aspect be from Sakura Holdings. Due to my unique chest, I was often walking around the house nude, so I joked to my husband that when we hire house staff, they should be nude too, so that everyone feels awkward, and it cancels everything out. Discussing with Tiffany and Juliet, that joke quickly manifested into reality, and she had her legal team work through the process, and we began job applications for house staff that would be contractually obligated to work completely nude during their shift. No sexual angle was intended at the time. We hired three nude staff that year, which was pretty wild. Back then, we were just trying to figure things out.

Age 31, 2017 — Pregnancy woes

---------------------2017 ------------------ ---------------------2018 ------------------ ---------------------2019 ------------------

My mother joined Sakura at age 61, two years after her divorce, during a period when she felt lonely and unsure of herself. Over the course of nearly two years, what changed everything was the professional care arranged through Sakura Modeling, which approached her transformation in deliberate phases rather than quick fixes. The process began with foundational changes, including a structured diet, targeted vitamins, amino acids, protein supplementation, and the support of a personal trainer to rebuild strength and reshape her body. As her health and confidence improved, the focus expanded to physical refinement through carefully planned procedures that addressed overall proportions and removed stubborn areas that diet and exercise alone could not correct. Her fatty, sagging breasts were hanging past her vulva, and there was not much that could be done. Very subtle breast enhancements were completed to just assist with the firmness and overall shaping. not bra size. At the same time, aesthetic work refined her face and skin, creating balance between her physical changes and her presentation. By the final phase, her transformation became high-touch and fully integrated, with consistent maintenance and a polished style that reflected the confidence she had rebuilt. Watching this unfold step by step, I didn’t see my mother become someone else; I saw her become more of herself, with presence, pride, and a sense of worth that finally matched who she had always been.

I got pregnant in March, and almost immediately, my body felt like it was asking more of me than it ever had before. I was excited, genuinely excited, but also overwhelmed in a way I didn’t know how to explain at first. I was already carrying so much weight in my chest, and as the pregnancy took hold, everything intensified at once. My breasts grew quickly and became constantly sore, heavier by the week, while the rest of my body softened and filled out, too. The combination was brutal. My back ached all the time. My shoulders burned. My neck stayed tight no matter how I slept. Standing for long stretches became exhausting, and even sitting upright felt like work because of how much weight was pulling forward on such a small frame. As the months went on, the physical strain became impossible to ignore. My breasts pressed harder against my ribs and stomach as my belly began to grow, and no position truly felt comfortable. Walking hurt. Sleeping was awkward and restless. I felt swollen, slow, and heavy in a body that had never been built to carry this much at once. Emotionally, though, I kept telling myself it was worth it. This was pregnancy. This was supposed to be hard. My body was doing something meaningful, something hopeful. My husband was incredible during this time. He helped me dress, carried things I normally would have managed myself, rubbed my shoulders when they felt like they were on fire, and held me when I cried from sheer exhaustion. He reminded me constantly that I wasn’t weak, that my body was working overtime, and that he saw how much I was carrying. Then, in August, I miscarried, and the loss broke something open in me. The grief was immediate and consuming, but my body didn’t reset the way my mind desperately wanted it to. The pregnancy weight didn’t vanish. My breasts stayed heavy and sore for weeks, softer but still overwhelming, like my body hadn’t yet realized what had happened. It felt cruel to still be carrying the physical reminders when the future they were preparing for was gone. The pain in my back and shoulders lingered, but now it was paired with grief instead of anticipation. That year was defined by pregnancy, by struggle, by hope, and then by loss. The breast growth wasn’t just a change on a chart. It was part of what made the pregnancy physically harder, emotionally heavier, and the aftermath impossible to separate from my body. At home, we added 13 new nude staff, bringing our total to 16. Sakura handling the scheduling and admin made things so much easier! And professional as well, because I honestly had no idea how to manage house staff. I also introduced my mother to Lien (34ZZ) at Sakura, and they helped her into a high-level management position. Joining Sakura was perhaps one of the best things that had ever happened to her, as she was stuck in a failed marriage and was now four years divorced. She had low confidence, and she had given up on herself. The Sakura team quickly helped remind her of her immense worth and value. She has true beauty, and they can help her metamorphose into her best self. That year was the first step in her transition from dull housewife to glam queen.

Age 32, 2018 — Organized Chaos

The weight didn’t leave my body. It settled deeper into my frame, especially in my chest, where the size and softness had both increased in ways I couldn't ignore. The left breast measured 25.62 inches in length, 8.51 inches wide, and 4.53 inches deep, with a full circumference of 20.96. The right followed close behind at 22.79 long, 9.38 wide, 5.03 deep, and 23.15 around. This year marked the point where weight wasn’t just volume, it was presence. They hung differently now. There was a plushness to them that hadn’t been there before, like the internal makeup was shifting slowly from dense to yielding. When I stood without support, the drop was full and uninterrupted. When I bent forward, I could feel the weight swing forward and settle low, the curves of each breast brushing my stomach and thighs with a kind of soft finality. My areolae continued to stretch. The left now measured 7.01 inches around, the right 7.16, both with a slight darkening in tone and a looser texture at the edges. The overbust reached 58 inches this year, though it barely felt worth noting anymore. Nothing fit, and I had long since given up trying to wear anything structured. I lived in soft bralettes or compression fabric, not to shape anything, but just to hold it close enough that I could forget about the movement. Even that rarely worked. The tissue had changed. There was less fight in it, less tension. Everything folded more easily, settled more heavily. I adjusted constantly, lifting from underneath, tucking into place, repositioning without thinking. Some days, I missed how they used to feel. Other days, I touched them in the mirror and felt nothing but quiet. My body had tried to carry life, and then it didn’t. We started organizing the chaos. Juliet and I had been each other’s constant for so long, but now we were both married, both tethered to men who had once been casual and now were permanent. Nothing about our feelings had changed, but the structure of our lives had. So we talked. In quiet moments between errands or after long silences in bed, we began sketching out what a more intentional version of this could look like. The four of us had shared enough to know it worked, but now we were making it repeatable. We started small, just putting together a calendar. One or two planned foursome nights each month, usually with dinner, drinks, and soft agreements about where the night might go. Nobody needed to be told what to do. It was about keeping things in motion without letting them drift. Outside of that, we let things flex. Some Saturdays, Andrew and I would take the night, just the two of us, slow and low-key, while Juliet and Justin slipped out for their own date. Other times, it would happen without warning. A message, a look, a change in plan. These nights weren’t scheduled but never felt secret. The swap wasn't a rule or an obligation. It just gave us all space to experience each other without the weight of performance. Sometimes Juliet would come home glowing, and I wouldn’t ask why. Sometimes I did the same. What mattered was that everything stayed open, breathable, intact. There was no hierarchy between us, no primary or secondary. Only presence and choice. Tiffany reached out mid-year with something that felt more like an offering than a proposition. She wanted both Juliet and me involved with Sakura, not just socially but structurally. The invitation wasn’t formal, but it carried weight. She called it consulting, but what she really meant was helping shape how everything could fit together, the people, the needs, the space. Juliet lit up immediately. She had already sketched out a long-term vision for a kind of private ranch estate, something sustainable and intimate, tucked away from noise. When she shared the idea with Tiffany, it wasn’t just a dream; it was a blueprint. Land, housing, community design, even therapeutic support. Tiffany didn’t blink. She listened, asked smart questions, and said, simply, that she could see it too. At home, we hired another thirteen new nude staff. Our home had up to twenty-nine staff with set schedules and shifts. We built a multitude of houses and an apartment building on our estate over the past few hours to provide on-site living options.

Age 33, 2019 — Husband Swapping

This year, my body began to lighten. The weight I had carried so heavily started to come off, slowly but noticeably, and the most visible change was in my chest. My breasts didn’t shrink so much as they redistributed. The left now measured 25.64 inches in length, 8.25 inches wide, 4.57 inches deep, with a circumference of 20.55. The right followed with 22.81 in length, 9.36 wide, 5.16 in depth, and a circumference of 23.29. They remained large, but the sheer density had shifted. They no longer felt as engorged or swollen. There was a slackness beginning to form, not unpleasant, but new. When I moved, they didn’t resist or hold tension like before. They flowed. When I folded forward, they gathered lower, softer, fuller. The tissue settled deeper into its natural shape, less rounded, more poured. Nipple projection stayed nearly the same, still holding just over two inches of forward reach, but the weight around them pulled down more openly. Areolar size remained wide, 7.02 around on the left, 7.16 on the right, but the texture grew looser, the skin more velvety and thin at the edges. I noticed this most when I dressed. Even compression fabric no longer shaped them the way it used to. They spread outward, below, to the sides. I stopped trying to coax them up. They had found their path, and I let them take it. With the weight drop, I could feel more of my chest wall beneath them, but that didn’t mean they were smaller. Just less held. Less firm. And in a way, more mine. They weren’t dramatic anymore. They were familiar. Work finally gave me the title I had been grinding toward for years. I was named a junior partner at the firm, and while the promotion brought more pressure, it also brought a deep sense of validation. I wasn’t just surviving in the legal world anymore. I was shaping it. My name went on the door, my voice carried more weight in meetings, and I started managing my own small team. The hours didn’t get any easier, but they felt more purposeful. I had earned my place in a room that used to feel closed to me, and now I was helping decide who else got through the door. In the bedroom, things finally became structured in a way that matched the reality of our lives. Most of the time, we were home in our own marriages. For two consecutive weeks, I stayed with Justin, and Juliet stayed with Andrew, living our normal routines, sleeping in our own beds, running our households the way married life usually looks. Those weeks were steady and grounding, and they mattered because they reinforced that our marriages were not being sidelined or diluted. Nothing felt temporary or half-held. We were fully present where we were. Then, on a set cycle, everything flipped. One designated week, Juliet left her house, and I left mine, and we swapped completely. Juliet moved into my home and slept in my bed, used my bathroom, cooked in my kitchen, and lived my daily life. They fucked like rabbits and were super compatible. Justin being European meant he was a bit more open, and Juliet was basically a nymph always wanting more; it was a perfect match in bed. I would live in Juliet's house and sleep with her husband. I am more limited in bed due to my chest and not as sexually skilled as Juliet. Andrew prefers more basic sex and isnt in fetish and hardcore things. We are more compatible in bed together and can take it a bit slower. This schedule wasn’t a visit or a night over. It was a full exchange, intentional and immersive, and because it was planned, it felt calm instead of chaotic. Outside of that, every two months, Juliet and I took a weekend away together as lovers, just the two of us, choosing each other without husbands or schedules in the way. That gave us private time and ensured our bond together always remained strong. Making love to her back then would remind me of our college days together and how no one else in the world seemed to matter back then.

Age 34, 2020 — COVID

The pandemic dominated our year and the world. We avoided contact with most other people and mostly paused our swapping. My divorced mother stayed with us for eight months during lockdown, and it was good to have her around the house at times. Justin and I slept together much less this year, and I figured it was due to the concerns in the world and things were turned upside down. He continued to work, mostly remotely. I worked remotely and assisted Sakura as much as I could.

After the weight dropped and then stabilized, my chest didn’t reverse course so much as it recalibrated. The overall heaviness lingered, but the shape changed again, subtly this time. My left breast stretched just a touch longer to 25.73 inches, but it narrowed to 7.53 inches wide and lost some depth, settling closer to 4.31. The circumference eased down to 18.94, and I could feel that difference immediately in how it sat against my ribs. The right side followed the same pattern, holding its length at 22.9 inches while slimming to 8.57 inches wide and 4.87 inches deep, with the circumference dropping to 21.51. They still felt substantial, but less swollen, less dense, like the tissue was relaxing rather than retreating.

What changed most was how they moved with me. There was less outward pressure, less of that packed, engorged feeling, and more give when I touched them or shifted positions. They didn’t push forward the way they had before. Instead, they settled closer to my body and spread more naturally when unsupported. Exercise played a role in that, I could tell. My chest felt more responsive, less resistant, and the weight, while still there, felt easier to carry day to day. Dressing became slightly simpler, not because they were smaller in any dramatic sense, but because they were calmer. The shape felt familiar again, not tight or strained, just present, like my body had found a quieter equilibrium and was content to stay there for a while.

Age 35, 2021 — Divorce...thoughts

The lockdown dragged on, and what had once felt like a temporary disruption hardened into something heavier and more exhausting. Every day carried the same low hum of fear and grief as the death toll climbed, not just as numbers on a screen but as names, faces, and empty spaces in people’s lives. Friends lost parents, coworkers disappeared from meetings and never came back, and the world felt smaller and more fragile with each passing month. Even inside our own home, the weight of it pressed in on us. There was guilt for being safe when so many weren’t, anxiety about the future, and a constant sense of mourning that had nowhere to land. It was terrible in a quiet, grinding way, the kind that didn’t explode but wore everyone down, leaving us all more tired, more sober, and far more aware of how interconnected and vulnerable we really were. As the year went on, my chest continued to change, but in a quieter, more cumulative way than before. Compared to how they had settled earlier, my breasts grew heavier again, not dramatically, but enough that I felt it in my posture and at the end of long days. The left stretched a little longer and fuller, the right following, with both gaining depth and circumference rather than width, which made them feel denser and more bottom-heavy. They didn’t feel swollen like they had in the past, but they were undeniably heavier, slower to move, and more demanding of support. The tissue felt softer but more persistent, spreading more when unsupported and pulling down more noticeably when I stood or walked. It wasn’t a sharp change so much as an accumulation, like my body was settling into a heavier version of itself, and I was learning, again, how to carry it. Later on, once the world began to open back up and the shock of the previous years softened into something more livable, we returned to the structure we had built before. The schedule came back not as a thrill, but as a relief, something familiar we already knew how to hold without it spilling everywhere. The rhythm of being rooted in our marriages most of the time, stepping into a full exchange on a defined cycle, and protecting space for Juliet and me felt natural again, almost grounding. What had once felt fragile now felt earned. We were older, steadier, and more honest about our limits and our needs, and that made the arrangement calmer and more sustainable. Resuming, it wasn’t about chasing intensity; it was about returning to a version of our lives that fit us, one we had already tested and chosen with clear eyes. At home, our house staff grew to thirty-nine this year as we added three more nude house staff. Sakura began doing mock events at our estate and playing with the idea of orgies and social events for clients, with our expressed permission. My mother came to stay with us for two weeks in June. On a Thursday at 1 pm, I came home early from the office, as there had been a minor fire emergency. My husband was at work, and my mother was home, and the house was attended by staff. Six staff would have been on their shifts at that time. The only male would have been the building manager for the apartment complex on our estate, and he would not be in our home. I went upstairs to get something from my bedroom in our west wing, and as I got to the middle of the staircase, I started hearing screams and moans coming from the east wing, from my mother's guest bedroom. Unsure of what was going on, I ascended the staircase and headed into the east wing. As I approached her closed door, the screaming became evident. Either she was masturbating, riding a very large dildo in there, or she was being mercilessly fucked by someone. I listened for a few more seconds to help confirm it was sex, because that would not make sense. No men are in the house. Did she meet someone? Was she dating someone? I am not aware of that. In one of the moments I most regret in my entire life, I very slowly turned the door handle and cracked the door open as quietly as humanly possible. I have seen my mother naked thousands of times, but never in a sexual manner - nor did I want to. I opened the door very slowly to allow one eye to peek into the room. I unfortunately saw my nude mother in doggystyle on the left side of the bed (sideways) with her breasts hanging down the side of the bed, and she was sweating heavily and screaming, and from her body motion she was being absolutely drilled from behind, but I could not see the man. I opened the door slightly further and was able to regret my decision in a flash as my heart and mind sank. My husband was fucking my mother! I was frozen in fear as my eyes witnessed him pounding my mother on that bed. Maybe I even blacked out. Suddenly, my brain yelled at me to run. I let go of the door, which stayed in place, and I ran out of the house crying. I sat in the car crying because I was not in any state to drive. I cried for half an hour and then drove to Juliet's house. She was not home, but I stayed in her house and texted her. When she got home, I broke the news, and she held me. I called out of work for the next day and stayed at Juliet's house. I did not return my husband's phone calls or texts. Juliet accompanied me back home on Saturday afternoon, and I confronted Justin and my mother. We all sat down and had a mature discussion. I furiously asked him directly, "How long?!" and before he could reply, my mother said - 2018. I lost my fucking mind. MY HUSBAND HAS BEEN HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH MY MOTHER FOR FOUR YEARS?!?!?! FOUR. YEARS?! I was thinking they may have made a mistake, and this happened once or twice. But this was structured; they were dating. They were texting in secret for years. It was romantic, LIKE WHAT?! My husband is five years older than me but...I cannot comprehend it. He said, looking back, it was swimming in 2017 that did him over. My mother usually swam nude in private moments due to her oversized chest. However, she would only strip down when no one else was around, like during those quiet afternoons when the pool was empty. I wasn’t home, and Justin saw her in the pool from the house and apparently, took the opportunity to join her in the water. But he naturally claimed his swimsuit didn’t fit due to his oversized balls, so he got nude in front of her and got in the pool. After swimming a bit, he said he forgot his phone and walked out of the pool. He said she swam up to the edge, and while chatting, he squatted down close to her to ensure her eyes were level with his hanging cock. After swimming together for more time, he said she pulled the same trick and left the pool dripping wet so she could show off her body to get something. This time, he stayed close to the edge, and when she returned from getting something, she squatted in front of him with her legs parted with her super bush just inches from his face. That is the story he told me, and he claims nothing sexual happened. His texts to her started containing more undertones that she did not get due to her broken English. Justin’s flirtation was clearly coming from him, and her mostly rebuffing him. I found out they were both at a 2018 Sakura social event, where she had slightly too much wine, and he soberly seduced her in a bedroom at the estate and got in bed with her. All of this was built on the foundation of that poolside encounter, where Justin’s choice to go nude was his cover story, but the daughter knew it was a calculated move to make her notice his body. The mother, already nude, was not expecting him, and the way he lingered, his cock and balls directly in her line of sight, was a subtle but intentional display. It was all visuals and undertones, but it set the stage for a relationship that had been meticulously built over years. I honestly had no idea he was even attracted to her. He said her makeover process, as Sakura brought out beautiful aspects of her that he had never noticed before, and his urges grew as she became more beautiful. But that is also when it clicked that her time at Sakura had not only brought out her exterior beauty, but a deep transition happened in her heart and mind. She was becoming a confident, sexual person. Sakura had been slowly training her sexually and expanding her horizons. If Sakura were bending her sexually, my fetish-crazed European husband would have broken her into pieces and given the sexual experiences she did not even know existed, if she were open to them. I am not condoning the actions, but I am reflecting that she was deeply transitioning during that time, and it was probably the extended relationship with her son-in-law that helped mould her into a high-confidence stage performer. I went and stayed with my cousin for a month. I was so furious and contemplated divorce. I was actually more upset with my mother. This was not a once or twice affair - this was a full relationship that lasted years. I needed time to unpack everything and figure out wtf was going on and what I was finding myself caught up in.

Age 36, 2022 — Threesomes, with my mother?!

I spent a lot of time talking with Tiffany, Lien, Juliet, and others about what had transpired. They were able to offer perspectives that were previously locked to me. They explained that my mother was a different person now, a phoenix reborn, and she was fulfilling decades of pent-up sexual angst. They did not excuse the behavior. They explained that we are part of a unique sexual dynamic, and I should explore how sharing with others has shaped me as well. They surmised that I was tumbling down a rabbit hole that I had begun falling into during college, and it was too late to climb back out, and I should dive into the hole to learn what is on the other side. They concluded that I should have a threesome with my mother, to which I called them certifiably retarded. They asked me to hear them out, and I eventually did. Lien talked with my mother, and in great detail, she tried to have her understand the situation as well. Juliet and Lien helped stage the event. My mother had never been sexually active with Andrew, but I think she may have seen him nude once; I am not sure. On Saturday, May 21st, Everyone had some drinks in a large group. Lien and Juliet brought my mother and me into a bedroom and handed us Magic Wands. They had us both get naked and sit in folding chairs, and placed a bucket in front of the chair. Juliet got in doggystyle just three feet in front of us with her butt facing us. We were seated but not doing anything. My mother and I just sort of laughed and were unsure of the unfolding situation. Andrew entered the room completely nude with a mostly flaccid cock. My mother had met him many times, but never saw him naked. Her eyes lit up when she saw his cock hanging by his knees. Walked straight over to her and pressed his cock right up against her face. He did not need to knock twice on that invite. It was strange for me to see my mother blow Andrew, for sure, but also like familiar? Because I had done that with Juliet so many times. I had heard a buzzing, which meant she must have turned her Wand on and put it between her legs. Andrew came over to me, and my mother was moaning a bit. Now semi-erect, I sucked his long cock as well, a bit, and turned on my wand. Juliet called him, and he left me and went over to her. At this point, we were both fully wanding ourselves but focusing on our own things. Andrew squatted down and entered Juliet's butt. Like, thirty seconds later, my mother started getting pretty loud. She let out like an eight-foot stream that hit Andrew in the back of the head and covered his back. I had no idea she could even do that. Lien reminded us to use our bucket and placed the bucket in our left hands. I got it now. Andrew was slowly railing Juliet's cute butt tip-to -balls-to-tip over and over, and my mother was losing her mind. I kept hearing loud, strong streams being power dumped into her bucket. I climaxed a few times, but nothing like she was doing. I had no idea she could even do that. Ten minutes of this was too much for her, and she got onto the floor in doggystyle next to Juliet and yelled "DO NOW, GO" in broken English. Andrew switched and very slowly penetrated her butt. Lien placed a new bucket below her. Juliet sat next to me and encouraged me to keep going. Focus on Andrew. After a few minutes, I sprayed so hard into the bucket and idk why. I had no idea my tiny 4'9" mother could do these things. Seeing her being impaled by a fourteen-inch monster cock was unreal. Not in a sexual way, but like in a pride way? Like, I had more respect for her somehow. Meanwhile, a bedroom had been set up with a divider and two beds, one on each side. I went into the room with Andrew on the left, and we were kissing on the bed. Unknown to me, my mother went in on the right with Justin, and they were kissing in that bed. We could hear each other but could not see each other. Drinks kept coming, so we would get tipsy. After a little while, sex was underway. Juliet entered the room and my bed. Justin left the room and joined the other side. Juliet kept me distracted, and my understanding is that Justin and Andrew double-teamed my mother. I tried to ignore and tell myself it was something else. PTSD and all. Her screams were loud, though, and it was evident their huge cocks were going to work on her. Lien removed the divider from the room, and I tried not to witness anything going on over there. Andrew came over and picked me up to bring me to the other bed. I remember vehemently refusing him. We were placed into doggy position side by side, and Andrew was behind me. It was too strange. Juliet forced my head to the side to watch, but I tried to keep my eyes closed. We were tossed around into various positions that kept us close, but never touching or forcing us to look at each other. Like forty minutes in, Justin left for the other bed and started up with Juliet. At this point, after so many orgasms, my brain was pretty shot. Andrew was lying on the bed, and we took turns blowing his monster cock. I don't know how to explain it.. the situation did not feel like sexual. It felt like we were playing a video game and taking turns, and laughing. I think my mind made it into a game. With Justin gone, Andrew took us both on. I never touched my mother once. Avoided eye contact as much as we could. It must be similar to how two straight men feel in a threesome with a woman. Ensuring their genitals don't touch. They don't get too close together. If my mother did touch my breasts, it was only to adjust the angle for Andrew. It was never sexual between us, I literally.. yeah, no. I am not describing incest here. This is like two straight women sharing the same guy. But more weird and awkward and taboo and yeah idk. I did not get any extra sexual feeling out of the experience, if that is what you are wondering. Andrew told Justin to swap. Justin came to the bed, and we made out with him, then shared him. It's so hard to explain. It would be like drinking vodka with someone, and you are like sharing, but at the same time, you are watching how many shots they do because you're also pissed that they are drinking your high-quality vodka? What I learned, though, is that after enough shots...you stop caring who drank what vodka and you smile and giggle at the situation. That is what Tiffany was trying to tell me. Stop trying to climb out of the rabbit hole and embrace the chaos, surrender yourself to the void. There was a "click" moment for me when I stopped seeing her as my mother in there and saw her as like my teammate. I started to encourage her and root for her. There was a point much earlier on where we were both on our backs, like sort of propped and seated on the bed together next to each other, laughing, and the two men were going down on us, and she reached to hold my hand, and we climaxed together, and she obliterated Andrew's face like a dog at an open fire hydrant on full blast. I burst out laughing. The entire experience was life-changing for both of us and brought us a lot closer in a bonding way, not a sexual one. After that, I had a much deeper understanding of the world I was living in. I reluctantly permitted them to continue a relationship if that is what they wanted. I will not go into great detail or anything, but they carried on and made sure I never saw anything. She also grew closer to Andrew and started meeting with him at times, and they were sleeping together at times. Also, that year, Sakura events began at my Zheng Estate. Social events and some orgies. I was not involved and did not attend most of the events. My mother, being a Sakura staff did attend many of the events. These have all become historic bannered events, and this was the first year they began. This year marked Juliet and Andrew’s tenth wedding anniversary, a milestone that carried a lot of shared history rather than a single narrative. They renewed their vows in a small church service, something quiet and sincere that honored what they had built and chosen to keep choosing. After that, we went to Hawaii together to celebrate, letting the formality fall away into sun, rest, and familiarity, the trip feeling less like an event and more like a continuation of a life that had already learned how to hold complexity without strain.

Age 37, 2023 — Sleeping with the boss

Back when things had stabilized earlier, my chest sat just under thirty pounds total, with the left measuring about 25.8 inches long and just over 4.3 inches deep, and the right a little past 23 inches long with close to five inches of depth. Since then, the change has been slow but undeniable. By now, my combined breast weight has climbed into the mid-thirty-pound range, driven less by length and more by added depth and fullness underneath. Circumference has increased, the underside carries more of the load, and the weight hangs lower and stays there. I feel it the moment I stand up, a deeper, steadier pull than before. With Andrew retired and home far more than before, the dynamic shifted in quieter but meaningful ways. Swapping resumed on the established schedule, one designated week at a time, and during those weeks, I stayed at Juliet’s place, fully stepping into her home while she crossed over into mine. Living there for a week instead of a night made the difference. It wasn’t about novelty or intensity; it was about routine. Sharing mornings, handling small errands, falling into the cadence of someone else’s space, and then returning home again. Because it followed a known rhythm, it felt steady rather than disruptive, like an extension of a system we already trusted. What surprised me most was how the expanded time created new connections at the edges. When I wasn’t there, Andrew sometimes spent time with my mother, not in any secretive or loaded way, but companionably, doing things together that felt ordinary and grounding. Other times, my mother would stay at Andrew's house for days. I can shamelessly admit that threesomes did take place at times. It was much less awkward to share Andrew with her compared with my husband. The arrangement had matured along with us. What once required constant attention now held its shape on its own, and that sense of steadiness made room for a kind of calm I hadn’t expected to find. Juliet and I were invited to Tiffany and Christina's house for dinner. We had been there many times before, but drinks and games got out of control, and things turned sexual. It was the first time I slept with Tiffany, and to be honest, I was excited for it because I find her stunningly beautiful and I am very attracted to her physique. The night was pretty wild, and everyone was all over everyone else. Hands, tongues, dildos everywhere. It was an amazing experience and certainly not the last time something like that happened. I guess due to that indoctrination, Tiffany invited us to my first Female Orgy. I think twenty women were there in total, most of whom I already knew from Sakura. It was an arranged evening with food, drinks, dancing, and things easily got out of hand and turned hyper sexual faster than I anticipated. There was a decent number of women with excessively large breasts there, but the majority of women had moderate chests, and some were completely flat-chested. That was also my first experience with properly flat-chested women. As flat as a wall, it's a unique experience. Strange at first, but captivating as time carried on. The event was pretty wild, and I started to realize that most Sakura events were quite extreme like this.

Age 38, 2024 — Breast Weight Increases

By now, the change in my chest wasn’t dramatic so much as unmistakably heavier. Compared to where I’d been, everything filled out again, especially through the middle and underneath. The left stretched a little longer to about 26.25 inches and gained real depth, just over five inches now, which made it feel denser and more present against my body, even though the width actually narrowed slightly. The right followed the same pattern, holding its width but deepening further, with the circumference pushing past twenty-two inches. The combined weight crept up again, enough that I felt it every morning when I stood up, that familiar downward pull settling in before I’d even fully woken up. What changed most was how persistent the weight felt throughout the day. My breasts hung lower and stayed there, spreading more when unsupported and pressing closer to my stomach when I leaned forward. They felt softer to the touch but slower to move, like the mass had consolidated instead of shifting around. Support mattered more again, not for shaping but for relief, for giving my shoulders and back a break. I noticed myself adjusting more often without thinking, lifting from underneath, and resettling them before sitting or standing. It wasn’t a return to chaos or swelling, just a steady progression into a heavier, fuller version of my body that felt increasingly permanent and increasingly familiar. Not much else to say. My mother got very familiar with many of the male escorts at Sakura. I attended some Sakura events and expanded my comfort zone. Swapping with Andrew continued. No changes at the law firm. Sakura is expanding. My mother is having a close relationship with one of the older male escorts, and things begin getting formal over time.

Age 39, 2025 — Aging Into Weight

By this point, my chest was undeniably heavier, and I could feel it before I ever looked at a tape. Combined, my breasts weighed just over 40 pounds, with the left at 18.03 pounds and the right at 21.98, the imbalance something I had long since stopped noticing day to day. The left measured 26.44 inches in length, 6.99 inches wide, 5.05 inches deep, with a circumference of 19.04 inches, while the right sat shorter but fuller at 23.61 inches long, 8.31 inches wide, 5.87 inches deep, and a circumference of 22.44. They felt thicker through the middle than before, less about stretching longer and more about filling out. When I stood still, the weight pressed forward into my torso instead of hanging away from it. When I bent, they folded low and close together, heavy and settled, like they already knew where they wanted to land. The overall shape had softened further, not dramatically, but enough that I noticed it in motion. They moved more slowly, gathered more deliberately, and stayed where they fell instead of snapping back. The skin felt looser at the edges, warmer and more pliable in my hands, and the mass itself felt denser, more substantial than it had even a year earlier. My true size had edged up again to 36Z2, though that number mattered less than how they lived on me day to day. This wasn’t growth that surprised me. It felt like a continuation. More volume, more depth, more weight, and a quiet sense that my chest had fully crossed into a heavier, more permanent phase rather than still shifting or experimenting with where it wanted to be. None of this was new information to me. I’ve known what was coming for most of my life. Between my mother, other women in my family, and years of watching similar bodies age, I was never under the illusion that breasts like mine stay firm or reactive forever. Still, feeling it happen inside my own body is different than anticipating it. If I look back ten years, most people would say nothing has really changed. Long, heavy, unmistakable. But the way they behave now tells a different story. There used to be more resistance, more tension holding things together. Now, the movement finishes later. When I stop walking, the weight keeps going. When I bend, everything settles with confidence instead of hesitation. It’s not collapsing. It’s maturity. What’s happening is simple and inevitable. The tissue has shifted further toward fat; elasticity that was already stretched by length and mass has faded more, and gravity no longer meets much opposition. The breasts don’t fight to hold shape. They accept where they land. The bounce is slower, the swing broader, the resting position more final. This isn’t a shock or a warning sign. It’s the continuation I was always told to expect. Visually, I look much the same. Physically, the mechanics are completely different. And at this stage of life, that difference feels less like loss and more like familiarity, my body doing exactly what it has been preparing to do all along. Our much-anticipated tenth anniversary arrived this year, and we marked it by renewing our vows in a church service that felt familiar and grounding. Standing there together, repeating words we had already lived through, carried a different kind of weight than the first time. It wasn’t emotional in a dramatic way, just steady and real, a moment of recognition more than ceremony. After that, we left for two months. Bora Bora and Tahiti eased us into it, days shaped by water, heat, and slow mornings that stretched without effort. Australia brought movement and long distances, the kind of travel that fills the car with conversation and laughter. New Zealand felt quieter and greener, a place that invites reflection without demanding it. Vanuatu slowed everything back down again, and by the time we reached Kiribati, life felt small and contained in the best way, just the two of us moving through days without needing to explain anything to anyone.

Age 40, 2026 — End of Life

I turn 40 in 2026, which is akin to the end of my life.

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