My Boobs & Me - Part 1

OTHER PARTS | ALL STORY LIST

I thought for a moment. I hadn't asked about Mr. Carlisle's family, well, you don't do you? I knew his wife had died quite some time ago. His daughter must be - forty? No, surely not, that would have made him over 60 probably. And twenty was too young, she must be thirty. That must be it.

"OK then. I'll give it a go. Like you said, if it works,"

Mr. Carlisle showed me upstairs into Marion's room. There wasn't much in there, probably most of her stuff was in London. I didn't look in the drawers or the wardrobe, maybe she'd left some clothes and so on in there. There was just one pair of shoes near the bed, that's all. Anyway, I inspected my package again. I looked at the bra, then at the label. '38-D under-wired padded, brassiere.'

I pulled the curtains closed, then took off my sweater and the white sports bra I was wearing. I slipped my arms between the straps of the bra, clipped it at the front, and then slid the shoulder straps up into place. And then I adjusted the 'cups' so that my own swollen breasts settled into the right places. It seemed that they didn't really hold things up, but then I realized the shoulder straps were adjustable. Again I nestled my breasts in the cups. Now, it made a difference. The straps definitely did support the weight of my 'MPMs' and felt so much better than the white one my mother had given me.

I looked in the mirror. Obviously, apart from the silkier smoother texture and the color, this was an item with a different purpose from the tight-ish sports bra I had been having to wear. This didn't just grab things and squash them in to prevent any unnecessary movement. It was supposed to support the breasts of course, but as well as that it was designed to be attractive, to allow a woman to show off her breasts and her cleavage to an extent. It did push my own MPMs up and together rather, giving me what I could only describe as quite an impressive cleavage. I smiled. I was thinking about Holly Tomkinson in my class, she the large boobs and prominent nipples. I'd noticed hers from quite close up a few times but she'd have been jealous if she'd seen mine there and then! And I was also thinking I'd like to see her in a plunge bra like mine.

I shook myself out of it, an got my thoughts back on track. Basically, it worked. The texture of the bra was much nicer next to my rather sensitive skin, and it did indeed support me very comfortably. I pulled my sweater on. Luckily I'd chosen a dark blue one, the bra didn't show through at all.

Then I looked at the panties in the bag, the same purple colocolor the same material, but very skimpy indeed. It occurred to me that these might help too. The troubles with my skin had started up again a week or two earlier, again not as seriously as when I'd been on the medications but this time more widespread. Maybe these would feel better than my ordinary boxers? I slid off my trousers and shorts and stepped into them. I pulled them up rather tightly and again fiddled to adjust them rounaroundown, this time male, bodily parts! Indeed they did feel rather nice. Quickly putting on my trousers and shoving my own bra and boxers back into the Roddhams bag, I headed back down the stairs.

"Well, Harry? Any comments?"

"Yes, Mr. Car. lisle. Thanks for the idea. They do actually feel much better, less liable to rub, and, cause my skin problems to worsen. Thanks."

"No problem."

"But you really shouldn't have, you know. I'm sure that's not part of your job. You shouldn't have to buy things like that for your students."

"Oh, I'm not paying. I'll put it down as expenses, probably as 'special clothing. The Authority will pay for it. I don't claim big expenses, they know that, they'll probably pay it without even looking."

I just had to smile. "You mean they are paying, basically, for me to have women's sexy lingerie while I'm not attending school. That's weird."

Mr. Carlisle smiled widely too though with a bit of a strange look on his face when I'd said 'women's sexy lingerie. "I suppose it is, I hadn't thought of it that way. Anyway, come on, back to your studies."

"OK. Oh, I tried to leave things tidy in your daughter's bedroom. You may want to check before she comes back, she might get the wrong idea."

Mr. Carlisle grinned. "Don't worry, she's not due back for some months, sometime before Christmas I hope."

And we got on with Biology. The different underclothes really did improve things, quite a lot, I was surprised. And I was also taken aback by the comment I made at the end of the session.

"Thanks for thinking about the comfort thing, Mr. Carlisle. The bra is fine, I'm not too sure about the panties. They are rather brief. Maybe having something smooth over the whole of my leg surface might help."

I really couldn't read Mr. Carlisle's reaction to my comments, he looked rather uncomfortable himself.

"Sorry, Mr. Carlisle. Maybe I shouldn't anyway. But I'd better change before I go home, Mum will probably be back when I get in. Bye, sir."

Funny that. I had got into the habit of calling him 'Sir' at the end of our sessions, though it was always 'Mr. Carlisle' during them, and when talking to Mum and Dad.

The next day was a Friday, and I went for my medical check-up which I did every other week. This time at the hospital I had two doctors to myself, one an attractive younger woman, the other the same older man I saw most weeks. They tested and measured my MPMs and went into a huddle to whisper something.

"Don't worry, Harry, it's just that yours is a rather rare case" said Dr. Hill, the usual doctor. "I wanted Dr. Weston to see, maybe give me her opinion."

"Yes, Harry" she continued. "I've read up on the literature. As Dr. Hill has told you, we're looking at a full recovery in a few montmonthsthink the swelling has maybe finished, certainly, it shouldn't carry on for more than a few more weeks. I reckon your breasts would be a 38-DD at this stage, did your mother choose the sports bra? It seems a good idea. Anyway, how are you doing in other respects?"

I told her about the skin problems, and the irritation I was feeling.

"Well, Harry, I'm sorry but unless that gets really bad you're just having to endure it. I know it's difficult. But your original problem has been caused by the complications in the different medications you were prescribed. I'd like to keep you drug-free, in all respects, for a while yet. OK?"

I nodded my agreement, I could see the sense in that. I put on my big sweater again and went back, head down, out to the car park where Mum was waiting. I could probably have coped on a bus then but I didn't want to risk the ridicule or embarrassment.

At the start of the next week, I turned up again at Mr. Carlisle's house and started off by presenting him with my Biology homework.

"OK Harry, I'll have a look through it now. Do you want to go up and change? You don't have to, you know."

"No, I'd like to."

"OK then. And there's something else up there you mentioned" he said, burying his head in my notes. I went up. The bra and panties were on the bed. And another packet. A pair of tights. I again looked at the label opening them. 'Sheer, black, 10D'.

I put on the bra and thong and then opened the packet. I was surprised at how flimsy the tights seemed, so I handled them extremely carefully. They really did seem silky-smooth, I think because the '10D' label meant they were of good quality. I rolled up each of the legs in turn and slid it smoothly into place, then stood and pulled them tight.

I was at that moment wearing only that set of lingerie, I hadn't put my sweater on after sorting out my bra again. OK so I'd inspected myself previously in Marion's large mirror when I'd first put the fancy bra on, I was intrigued to know just what I did look like now. And - I realized - I had to make sure my tights were on correctly. I looked in the mirror.

Wow, what a figure. There was a reaction inside my panties! I just had to stop looking as soon as I'd checked my legs, I had to settle down. I was here to study after all. I put on my sweater and trousers and pushed my feet into my trainers, standing to accustom myself to the rather strange feeling of the tights covering my legs. The feet felt - wrong. They just didn't seem right in my trainers, probably because I wasn't wearing my thick-ish trainers. I would have to put the socks on over my tights.

Then I caught sight of the pair of shoes, probably Marion Carlisle's, which I'd noticed a few days earlier. Though I knew women's feet were in general smaller than men's, these shoes didn't look too small. In fact with thin tights on instead of thick socks, they could even fit. I thought of Mr. Carlisle's reaction. These weren't something he'd bought for me io that would feel more comfortable, these were his daughter's shoes. Yet I really did feel they would do the job, enable me to wear the tights. And that was the point after all, wasn't it? So I'd feel more relaxed despite my medical condition, and be able to study more effectively. Since Dr. Weston had said she couldn't help my skin condition with medication, surely I was justified in trying other methods? I had convinced myself.

I put on the shoes. They were, to be honest, just a little tight. But then so were my trainers, I'd almost grown out of them. Mum had mentioned something about getting me some new ones only a few days earlier. I stood up. I walked around a little. I looked down. I was amazed. My feet actually looked - attractive. I'd never ever thought that of my feet before but with the combination of the sheer tights and the shiny black high-heeled shoes, I really did think they looked nice. Not just any old pair of feet in trainers. I realized that what I was looking at was basically a pair of female feet. I mean, you never saw male ones like that, did you? And it was that aspect of the whole tights-and-high-heels thing I found attractive.

"You OK, Harry?" called a voice up the stairs. "Come on, time's a' going, I need to sort out one or two things with this Biology of yours."

"OK. Coming."

I entered the room nervously. Basically, it was the shoes. I'd been presumptive in trying them on, maybe I'd gone too far. Mr. Carlisle and I had a good working relationship, and I didn't want to spoil it.

"So how are things. You've got the tights on, I see. Oh my! You've got Marion's shoes on too."

"I'm sorry, it seemed a good idea. The tights are fine but they felt wrong with my trainers. I hoped you wouldn't mind."

"I don't mind at all, Harry. They were to throw out anyway, I'd forgotten about them. Marion told me about them before she left, she says they're the wrong size, and not labeled correctly. They're too big for her. If they help you, that's fine. OK now, this Biology, come on. The first section is good but you've got your head around something totally wrong in the second part, look here."

I looked. We discussed. I studied. And I like to think I was doing well. Maybe Mum had been right, I was learning stuff better with a home tutor than I would have done at school. OK so it was only eight hours a week but I did my homework and so on. And we carried on like that for four or five more weeks, me changing as I got to Mr. Carlisle's house, doing my studying, changing before I went home. And my breasts? They seem to have stabilized. And the skin condition. Well, to be honest, it did clear up from my body, but I'd got used to the routine, and really in a way, I liked the underwear.

But it didn't clear entirely. It was mid-November, just after the half-term break (which was really boring for me, stuck at home on my own, no lessons, no mates to visit except Jake, my one really good friend). During the week, for some reason, the skin problems returned to my face. Very embarrassing, I couldn't effectively hide it at all. Just walked to Mr. Carlisle's house with my head down yet again, I was getting used to that. No calling in at shops or anything, just straight there and straight back afterward.

"Doctor Hill has promised me she'll give me some medication which should help in a couple of weeks. She's reluctant," I told Mr. Carlisle one morning "because my - other problem - seems to be slow in subsiding, in fact - they haven't started yet."

"So you're stuck in - entirely?"

"Yes"

Mr. Carlisle carried on the lesson, then stopped about half an hour early.

"Harry, I just wonder. Maybe there is something more we can do to help. To hide the problem, just for a couple of weeks maybe?"

"That would do, certainly."

"Well, it's a rather strange idea but I do think it might work. Can I ask you to try something for me? Come upstairs, I want to show you something in Marion's room. "

We went up, it did seem a little odd, this was the first time we'd both been in there together. Since I did my own changing in there I regarded it to an extent as 'my' room even though obviously it wasn't. Mr. Carlisle asked me to sit on the chair, the only chair in the room, and then opened one of the drawers in the dresser.

"My daughter, Marion, has rather sensitive skin too. Not as bad as yours of course."

He stopped. "Oh dear, Harry, that sounded awful."

"No, that's all right." I wondered where this was going.

"So she uses a very light form of make-up, something which just does the job, enhances her appearance, that sort of thing. In the sort of job she's in, in PR that is, she has to look good. Well, I just wondered if you'd like to try something like that yourself. Just to see the effect, it's really a good quality product, dermatologically tested and all that. It might help."

I thought for a moment. Makeup? "So what would that involve. I'm not sure that would help. And I'm certainly not sure I could do it properly."

"OK Harry, let's leave it for now. How about we try it just a little at the start of tomorrow's session. You change now, it's almost time, I'll look through these drawers and see what I can find. OK?"

"OK then," I said. "I'll try anything once."

The next morning I went straight up to change. Then Mr. Carlisle came in, he brought another chair and sat beside me.

"I don't want to spend a lot of time on this, just a quick go. OK?"

"Sure."

He had arranged quite a few bottles and tubes along the dresser. He started with one flesh-colored tube, squirting the thin paste onto a sponge and spreading it over my face.

"Here, Harry, you continue, it seems to be covering, and it doesn't look too bad, does it?"

Indeed it didn't. On the one hand, it did cover the irregularities in my skin very well, and on the other, it gave my face a pleasant sheen. I took a minute to smooth it into place, then Mr. Carlisle took a brush and spread some powder over some areas of my face, basically to give the rather flat surface some sort of relief. Then he got a bigger brush and some deeper pink powder.

"And just a little blusher, I think. OK?"

After that he got a pot of deeper pink paste, basically a lip color, and applied it very carefully with a brush over my lips, finishing by coating them with a gloss liquid.

"Now, I have to admit, Harry, I think that looks very good."

I looked. I rather liked what I saw. My skin had become rather badly marked over the previous week, Dr. Weston had said it was a sign that things were finally coming to a close. But the effect of the make-up was to cover all the flaws, very effectively. I knew I couldn't go out in the street like that, Mr. Carlisle agreed, but he was quite happy for me to continue with our studying with me made up. I didn't do it for the next few days, but at the end of the following week, I suggested I try the make-up again.

"You want to do it yourself?"

So I did. I managed very well with the foundation, the highlighter, the blusher, then the lip colorant, and the blusher. The result looked - quite good, I thought. Finally, I looked in the wardrobe. OK, so Marion's shoes were a little smaller than mine, what about her clothes. I took off my sweater and trousers and slipped on a pair of her jeans. They were tight, yes, but wearable. I got a sweater too, with a V-neck, again tight-ish. I liked the way it felt. I looked in the mirror. I wasn't hiding my breasts, my cleavage anymore. I was reveling in it. But what would Mr. Carlisle say?

I walked out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the dining room.

"Well, Mr. Carlisle. What do you think?"

He looked at me. A strange sort of glint came into his eyes. "Well, Harry. I see you've decided not to hide things anymore."

"Well, just here, Mr. Carlisle. I mean, just for today. I couldn't go out looking like this, obviously. But just for her, I borrowed some of Marion's clothes. I hope, that is, if you don't like ..."

"Harry, it's fine. Really. You look nice. Will you excuse me for a moment?"

He rushed out. He looked weird, like that first time I'd tried on the purple bra, somehow it wasn't the reaction I'd expected. I sat and looked at my books for a couple of minutes before he came back.

"Harry, you look great. Feel like some studying?"

"Definitely."

We actually got through a lot of stuff that session, and in the next couple of mornings though I didn't go so far with the dressing and the make-up. But I just felt good. The whole combination, the lingerie, the tight jeans, and more than anything the revealing sweater, all contributed to a feeling of well-being. We both worked, hard, as tutors and students, and we made a lot of progress.