Gynecomastia Part 3
Read Part 2 Here.
Follow up appointment was set for one week away as we left. I didn’t speak to the car.
“This is so embarrassing,” I finally said as we pulled away.
“Sweetie, don’t be embarrassed. We’ve gone to a doctor and are getting these handled. I’m sure my giggles in there didn’t help. The whole situation was so odd that I couldn’t help myself. Now I’ll run into the store on the way home for some sports bras. Hopefully, those will work for you.”
“Thank you. I never thought you’d be shopping for me a bra. This is just so emasculating.”
Wife’s Perspective In Store…
Thankfully sports bras aren’t sized by measurement. Can you imagine if he had to be measured for a bra? He’s about my size. I’ll get a medium to be safe. I need a soft material. Oh, could you imagine him in a real bra? He would die. But he’d probably look cute. Lord knows his ‘manhood’ is small enough to fit in panties. Why would he be in panties? What am I thinking? All right, here’s a soft one, unless. I would get a scratchy workout one. It would certainly irritate his nipples then he would have to get a softer, prettier bra. I can’t do that to him, can I?
I quickly found myself with a soft, normal, and scratchy cheap one in my cart. The supportive wife wanted the soft one that would work and minimize embarrassment. The kink in me wanted to skip these altogether and buy a silky bra set. Before I knew it, I was at the register with not the scratchiest but not a soft sports bra. That way, I don’t have to feel bad about it. I checked out and headed back to the car.
“All right, if this isn’t the one, I only bought one. Each of us has our preferred fit and feel.”
Oh, the look on his face after that comment.
After we got home, I put on my ‘support garment’ in privacy. After ten minutes, my wife came to check on me.
“Sweetie, you okay?”
“Yeah, I can’t seem to get this on,” I said.
“Here, let me help you.”
She showed me how to put it on and adjust once I was in it. It was uncomfortable in general, as I felt my whole chest compressed. On top of that, I could feel it irritating my nipples more. I was not admitting that to my wife. Instead, I spent the evening adjusting to make it feel right.
“Having trouble with your bra, sweetie?” my wife asked.
“No, I mean yes. This is rubbing my nipples raw… How do you handle that?” I asked.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m afraid that means, at this particular stage, your development will need a softer bra. Because sports bras are made to compress, they don’t have a softer option. We need to order you a more traditional bra, and I will pick it up tomorrow.”
“You can’t be serious. I’m a man. I can’t wear a regular bra!”
“Of course, you’re all man. But we must do this, or you will have permanent skin damage. That could require more surgery to fix. Hey, at least it’s the Internet shopping Era. Otherwise, you’d have to go in person.”
“I’m not following,” I said.
“Oh, don’t act dense. Regular bras are not sized like t-shirts. I think you need to be measured. Now you’ve lucked out because I have a sizer. The only catch is we must order from there as each brand has its cut.”
“This is terrible. Where are we gonna have to order from?” I asked.
“Aerie! Isn’t that exciting? Theirs are very comfy.”
“Oh, God. All your bras are from there and are very girly or sexy.”
“I’m sure they have a more toned-down option. Bras aren’t gender-neutral, but we’re looking for a standard bra. It will be okay. Do you want to pick it out after we measure?”
“Will you just pick one? The idea of picking a bra is pushing me to the edge,” I said.
“Of course, sweetie. Now we can get you measured. Let’s see, got a few measurements to get. And that lands you at a 34 b cup. Same band size as me, just a cup size down.”
The next day my wife went early to pick up my bra. That’s a line I never thought I’d say. She walked to the door, apologizing.
“Babe, don’t freak out. I’m sorry, but they were out of beige and didn’t ask for a substitute,” my wife said.
“Oh, it’s just white. That’s fine, babe,” I said.
“You have yet to see it close enough. It’s white with lace accent…”
Seeing how upset she was, I couldn’t blow up. I just couldn’t.
“Hey, we’re gonna make the best of it. Help me get this torture device on,” I said.
I grabbed the bag and headed for the bedroom. I noticed another item in the bag when I took out the bra. It was matching very soft white panties with lace trim.
“Um, what are these?” I asked.
“Oh, good grief. All decent bras come with matching panties. They’re sold as a set. You don’t have to wear those unless you want to,” my wife said.
“Haha. No thanks.”
“All right, let me get the straps adjusted, and viola. Supported and sexy, I mean strong?”
“I’ve got boobs. I look ridiculous,” I said.
“I think I know what will cheer you up. Come on, hot stuff.”
So she dragged me to the bed. I wasn’t exactly fighting her, either. We started feeling each other up. When she felt the bra, I tensed up, and she noticed. The next thing I knew, she was on her knees, giving me a blowjob. She is doing something incredible with her tongue, closer to a flick than a suck. It felt so good, and I came very quickly. I then proceeded to go down on her.
Well, that was quicker than usual. Good thing my husband’s good at licking. I’ve never given him a blow job standing up. That’s not how I remember those going with my ex. I don’t know. As long as he enjoyed it, who cares. Oh my God, he’s good at this. Wait, that’s what was different. I was essentially flicking his dick the same as he is my clit now. That’s why it felt different. I couldn’t have my lips on my exes pelvis and flick his dick. It would have been down my throat.
“What’s wrong,” my husband asked, bringing me out of my little world.
“Nothing that feels fantastic,” I said.
“Why’d you giggle?”
Oh shit, I laughed when I thought of their size difference. “Oh, you just tickled me. Now get back to it, Missy. I want an orgasm too.”
Oh shit. That just slipped too. A Freudian slip between the reality of my husband’s ‘manhood’ being closer to my clit size than my ex’s cock size. Then there’s his bra. I guess I just thought of him as a female for a minute. He either didn’t hear or didn’t care as he returned to it. That might be a fun little statistics exercise. I could measure my clit. I know my ex’s size, as that’s what my dildo was molded after. He went out of town and gave me that as a gag gift years ago. Ha!
After she called me ‘Missy,’ I felt defeated and did my best to finish the task. She came, and we went to sleep.
The next morning it seemingly got worse.
“All right, now that we got the bra situated, it’s time to move on to the Doctors other requests. I confirmed this morning that your appointment is in one week. Now the Doctor needs an unobstructed view of your manly bits, and since yours like to hide in your bush, it’s got to go. She needs to be able to verify that there are no other issues. So you’ve got options.
“1. You can trim and shave. I don’t recommend this one, as it’s never been shaved. Will likely be very irritated and will need to shave again closer to the appointment.
“2. Trim and wax. Also, think this is a no. While effective waxing, there would be trauma.
“3. Nair. This isn’t a bad option. But you may still need to shave to finish up, and it may cause chemical irritation.
“And 4. Let me use my laser hair remover. It’s only one treatment, so that it wouldn’t be permanent. It’s not going to irritate the skin. It won’t miss any. No chemicals,” my wife said.
“What? Are you crazy? No way am I doing any of those!” I said.
“Babe. It’s not a matter of if but how. You don’t want there to be other issues that could impact your ‘manhood,’ do you?”
“This sucks. I’ll trim it all down and then decide,” I said.
After I trimmed it down, I walked back into our bedroom.
“Will you use the laser hair remover? But will you only remove what has to be removed?” I asked.
“Of course, sweetie. Should be bikini area and directly around here,” as she grabbed my whole package with one hand.
Man, that felt good, and I let out a moan.
“Here, this will go better if you aren’t so tense,” she said.
He could have gotten away with the trim, but I wasn’t about to let that on. This stress relief exercise was also my chance to take a measurement. With a couple of quick rolls, I could tell he was hard. I looked down at where his equipment landed on my hand and made a mental note. He wasn’t even at the other end of my hand. It was closer to a clit than a proper cock. I decided to finish him off with a finger job. The sensation must have been touching much as he quickly jerked and ejaculated. Thankfully, his loads aren’t impressive and don’t shoot. They dribble out. I caught it all and wiped it off.
I got to work with the laser. My husband didn’t think through his request to leave what I could as it looked like a women’s landing strip more than a man’s bush.
“Voila!” I said as I revealed my work.
He stared at the mirror, clearly thinking the same thing I did. He wasn’t exactly exuding masculinity between his white lacey bra, landing strip, and compact package.
Later that evening, I convinced my hubby to use my dildo on me. It wasn’t too hard to since he couldn’t get it back up. When I grabbed it from the drawer, my mental note from earlier popped up. The head of the dildo took up more of my hand than my husband’s little dicklette did earlier. It took everything I had not to gasp or laugh. I had an incredible orgasm since I was being stretched some for a change.
I could get used to this while we solve my hubby’s boobie problems.
To Be Continued…?
*This story has been edited to fix spelling, punctuation, formatting errors, & basic grammar, but the narrative and plot have remained the same. Even with the limited editing done here, it doesn’t mean any possible major flaws in this story were fixed (That’s the author’s job). The opinions/views expressed in this story (and in any comments) are those of the author and do not represent this site. We support freedom of speech. This story was submitted directly to this website. Thank you so much for sharing your story with us.