When I occasionally played with barbies as a girl, I typically took their clothes off and they humped. There, I said it. You prolly did the same thing with your dolls.
I'd run my thumb over Barbie's Crayola-tan colored smooth boobs and think how when I grew up, I wanted boobs. Big boobs. To boot, I wanted no nipples just like Barbie. Boobs were great except the nipples in my eyes. Nipples were a weird grown up thing like coffee breath.
I grew a little mini set early on that never grew much bigger, and of course, I do have nipples. Sadly, they never got big. But thank god for nipples.
So since getting pregnant my boobs have sprouted a whole extra size. Did your parents used to tell you that potatoes and spinach would put hair on your chest? Well, this was my dinner one night and instead of hair, it put boobs on my chest!
Its endlessly fascinating to me and I have to admit I touch my own boobies a lot for it. Rob keeps catching me and is, sadly, far less fascinated than I am.
Here is a typical scene: I'm sitting in bed propped up with my book next to me, looking down in wide-eyed fascination at my own boobs, one in each hand, as I bounce them.
"Are you playing with your boobs again?"
"Yes!" I say still staring. I look up, "No look! They touch now! My boobs have finally met!!!" I exclaim, pleased with myself.
He nods clearly thinking I'm nuts.
Exasperated me, "Imagine if your cock just grew a whole extra inch all of a sudden, are you telling me you wouldn't play with it more?"
He does not respond but leaves me to my task.
New pregnancy's neat.
I quit. Sort of.
15 hours ago