HRT and Boobs

I didn't think she'd noticed.

I'd shaved and moisturised my chest for the first time since lockdown, and I have put on a few pounds. We were in the bedroom, getting dressed for the day ahead, chatting intermittently. I was naked, she almost dressed, and we found ourselves briefly face to face; her eyes dropped to my chest, and lingered there for a second. No words were exchanged.

We haven't had sex regularly for a few years, now, as the menopause and daily stresses have gradually eaten into the fervent physical relationship we once had. Incrementally, over the same period, I have been seeking excitement elsewhere, with some success. Shaving my body, dressing in lingerie and heels gives me the connection with femininity and glamour I still crave. I've discovered the thrill of exhibitionism, on my knees in specialist clubs, with men queuing to receive an enthusiastic blow job or spunk on my heavily made up, passably feminine face. All this completely in secret, of course, with varying degrees of remorse as my wonderful wife carried on, seemingly content with a platonic marriage.

Her moods had worsened. HRT had been mentioned a while back, with no follow up. I have always agreed with her reluctance to take on a course of medication, with its possible side affects, but she finally decided to give it a go for her own sanity and that of the rest of the family. Fairly immediately she seemed to cheer up and sex was back on the menu, albeit somewhat vanilla in nature. I'm too far down the path of crossdressing and opening my legs for cocks to stop now, but it was lovely to be getting female attention again. I'd toyed with the concept of telling her about my activities -- over ten years ago, at the height of our adventurous lovemaking, I'd vocalised my fantasies about sucking cock, and told her about my extended sessions with vibrators and dildos. She had initially reacted positively, to the point of buying me lace panties (I looked good in them) and fucking me with various dildos and strapons, but wrinkled her nose at any suggestion of feminisation. Stockings were a no-no, as was the idea of pink panties.

We talked about the possibility of soft swap swinging, same room sex and the like. I admitted my desire to see her sucking off another man. I didn't even bother to hide the fact that I masturbated at the thought of her soft, pale-skinned body being pleasured by a muscular and well-endowed black man; I'd bought her a very large black dildo, and loved to see her use it, getting a particular thrill when she sucked it for me as I photographed her, or asked me to use it on her after I'd fucked her. I would have loved to explore cuckolding fantasies with her. However, she surprised me by expressing an interest in possibly inviting a young woman into our bed in the future!

I was working away at the time, and I emailed her regularly with pictures of women -- dressed, undressed, girl on girl and interracial MfM . She loved it all and enjoyed commenting on the womens' boobs ("I'm definitely a breast girl") especially. Unfortunately, sex started to trail off about the same time, but I'd always thought about the things she said, and fantasised about paying a young adult worker to play with her.

So, fairly immediately we had started to see the positive results of HRT. One night at bed time, after a glass or two of red wine, she did her exaggerated stretch in the bed, her face turning to faux surprise as her hand 'accidentally' fell to my erection. Soon we were French kissing heavily, and I went down on her as usual, expecting and receiving her usual early orgasm. I did consider it a breakthrough, however, that she allowed to bedside lamp to stay on, also that she didn't immediately want to sleep. Instead, she sat up and wrapped her robe around her shoulders, and reached for her cigarettes.

She smiled, actually enjoying the post-orgasmic glow as she smoked. I propped myself up on my elbow, secretly hoping she would accidentally exhale in my face, but already hugely turned on by watching her smoking. What happened next killed my mood, though.

'Wahaaay!' She looked over, grinned audibly and cupped and jiggled my breasts. Now this, in the context of me 'getting all masculine' with my wife, took the wind out of my sails. I naturally gave it some thought over the next week or so: I mean, how could I do the things I do in private, yet struggle so much with her reacting like this? Yes, I do carry a few extra pounds on my chest, and have always had boobs, but she has been sensitive in the past not to make an issue of the fact. I wear a bra when I visit clubs or meet men, and I love to feel my heavy silicone forms bounce as I walk in heels, but that's as a girl. I don't mind admitting I was struggling with the matter in the context of the marital bed.

A little bit stressed, the following Friday night and after a difficult week, she offered to massage my shoulders. I'd had a glass of wine, too, and it was starting to take affect. She sat down on the bed with a bottle of oil, back to the headboard, and patted the duvet between her parted knees. I positioned myself and she pulled my T-shirt over my head, dropping it on the floor, and poured a handful of oil, warming it between her palms before smearing it on my shoulders. She chatted quietly and expertly worked it into me; I quickly felt the tension start to dissipate. She started to slide my shorts down and I grinned and completed the task for her as she reached for the oil once again. I parted my own knees, in anticipation of her warm, oily hands on my cock and balls. Instead I felt them reach around my waist, and once again cup my boobs!

I must have tensed slightly but she kissed my neck and said softly 'shhh... you don't mind, do you?'

I was relaxed and horny and our mouths met. I was surprised to taste cigarettes on her; she must have smoked earlier, which is extremely rare for her. I wondered if she had done this for me, because she suspects I enjoy her smoking - although I've never admitted it to her, it's been difficult to hide my reaction at times. She slowly and symmetrically worked the oil into my breasts, her fingers circling but avoiding the nipples. 'You're a bit prickly,' she smiled. I replied that I hadn't shaved my body for a couple of days.

She put some oil on my hands, and gently placed them between my legs, before putting her own back on my chest. She has always enjoyed watching me masturbate, and some years ago would spontaneously ask me to strip and wank myself off, sometimes while we were walking in the woods or if there was a handy barn, even in the spare room of a friend's house as we visited for drinks. I tentatively stroked myself, spreading the oil around my shaft, balls and anus, alarmed at the instant pleasure I felt. Her hands started to gently squeeze my breasts, and she allowed her fingers to trail across my erect nipples.

She kissed me again. 'Are you enjoying that?'

I smiled. 'Are you?'

'Mmmmmm...'

She lifted and cupped my boobs, squeezing them together, gently pinching my nipples and I played with myself very carefully as I knew I was close to orgasm and assumed we would soon fuck. But the next five words changed everything.

'Wear a bra for me.'

I groaned. It was too much, all I could do was hold my foreskin back and feel my entire body spasm as the most explosive projectile of spunk for several years erupted from my cock, arcing fully three feet into the air to splatter onto my face and the pillow beside us. I slowly stroked, coaxing two or three more squirts, gradually reducing ferocity as the creamy, heavenly orgasm permeated through my body.

To be continued...