Mass Migration

  • Post last modified:Sunday, May 9th, 2021
  • Reading time:7 mins read

For all that I moan about my inability to hang onto body fat, at the moment I appear to weigh about 185-190 lbs, which is almost certainly the heaviest I have been. As an adult I’ve tended to stay vaguely in the 165-175 range. So it seems I am hanging onto something! I may not be a string bean forever!

What’s curious is the way this is happening. I know how soft tissues are expected to redistribute and all, and they certainly are doing that, but the way this is creeping up on me keeps throwing me new surprises. Some parts don’t seem to be gaining any more mass exactly, but rather are just taking a more refined shape. Other parts are shrinking in ways that baffle me, as I’m not sure what there even is to lose.

I feel like my breasts are getting fuller all the time. I don’t know that the volume per se has changed much the last six months, but there’s a roundness that wasn’t even there a few weeks ago. Until recently I have had shallow breasts, with all this material spread out across my upper chest. But now stuff’s moving around, figuring itself out.

A commonly used reference image around the Web; it is difficult to work out the original source, as it’s repeated so often.

I have these distinct east-west boobs, right. Even as the rest has rounded out, the sides have always been kind of weak and unsupported, creating even more of a taper with the nipples pointed out at an angle. Structurally now it seems like the sides are starting to fill in a little, evening out the support and smoothing the overall curve. Like they’re just taking on this shape that pleases me.

There’s also this general, uh, boinginess, that feels pretty new. I think the new bra first brought this to attention, but now that I notice it, it’s there just in my bathrobe now. It’s like the texture and elasticity of the meat has changed, fairly recently. I don’t remember them moving much, previously. They were uh, comparably unripe i guess.

Regarding the bra, for all the clear improvement over my earlier ones, I did have some vague issues with the fit and support, etc., that I didn’t know how to narrow down. I just adjusted all the straps, though, and zap. That was it. Well, obviously it would have been. It just took me several weeks to get around to it, because, you know. Azure. But now it’s pretty much perfect actually. I dig. This will absolutely be my point of reference for future ventures.

(For anyone it may help—bras are such a goddamned thing—this is a “Freya Fancies” underwire plunge bra, in 34 G. It’s good for east-west and possibly side-set breasts. Different styles for different boob shapes, right? There may be better options for people who have money. I got this on a sale, because I of course live in astonishing poverty.)

That adjustment, though, it speaks to a thing. Just months ago—not even six; as recently as maybe three—I had a 35-inch under-boob, which on some advice is why initially I rounded up to 36-inch straps but now am rounding down instead. This bra is a 34 G, where its sister size would be a 36 F, right? So okay, fine. I’m a 34 G. Except now, somehow my under-boob has gone down to 33. Which, uh. How did I have enough soft tissue on my lower ribs to shed so much? I know stuff is meant to move around, but it’s mostly bone! What are we losing??

I mean if we are now in fact looking at 33 rather than 35, a 34-inch strap is still valid by the same rounding logic. I just need to use the middle hook instead of the last one. And on top of my continued growth and their deterioration, I can further see why my older bras will not fit as they need to. That’s three inches too big! Even if they were still new, taking it down two hooks will only just barely keep me contained, which has been the case.

The other aspect of this is that, if I have a 33-inch under-bust, then the other way to round would be a 32-inch strap. But uh. The other way to go, the more snug direction, would be 32. Which would mean that, sister-sizing the cup upward—uh. Right now, I would be looking at an H-cup. I’m not sure that I’m in a place to process that right now. But we will see where time chooses to bring us. And God help me if that progesterone scrip comes through.

For the moment my new bra is very good; it fits. I like it. And I guess I’ve got a solid place to work from when I need to figure out its replacement. Maybe someday we’ll settle into a consistent size.

A funny thing about all this is that my breasts don’t even look that big, even as the numbers will not lie. The issue is my height. Yes, I have a slender frame, and relative to that canvas my tits are like 37% larger than average. But my body is so long, they kinda get lost along the way. It does help a bit when I go with a high waist, which just looks flattering for me in general.

The changes to my lower body are also helping to accommodate that. My hips and butt and thighs are gaining all this mass, that’s tipping the scales even as my mid-section is slimming down, which—well, I have never not wanted to work on and emphasize my lower half, and that’s finally going on. I’m getting some curves that are building in a little distinction. I’m getting some strength down there, to carry all this weight and stress that I try to push downward these days, away from my neck and shoulders and upper back. Some flexibility so I can actually move my hips, claim my space with a bit of style.

Even as I seem to lose literal inches from my waist, I keep on getting heavier. Which is… good. This is how things should be going I think. Not that I necessarily care about my waist as such, but if we can draw some distinction here between the bust and the hips and allow each to stand on their own rather than as just aspects of this endless featureless torso, that will ease so much weirdness I’ve always felt toward my body. Just the boobs were such a revelation on their own. But the more we can differentiate, the more human I think I’ll feel.

It’s hard for me to judge any of this day-to-day. But every so on we get these concrete numbers, and then suddenly I can see it. Or rather, I guess, my vague building sense of things gets validated, and I’m no longer questioning my judgment or sanity or motivations for thinking the way that I am. No, I’m actually right. What I’m seeing is real. I’m real. And I’m actually healing. Bit by bit, yet so very quickly. I’m already so far along, so much further than I had dared to hope, and I’m still only getting started.