My wish to have boobs has not vanished, even though I have decided not to go on hormones. First of all, being allowed to hormone replacement therapy in Germany isn’t easy at all and you need to prove that you’re transsexual which I am not. So that’s no option. The possibility to get hormones anyway might be given, but due to my mental issues that doesn’t sound like a good idea. I really don’t need anything that makes my condition worse.

I’ve been pumping my breast for a long while now, almost one year and a half, but I think either I don’t do it often or long enough or it just doesn’t work. My breast feels a bit thicker and heavier after pumping, but there are no real results. Well, not in actual boob growth, but pumping and treating my nipples with clamps and those small vibration eggs alomost every day has made them very, very sensitive. I know there are guys whose nipples are sensitive by nature, but mine were not, and I am pleased with the results. In fact, I sometimes manage to cum by nip play alone, and that’s really awesome I think 🙂

I’m wearing a bra or a vest with support on a regular base, everyday. Sometimes I stuff it, sometimes I don’t, it depends. For work, most of the times I don’t, but when I meet friends or am at home, I do. Although I like those small silicone boobs, they don’t really give me a feeling of natural boobs, as they are a bit too stiff, and so I have come to use 2 to 4 silken scarves. They are warm and cozy against my skin, lightweight and can be removed very quickly if I need to. I also find nursing pads very helpful. I buy them at the chemist’s shop and they can be stuck inside the bra. I also have some made of cotton, but they have a weird shape 🙂

Sometimes when John and I cuddle, we pretend he’s drinking milk from me. It’s hard to describe, but it’s not only kinky, but first of all it’s just loving. I just wish I could find a way to grow natural boobs. Wouldn’t have to be big, just a bit more than no boobs. I think it’s a bit funny. Most of my life I didn’t know how much I actually love to get touched there, and now it sometimes just hurts not to have boobs at all. Sigh.


With W

On the weekend, John and I were invited over to W’s and M’s. W spend several weeks in the U.S. meeting friends and family. He brought many photographs with him and we took a look at them and had the best Cajun food made by him and M 🙂 I found that life in Louisiana (or maybe in the U.S. in general) is quite different to my life here. For example, I was a bit shocked when he told me he went to hunt crocodiles with his uncle, but he told me that those are quite the same as wild boars in Germany and that their population needs to be controlled. I have never eaten crocodile, but John has, and they talked about the taste of it and what to do with the meat. Too much information actually.

W said that he needs these times over in the U.S. to stay in contact with his roots and his traditions, and though I think I can understand that, it made me a bit sad, too. Because I feel like I don’t have anything to connect to, even though my brother and I have good contact.

I was totally impressed by the beautiful yet unfamiliar landscape and houses as well. Their flora and fauna is so manifold! I guess I could spend weeks just gazing at the old trees and the interesting birds and insects. W was also invited to several spiritual happenings and that caught my interest, too. He told us about a ceremony for a local spiritual being during which they put their offerings inside bottles or enwinded them with cord to hang them into the tree branches. To me, it all seemed so lively and vivid, really beautiful. He got a present from one of his aunts, a wooden “icon” with a carved and painted inside, showing three beings, including Mother Mary. As far as I understood, these are a kind of guides for anyone who seeks wisdom and knowledge and they also protect the bearer.

I uttered that even though we have spent so much time together in the years we know each other, I still feel like I only got a quick glance of what his spiritual world really consists of. I have to admit, in former days I was not very much interested in what he did and probably I should have asked him more about it 🙂 I think it’s all so hard to understand for me, because it’s very different from any spiritual/religious education I have gotten. I was brought up in a catholic environment, even though religion was not a thing at home, and to me God is somehow like a strict father with rules I was not yet to understand properly. I always think of Jesus as a sort of martyre and feel sorry for him. When I was younger, I had a phase in which I tried to pray to Jesus, because I felt he must have been able to connect to me and help me, but he did not, and so I guess I stopped believing in him. Mother Mary is someone I can’t connect to, either. W refers to her as the ever-loving mother of all who nonetheless has a powerful force, but to me, being brought up without a mother, she always stayed non-point. When W talks about them, they seem more touchable and alive.

At the end, W asked whether I wouldn’t like to accompany him when he visits in the U.S. again (which will be in March, for 10 days). I was honoured, but I’m afraid of the thought as well. It’s one thing to travel with John, but I don’t know if I should really dare to do so. I trust W and he knows me well, but I fear I might just get lost, mentally. Well, it’s still time to decide. John says I should go, because it would do me good. We’ll see. I’m a coward 🙂


Has anyone noticed the chestnuts are falling from the trees? Must be fall. When Love and I took a nice short walk this week, I found him collecting some chestnuts, which made me smile and wonder. John’s not sentimental and usually he doesn’t care about pretty nature objects the way I do (I like to use those things as offerings for Lord Shiva or as decoration for rituals with my friend W). But I didn’t ask why he only collected those which had their shells still on. Now I know.

Yesterday evening he set up a plastic container on our kitchen counter, filled it up with cold water and put the chestnuts in. But first I didn’t see this, because he had sent me to the bathroom to put on nice make up and do my hair. Well, and to dress up 🙂

When I came into the kitchen, there popped up several question tags above my head, but he told me what he expected from me: I had one minute to collect as many chestnuts as I could out of the water by using my mouth only (it’s a popular game for children, called bobbing, in case you might not know). All chestnuts I would not be able to catch would be used later, but he didn’t announce for what.

I was hesitant to do what he wanted. I had just spent 30 mins to dress up and should now ruin my face again? He chuckled, looked at his watch and told me “Time starts now”. So I had not much time to think about the whole thing and got started. There was no chance to keep myself from getting soaking wet and the chestnuts were so hard to catch. Their spikes hurt my tongue and lips. In fact, I just caught two when he told me the time was over. “That was pathetic”, he resumed, and he was true.

“Okay, we’ll try again”. He asked me to put the chestnuts back into the container and stopped another minute, but this time he filmed me with his cellphone. Ugh. I did a bit better and ended up with 4, but I struggled with mascara dripping into my eyes and my hair bring wet to the parting. When John looked at me, he burst out in laughter and told me what a “fine lady” I was. I felt completely humiliated, but of course I reacted to that with lust.

He grabbed me by the hair, pressed my face down to the counter, while he pushed away my skirt, pulled down my panty and made me open my legs. I knew what was to follow, but I wasn’t prepared for the pain. It’s not just that those shells were spiky and it hurt unbelievably to have them shoved up my cunt, they were also really huge and I felt them stretching me. It was really painful and I wouldn’t recommend that to persons new into BDSM.

He managed to shove 3 up my cunt, than I was burning in pain and cried out for him to stop. He thankfully did, then pulled me down to the floor and over to the kitchen table, where he seated himself to enjoy a BJ. He took a lot of photos of me there, telling me how disgusting I look, mocking at my precum dripping clit and kicking my balls with his foot.

Well, when I thought getting the chestnuts inserted was hell, than I had to revise my opinion when we tried to remove them. Oh boy, that was beyond. The spikes somehow were like barbs inside of me and at some point I started bleeding. But John didn’t mind and just kept working them out of me, telling me to press or to pause, mentioning that this was like assisting with labouring, uhm. I felt so humiliated and painful that I had a stiffy all the time and was ultimately aroused. Finally, when the last chestnut was out, he gave me a good rubbing with some ointment, telling me that there was no way to push that ointment deep enough into me by using his fingers only. So I was fucked relentlessly while still kneeling on our kitchen floor, being situated between bloody chestnuts and a puddle of water. When he was pounding me, he said “C’mon, you like being raped, slut, don’t ya?”. I just nodded and sprayed my spunk all over the place.

Later, when I had cleaned myself and the kitchen, while John was seated cozy in the living room, he told me that soon it would be time for those edible chestnuts to fall. I hope he won’t repeat this treatment, because their spikes are even worse… I snuggled up inside his arms and let him cuddle and kiss me. He said he found it awesome to fuck me while I bled, because he had to think of popping my cherry. I guess that was just romantic for a masochist then, but I felt in heaven. Nevertheless, I’m still bleeding and loving that.