This page is a permanent link to the reply below and its nested replies. See all post replies »
Justbychance · M
To make this as brief as I can:
It goes, that when I was born I was given to the wrong Mother when it was time to feed. Apparently, I wouldn't 'latch on' (as the expression went back then) and I would not feed from the breast of the wrong Mother. On the third attempt, the matron in charge slapped my tiny bum which made me cry; taking the opportunity, the nurse placing my open mouth to this imposters breast which I still would NOT allow myself to be attached to.
Whilst at the same time, in another ward, my very real Mother struggled to feed the baby she had in her arms; on recalling back, she told me how she had a distinct feeling that the baby in her arms wasn't 'me'. Two hours later, it was discovered there had been a mix-up and I was reunited to my real Mother.
You see, as that goes, and as I became older, went into puberty and into the world of exploring matters of a sexual nature, I discovered I had a distinct problem with large breasted women. Just to be close to large boobs had me almost breaking out in a sweat and the need to pull away; I actually considered that it was a phobia which linked back to my very early childhood days. As I became older, the panic of being confronted with large boobs gradually paled, but I was beyond my teenage years by then.
That, of course, is all true. So ... LOL.
Boob size still ]matters even in my current years[/i] There is much to be said about 'Too much to hold is too much', and maybe I can see that given the history of how I was first initiated into being given to the 'wrong Mother'.
[Wow; what a long answer, but you do get to see why I have issues with large breasts and my still lingering dislike ... 😆)
It goes, that when I was born I was given to the wrong Mother when it was time to feed. Apparently, I wouldn't 'latch on' (as the expression went back then) and I would not feed from the breast of the wrong Mother. On the third attempt, the matron in charge slapped my tiny bum which made me cry; taking the opportunity, the nurse placing my open mouth to this imposters breast which I still would NOT allow myself to be attached to.
Whilst at the same time, in another ward, my very real Mother struggled to feed the baby she had in her arms; on recalling back, she told me how she had a distinct feeling that the baby in her arms wasn't 'me'. Two hours later, it was discovered there had been a mix-up and I was reunited to my real Mother.
You see, as that goes, and as I became older, went into puberty and into the world of exploring matters of a sexual nature, I discovered I had a distinct problem with large breasted women. Just to be close to large boobs had me almost breaking out in a sweat and the need to pull away; I actually considered that it was a phobia which linked back to my very early childhood days. As I became older, the panic of being confronted with large boobs gradually paled, but I was beyond my teenage years by then.
That, of course, is all true. So ... LOL.
Boob size still ]matters even in my current years[/i] There is much to be said about 'Too much to hold is too much', and maybe I can see that given the history of how I was first initiated into being given to the 'wrong Mother'.
[Wow; what a long answer, but you do get to see why I have issues with large breasts and my still lingering dislike ... 😆)
SpiritOfSoul · 31-35, F
You explained your point quite well