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Posts Tagged ‘implants’

I thought I’d be blogging a ton and going to museums and reading books and singing on streetcorners to make money to blow on sexy new outfits to clothe Delia’s new boobs while she’s recovering from her Friday surgery, but I haven’t done any of those things (surprised?).

Well, I *have* read some books.

Anyway, her fresh new boobs are looking big and . . . FRESH (that pic was snapped mere hours after surgery/the same day), in the way implants look when they’re new, plus a little gory underneath because of her stitched up incisions lined in blue marker and shiny/wet-looking with silagel steri-strips (I’m always confusing dildo materials with medical supplies).

Anyway, we’re flying homo tomorrow (these typos are what happen to you when you’ve been in San Francisco for a week, apparently) and we will resume our usual schedule of being boring on our voyeur cams, especially now that I can’t touch Delia’s boobs. That’s the part all of the proud husbands and boyfriends don’t tell you about, the way you only get to look at them for weeks or months while the little woman heals.

They’re awesome, though, and I’m so glad that I got that Ativan prescription for the plane along with an Ambien bonus. Even with the anti-anxiety meds I was a little skittish. I only wish I’d have thought to take it for the terrifying cab rides to and from the hospital. I am really just a frightened country mouse and this city is like a big piss-spattered blanket of concrete offering no solace except in the form of expensive foodstuffs. I like it, but after a week my nerves are frayed by all of the people and bustling and the alternating aromas of hot aged urine, delicious grilled meats, and skunky weed. Even the rotation of our room’s ceiling fan in the corner of my eye when I’m trying to read and block out the sound of the hotel’s pigeon mascot is about to give me a fucking seizure. But don’t feel sorry for me, I’m having fun and Delia is the one in REAL pain, not I.

I’m not complaining, just trying to make up for all of the crazy I haven’t been sharing during my period of blog silence! Because that’s what you come here for, right? To laugh at my hypersensitivity to stimuli that the rest of the civilized world tunes out? And the silliness of me feeling this way but denying myself the Ativan instead of using it during situations like this?

Seriously, it’s awesome being here I’ve just been having a hard time FINISHING blogging anything worth reading and if I don’t post something reflecting my curmudgeonly PRESENT, I may not post anything at all. Because it’s hard to do quickly-written justice to the sex dream I had about the frenetic pit bull and the way I almost passed out after I woke from it trying to jerk myself off standing up in the bathroom without letting Delia hear what I was doing.

Delia is just beginning to feel up to the challenge to venturing out to dine (just walking is painful after having 650 CC’s of silicone inserted under the muscles on each side of her chest) so we’re about to head out. All I’ve really accomplished over the past few days is 1) refilling her ice packs, 2) putting her hair in a ponytail when she asks me to, 3) helping her in and out of her button-up nightshirt and inspecting her incisions, and 4) taking her hair OUT of a ponytail when she asks me to. And making food runs!

Allow me to say another thank you to Tom for making these boobs and this trip possible, and for us not having to worry for a moment about how to scrape together the money for not just the surgery, medication, bras and stuff, but also the expense of the trip and food and everything for BOTH of us. Delia is a trooper and it sounds like I haven’t been doing anything very helpful, but it would have been really hard for her to be here alone and/or have to fly back right afterward. I don’t know how people manage on their own to deal with surgeries or broken bones, or even more challenging, how single women with children manage such things!

On a more serious note (speaking of ordeals and moms and stuff), AmberLily’s mom was hospitalized not long after having surgery (of the non-plastic/non-fun kind) and I don’t think they know what’s wrong with her so send positive vibes their way. So stressful, in ways that are much more worrisome than the effects of pigeons and ceiling fans on my fragile little mind.

Tomorrow Delia has her first follow-up appointment with the surgeon. I wonder if we should bring him flowers or a box of chocolates or something? I’m not sure what the etiquette of plastic surgery is in terms of thank-yous to doctors. I know presents aren’t NECESSARY or obligatory, of course, but very little in life IS (I mean, we’re dealing with something highly optional anyway, right?). One of the nurses told us he and his wife love pickles, so maybe some of those. That would be totally funny, to walk into his swanky office dripping green juice from one big, wet state-fair style pickle. Totally an uncitified way of giving thanks.

My girlfriend is getting bigger boobs!!

Yeah, old news to some of you, but I don’t think I’ve blogged about it yet so I’m taking this opportunity to celebrate and share the news with you. We’re taking a trip next week for Delia to get consultations with a couple of out-of-state surgeons so the reality is setting in that THIS IS REALLY GOING TO HAPPEN and I’m getting very excited about it.

Yes, I love the puffy-nipple hormone titties Delia has now and I was very VERY excited about those growing in, but I surprised myself by feeling sort of conflicted about her little puberty-boobs. And you can kind of see why, can’t you, when I go into dirty-old-man-speak like that, right? You know I am a sucker for taboo role plays and the idea of pert buds of breasts, but sometimes I gross myself out getting off on that when they’re so REAL. It feels like I’m doing something criminal when I fondle them and I haven’t had the time or courage to really work that out yet. And now? I DON’T HAVE TO! Because my girlfriend is getting implants!! Unambiguously GROWN-UP boobs!

Underneath the cherry excitement of having a girlfriend about to get big fancy titties, there has been a foundational experience making it possible: having a special donor/philanthropist/able investor/friend come forward and send Delia THOUSANDS of dollars. And when none of the Pacific Northwest docs friends referred her to would do boob jobs on transsexuals and seeing that things were going to cost more? He stepped up and sent THOUSANDS MORE so we can make this trip and find the right doctor and make sure she gets the beautiful jugs she deserves and I dream she’s dreamed of.

I feel like I’m exploiting Sweet T. by publicly talking this way about the money he sent, but trust me, I do it with adoration and a wriggle of shivery delight (and imagine the words “adoration and a wriggle of shivery delight” being spoken in his delicious accent). I know this is the kind of story that makes chicks feel excited, happy for each other, and not just a little jealous. It’s the kind of story you WANT to read in a webwhore blog and know that it’s not a lie or crazy fantasy someone made up.

Some of you might be too jaded to appreciate this with purity, but it’s honestly an experience that reminds me (again) that there are people with money (some more, some less) who really want to use it to make people happy and give someone they admire something she longs for. Yeah, there’s the bonus of seeing the new boobies and having a hand in crafting an element of someone else’s experience, but with something as straightforward as boobs . . . I don’t know how to describe it without using the word pure. It’s very tangible and direct.

It’s exciting, because of the gifts AND because we’re sharing the excitement with someone else . . . it’s magnifying the experience, drawing it out of the mundane of doctor appointments and personal responsibilities and worries that would otherwise bog it down. Knowing that Tom is excited about the outcome and taking care of the most worrisome aspect of it leaves us free to enjoy the process and look forward to the results. It’s like a fun movie or fairy tale or something . . . more like what I think people outside of our internet porn world IMAGINE our lives are like all the time as chicks with our own porn sites. It’s affirming and a relief to have a story we can tell friends and family that actually lives up to their more positive expectations and wild imaginings (people mistakenly assume having your own internet porn site means fortune and large numbers of fans).

Note: I do not want to discount all of the people who send us smaller gifts and contributions — you are appreciated and definitely not forgotten, and there were many of you who helped with Delia’s boob job fund. The amount of people who support us and our work is profound in our lives, even if it hasn’t made us rich. All of you have made us want to keep doing it. And getting thousands of dollars at one time from one person? Just helps solidify our commitment / the feeling that it’s worth it. Again, though, I don’t want you to think we don’t notice some of our long-time members who have spent thousands of dollars on us over the years. Thank you!

Yesterday marked a very special occasion on the girl-getting-breast-augmentation journey; Delia bought her first dress especially to go with and show off the bigger boobs she’s getting. Oh good lord, that was exciting. Maybe more for me than her . . . I was practically fucking salivating thinking about how gorgeous she’ll look in that dress and what her tits are going to look like in that flimsy fabric and WHAT THEY’LL LOOK LIKE AFTER I POUR WATER ALL OVER HER AND GET THEM DRIPPING WET AND YOU CAN SEE HER HARD NIPPLES THROUGH THE FABRIC and then Delia started laughing at me because I was pawing at the air in circles, middle finger tracing her erect nipples in the sky, as I described my enthusiasm for these near-future visions of hotness.

So yeah, buying the dress to go on the new boobs definitely amped up my giddiness. Weeks ago I actually wasn’t sure if I wouldn’t rather be able to go to Disneyland instead, but the dress clinched it — boobs totally trump Space Mountain.

*****

I don’t know if posts like these surprise people who think I’m all “NATURAL BODIES OR DIE!!” (and take the culture thieves at Disney with you!) I do wish for more acceptance of and appreciation for natural bodies (and especially less open revulsion/disgust) and I do think cosmetic surgery is very problematic and dangerous and worth thinking/talking about critically (meaning with your thinking cap on, not just negatively shredding apart) and overall WAY WAY WAY WAY TOO COMMON, like it’s fucking endemic to being a first world woman over thirty, but oh man, I do love some artifice and craftiness, too. I’m not saying it makes all or even most women look “better” (not at all), I am just acknowledging that it makes them look different and I am not bothered by those differences as a default. And sometimes I really admire the differences and appreciate that plastic aesthetic (and would a lot more if it weren’t so fucking ubiquitous).

What I mean to say is that when Delia got her first (and only so far) Botox injections a few months ago IT WAS FUCKING AWESOME. Even though I was there when she did it and should’ve made the connection, about a week afterwards and for a month from then I was blown away whenever I looked at her, like OHMYGODyou’reSOlovely I COULD WEEP! And I didn’t recognize it as “that botox is really working wonders”, it was just that she looked like she always does but with a special softer glow. It was like a really subtle, masterful, living-and-breathing photoshop effect. She only got it around her eyes, brows and bridge of her nose and it was really cool. I don’t know why they’re saying Botox is going out of style, because it seems quite splendid to me.

But I know it’s really terrible to spend money on that when there are children starving in Africa everywhere. On the other hand, it is our job to be attractive and Delia never got to be a young woman while she was young, so fuck that guilt.

*****

I was also going to blog about Delia’s internal penis bumps, but this entry got out of hand length-wise so I’ll save it for next time. I know, I utilize the most erotic turns of phrase to keep you checking back for more.