Mother and Daughter and New Boobs

Very little was said.

Very little needed to be said.

And frankly, neither wanted to say anything.

Mom, at the youthful age of forty-two, without telling anyone but her husband had the momentous surgery to enhance her breasts.

When the kids came home for Thanksgiving it was obvious.

And so was her joy. And her pride. And her resolve. Are her backbone.

Her daughters said little. Her sons said less. Wives said little. Husbands said nothing. Hurray for the otherwise low-key mom and mother-in-law.

Late on Thanksgiving night mom and one of the daughters were talking. The subject came up and mom shared the backstory, the trepidation, the surgery, the recovery, and some of the reactions of friends and family and co-workers.

And her daughter asked, "What does it feel like, mom?" Meaning, out of curiosity, what is it like to have them, what has changed, what's different in bed, what do they literally feel like compared to your former natural breasts, and what's the difference in just living with new and different breasts.

Moms first response was that the physical feel of them was far beyond what she expected. And in the same breath, as only a mother and daughter could do, mom said, "Feel them. The difference will surprise you."

Mom lifted her shirt, her bra, and her daughter hesitantly reached and touched her mother's left breast. In reality she poked it with her index finger. And with that the daughter let out a soft, "Wow."

Her breast was quite soft. But there was an unnatural firmness too. Almost an enviable firmness. A youthful, sensual, feminine firmness.

After the poke came the lift. First with right hand, then with both her right and left hand. The weight felt normal. After the lift came the hold. Two hands. Palms out. The kind of hold all women do. The kind of hold a woman does sexually to herself, as well as instinctively to cover up.

The hold had a different affect than expected. For mom it was validating. Her new and larger breasts were worthy of a gesture that brought a direct, strong reaction. For her daughter it was a spontaneous act of curiosity and inquiry. For mom it was also sexual, not in a horny, overt sense, but a sensual, subtle sense. It felt good. For her daughter it was also sexual, but not in an intentional way. She felt it emotionally. Not for her mom, no. But the sudden sensation of physical, human, sexual beauty.

Besides the "Wow." that was said a few moments ago. Nothing else has been said. And nothing else will be said from here on out.

She kept her hands on her mom's breasts for several moments longer than would be expected by either of them. But that was okay. For mom it was the pleasure of being touched innocently, but intentionally. For the daughter it was the innocent pleasure of touching beautiful breasts.

Neither felt rushed or awkward. Neither felt weird or odd or dirty. Neither felt greedy or lusty or perverted. Both felt normal. And how her hands lingered a bit longer than expected felt mutually acceptable and good.

But she did slowly withdraw her hands. And it was clearly and obviously slow. Almost like slow motion. Almost like they were both processing the moment and not wanting the sensation to slip away too fast.

But her fingers took a natural detour. To her mother's nipples. Not like a husband would do. Or like lesbians might do. But in a way that followed naturally with her curiosity. They were part of the package, part of the feminine experience. She sincerely wondered, and rightly so, if fake breasts meant changes to nipples.

She didn't pull or tug in any sexual way. She merely moved her finger across them in a downward motion. But slowly.

Mom's nipples reacted. Hardened. Instantly. Soft as her daughter initially touched them. Hard as the last bit of finger passed over them.

And what had been innocent inquiry now drifted into tender sexuality.

Mom reached for her daughters wrists and brought her daughters hands back up to her nipples. And again, her daughter gently, lightly, slowly touched her mothers nipples in a downward motion.

And they became even harder.

Yes, it was turning sexual, but not in the way we might think. Mom didn't desire her daughter. And the daughter didn't desire her mother. Not all sexuality is born of wanting to consume someone. Sometimes sexuality is merely the desire to feel. And most women are good at, and seek after, this kind of intimate, intense feeling.

So, yes, it was turning sexual. And yes, it would escalate. But it was all about feeling.

Because they both liked the feeling.

The daughter didn't need a second gesture from her mom. She knew the feeling her mom desired. Nipples are extraordinarily sensitive for both sexes, but for women the sexual sensitivity is beyond words. Both mother and daughter knew this. And deeply appreciated this powerful feminine fact. So she kept going. Running her fingers down over her mother's aroused nipples.

The daughter didn't stop until her mom let out a nearly inaudible groan. She did pull some. She tugged some. She squeezed gently. She pinched softly. All this and more until the inaudible groan slipped out. Mom's eyes were closed.

And now with lips, and with hands, her daughter loved and caressed her mom's breasts and nipples in every which way possible. Unlike a man, her daughter new instinctively what felt good, what raised the sensation levels higher and higher, and what brought the best pleasure.

Mom's eyes are closed. Her mouth is open.

But her daughter is not done. For women can take pleasure longer. Women know a deeper pleasure. Women feel things differently than men.

She didn't try to inhale or consume or lather her mom's new and large breasts in saliva. She didn't try to pull on her nipples until they reached their furthest elastic length. No. She smothered them tenderly with her hands, her fingers, her fingernails, her lips, and her tongue. And yes, her teeth a few times too.

Both remained standing in the same position. Nothing was ever said between them. Mom had a slow, awfully strong orgasm, with the generous help of her own fingers.

Her daughter didn't stop until her mother gently removed her face from her left nipple. Both were breathing heavily. Both were a bit sweaty. Both were quite satisfied.

Mom kissed her daughter on the cheek and left the room. Her daughter gathered her emotions and went to find her husband watching sports on the TV.

Feminine sex, for all its quirks and faults, can be awfully satisfying.