The Phone Call

by

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Cheating, Slow, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: This story is not erotic and there is minimal sex, if you can call it that. I hope it is romantic, in its own way. It is more a study where the feeling and symptoms are taken from actual case studies about this problem and are all put into one story. Since I have been there and done that, I knew what I was looking for. So there is no one person named Kara -- she is a compilation of hundreds of case studies I read about on sites for this type of problem as background.

This story is not erotic and there is minimal sex, if you can call it that. I hope it is romantic, in its own way. It is more a study where the feeling and symptoms are taken from actual case studies about this problem and are all put into one story. Since I have been there and done that, I knew what I was looking for.

So there is no one person named Kara -- she is a compilation of hundreds of case studies I read about on sites for this type of problem as background for the story. If I did not see a symptom at least twenty times I did not use it so that it would not be traced back to anyone. And no, I did not put everything in, this is a short story and I left a lot of the agony out.

Ralph can be any fool, and I am sure you ladies will see at least one thing familiar about him.

Franklin, there is no place on earth that Franklin exists but I hope those of you who need a Franklin find yours.

This is not a history lesson and I move from one person to another and provide different perspectives. People tell me it is confusing at times, so pay attention.

The Phone Call

I always thought I was a beautiful woman because everyone told me I was. I have a pretty face, and nice eyes, slim waist, long legs, but the thing that drives them crazy are my breasts. A "DD" bra is too small for me. I am only thirty six and they are still proud and high, but I know that eventually they will fall, but even then, they will still be big. I have two girls, ages eighteen and seventeen when this story really starts.

Men think they have a problem with cock size but with us its breasts and we can't hide our size. They don't make push up bra's and falsies for nothing. You can't tell how big a cock is when it is covered but tits, boy they are right out there for the world to see. Women have a harder time, it is like we have to actually get you guys naked to be sure and by then we are sort of committed for the moment; so it is more difficult for us.

Let's be real now, you men have been known to put a falsie or two in your pants; the smarter ones put it in the front. And I made sure that men saw my breasts. Even thought I had nothing to do with their size, [I guess it is the same with cocks, ] I knew they gave me an edge and made me better than women who did not even reach a B; even a B was a joke to me. Some guys were really breast men and some just wanted to try them on for size, but I had my pick. And I did not lord it over the smaller girls, I did not have to, they and everyone else could see it.

I got mine when I was eleven and life as I knew it changed. Even my uncles looked at me. Can you imagine a twelve year old with size C breasts? How about a fifteen year old with DD's? At eighteen I was a monster. Men fell all over themselves to get to me and I fell over if I bent forward. Just kidding, but I did have a sore back, and I did not play sports of any kind.

I had it all. I am smart, with bright red hair, fair skin that people call alabaster, but with vibrancy all of its own, and freckles, and huge nipples that make me cum if my man is working them. Boys always wanted to touch my tits, and they never missed a chance to touch me, bump into me, or "accidentally" feel them and later in life I would orgasm when my man would play with them.

From the time I was 18 it was men I wanted. They knew how to treat breasts. No boys, unsure and inexperienced; I wanted a real man. Well enough with that.

I got married right out of high school to a man thirty two years old. He was a boob man and treated them right. Within one year I had Nicole, our first daughter and my breasts got even bigger. By the end of the second year I had Florence, our second daughter. The day after she was born Ralph got fixed.

Four weeks later, Ralph, my husband fucked the shit out of me and kept it up for the next seventeen of the following eighteen years. He is slowing down with age this last year but I just love the hell out of him. Life was good. I had great sex with Ralph and no one else, Ralph had great sex with me and no one else, and I love the kids and my kids were great.

We did all the family things and had a nice house to do them in. We went on vacations; we drove nice cars, went to dinner and plays and had a good life. Where ever I went men ogled me and my breasts. I flirted with men and they flirted with my tits.

I went to work after the girls got into school. I found a place at HHR Industries, a really nice work environment. First it was part time and then full time; but my family was what was important and HHR seemed to let me still be a mother. No, I did not fuck around except with Ralph and he could not keep his hands off his "fun bags" as he liked to call them, among other things. The things I would wear to keep that man happy and it kept me happy too.

I went to all the testing we women have to go through. Spreading your legs for some man who is not your husband and that damn cold instrument is not a pleasant experience. I loved doing it for my husband but what he put inside of me was nice and warm and did not feel bad; this was just embarrassing when it was a doctor stuffing some damn piece of cold metal inside of me and sometimes it hurt too.

I had not been feeling too good the last two months because I was always tired even when I got eight or more hours sleep. I went to the doctor and got some Vitamin B shots and some blood work to see if maybe I was getting anemic. I had also lost about ten pounds over the last couple of months but for me that was not a good thing. Apparently I had someone who thought that I needed a new diet because for the last month when I got into the office I found fresh blueberries in a bowl, a banana, and fresh cream on my desk, along with a pack of Splenda and a pack of sugar.

[A friend thinks: "I knew immediately what was happening but I thought she already knew and was keeping it from us. She was always tired and that beautiful alabaster skin, just so perfect was beginning to lose its luster and it was becoming dull. Maybe some antioxidants like blueberries would help. Potassium from the banana would also help. She is still losing weight. When she decides to tell us then I can help even more. She is a really nice lady."]

We did the breast x-rays and I was always told that I was lucky that I had big ones as they never had a problem looking at them, the little girls had a hard time and they hurt like hell pinched between those plates.

One day I got a call and that is when this story really starts. There is a shadow on the x-ray. They still call them x-rays even thought it is digital now. They want to see me. It is nothing to worry about, just need another few pictures.

I froze on the phone. I heard the words and I understood them but I was suddenly cold, very cold, and I was sweating. My breath caught, sounds disappeared and then came roaring back louder than I thought possible. I had a hard time standing; yes I was standing. At hearing the words I seemed to stand up, I don't know why, I just did, and then I wanted to sit down. Then I wanted to go someplace to be alone. How could I go someplace when I could not even walk or breathe? I wanted to throw up and at the same time I needed to pee.

It can't be true was another thought, but someplace deep down inside of me I knew it was true. I did not want it to be true, I would pretend it was not, but I knew deep down inside that it was. Shit, why me, what the hell did I do wrong? I am only thirty six years old, why me?

The staff caller is nice at first but I am afraid. This happens all the time so there is no need to worry I am told. I don't believe her. I try to make an appointment for today, right now, but they can't. They want to make an appointment for next week. I go postal.

"God damn it, if your doctor's office called and had to retest because you might have breast cancer would you let the exam go for an additional week? Don't give me that one week shit because I want in today or tomorrow morning."

What I get is an, "I'm sorry ma'am, but there is no need for profanity."

"Listen you little fucking shit, you called me and said there is a need to re-do the exam because of what was seen. We are talking about breast cancer here you little twit. How about we make a deal? I wait a week and if I have to have my tits cut off I get to come over and cut yours off too?"

I hear an intake of air similar to what I felt when I got this call. I might even have heard a little whimper. I am put on hold.

Then there is another voice; a more mature voice. "Ma'am, we can see you tomorrow morning at seven am. Will that fit your schedule?"

"Yes it will. Thank you for seeing me so promptly. Please pass on my apology to the young girl I was initially talking too." I say.

"That is most kind of you. I will let her know that you said that. She will not be here when you come in tomorrow and you will not be getting any more calls from her, and neither will anyone else." The voice said.

I go home and tell Ralph but he does not seem to care. Maybe that is not correct. It is probably more correct to say that he does not understand what has been happening and can possibly happen.

What I get is a: "It is probably nothing, don't worry about it."

Damn now I have two good reasons to be mad. One, I might have cancer; and number two, my idiot husband does not understand shit. Maybe he would understand if someone took his toys away. Why did I even think that? Please God, don't take his toys away. I go into the bathroom, I cry and throw up. No one comes to ask if I am ok.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Romantic / Cheating / Slow /