Bra sizes in our stories

I write erotica for lit readers.. And most of my female characters are bbw/ssbbw..

In some of my stories, I mention bra sizes just to give the readers a better idea of their sizes ..
 
That's like saying one shouldn't write about motorcycles if one doesn't understand all about them
I think it’s more like motorcycle specifications, where not knowing shit about them and blabbing some shit about them anyway which one heard from older boys behind the bowling alley usually goes wrong and the author doesn’t know it.

Nobody’s saying don’t let there be any bras in the story.

Now that I think about it, the attention given to the specifications of the bra tend to be inverse to the attention given to anything that happens with/to the bra. Chekhov’s Gun my ass 🤣
 
Now that I think about it, the attention given to the specifications of the bra tend to be inverse to the attention given to anything that happens with/to the bra. Chekhov’s Gun my ass 🤣
Surely the equivalent to firing the gun is removing the bra.
 
"40D," she said, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

I gulped, trying to drag my eyes away from that magnificent chest. "40D?" I repeated. I could hear the tremble in my voice. "40D." Finally my gaze managed to free itself and I looked at the grid before me. The giant Battleship grid. "40D, that's a miss."
 
Unless they're lacey and match the rest of the set that doesn't really conceal anything and is more for decoration.
Had a scene in an upcoming piece in which a woman complains that men don't appreciate nice sets, but I had to cut it. Enjoyed that bit, but the whole scene was a mess and needed to go. Shame.
 
I describe them as they're putting them on, snugging everything into place. Making them fit. Checking them twice.

Then as they put the outer clothes on, they wonder who will be seeing what later.
 
In the story I’m working on now, I’ve kept the names as non-ethnic or religious so the readers can inject that part themselves.

When it comes to breast size, I’m still a pretty clueless male in that sense, sooooooo………

On the first female character’s new bust size in the story, I just went for H-Cup on someone with an “Amazonian Godess” build (insert “Death By SnuSnu” reaction gif here😄) and was going to let the reader’s minds sort that out. Now for the character that is willingly transitioning from a male muscle physique competitor build to a female body builder/“muscle mommy”. I wrote that he wanted his new new pair of breasts to be E-Cup (I mean, he is still a guy at that point), and now that I read this thread, could also indicate he is a bit clueless on this as well.
 
If an author drops cup size in the first couple of paragraphs, I'll probably nope out of it.

But my tastes aren't the universe. There are people who enjoy reading and writing that kind of thing, and it's fine if they have advice on how to do so. I think the advice that "the more details you can throw in the better" would be much better if qualified with a "for some readers", but How-To is full of people giving "everybody must do this" advice that would be better framed as "this works for me". If it seems like bad writing advice to you, vote accordingly.

(I'd say "or comment", but this particular piece has comments disabled.)
 
The beginning of my ill-starred foray into the toxic dystopian hellscape of ‘Loving’ Wives. If you have read the short story, you may appreciate what I was trying to set up with this appearance-centric intro.


It would reflect better on me if I lied and said it was her face that first captivated me. And her face was indeed captivating. It had the symmetry and proportions of a fashion model, without any of the 'I'm different to all the rest' otherworldliness.

Dark eyes, beneath darker brows. Chiseled cheekbones. A nose that might have been seen as overly prominent in isolation, but which flowed beautifully into the rest of her face. A jaw line showing determination, without a hint of cruelty. A mass of dark brown hair, heavy and lustrous. But her open expression conveyed humility - not that she had anything to be humble about - and humanity.

Her lovely face would have indeed been a more noble thing to fixate on. But my actual attention was grabbed by two other things; long, shapely things, one left and one right. It probably was as a result of first seeing her on the beach when she was wearing a tiny, dark umber, string bikini that complemented her all-over mocha tan; I had assumed some sort of olive-skinned genes, some Italian blood if I had to guess.

She had been running toward the sea. Her legs had muscles and sinews, not heavily set like a sprinter, but athletically toned like a middle distance runner, or dancer maybe. While it would be hyperbole to say they went on forever, the distance between her ankles and ass was considerable.

And her ass came a close second to her lower limbs in terms of fascination for me. It was small, but pert, shapely and - like the rest of her - with not an ounce of spare flesh in sight.

She was tall and graceful, her arms as taut and powerful as her legs, and her stomach had just a hint of muscle definition, surrounding a deep navel.

Her breasts were far from prominent, but they fit her lithe frame to perfection. And she was comfortable enough in her own skin to sport a bikini top that made a virtue of her unassuming mounds, and displayed the shape of her protrudent nipples very clearly.

The word 'goddess' flitted across my mind. But her friendly, smiling visage and laughing eyes brought her back within reach of the mortal realm; albeit never of someone like me. Perhaps her unattainability was part of the charm. Look, but don't touch.
 
The beginning of my ill-starred foray into the toxic dystopian hellscape of ‘Loving’ Wives. If you have read the short story, you may appreciate what I was trying to set up with this appearance-centric intro.


It would reflect better on me if I lied and said it was her face that first captivated me. And her face was indeed captivating. It had the symmetry and proportions of a fashion model, without any of the 'I'm different to all the rest' otherworldliness.

Dark eyes, beneath darker brows. Chiseled cheekbones. A nose that might have been seen as overly prominent in isolation, but which flowed beautifully into the rest of her face. A jaw line showing determination, without a hint of cruelty. A mass of dark brown hair, heavy and lustrous. But her open expression conveyed humility - not that she had anything to be humble about - and humanity.

Her lovely face would have indeed been a more noble thing to fixate on. But my actual attention was grabbed by two other things; long, shapely things, one left and one right. It probably was as a result of first seeing her on the beach when she was wearing a tiny, dark umber, string bikini that complemented her all-over mocha tan; I had assumed some sort of olive-skinned genes, some Italian blood if I had to guess.

She had been running toward the sea. Her legs had muscles and sinews, not heavily set like a sprinter, but athletically toned like a middle distance runner, or dancer maybe. While it would be hyperbole to say they went on forever, the distance between her ankles and ass was considerable.

And her ass came a close second to her lower limbs in terms of fascination for me. It was small, but pert, shapely and - like the rest of her - with not an ounce of spare flesh in sight.

She was tall and graceful, her arms as taut and powerful as her legs, and her stomach had just a hint of muscle definition, surrounding a deep navel.

Her breasts were far from prominent, but they fit her lithe frame to perfection. And she was comfortable enough in her own skin to sport a bikini top that made a virtue of her unassuming mounds, and displayed the shape of her protrudent nipples very clearly.

The word 'goddess' flitted across my mind. But her friendly, smiling visage and laughing eyes brought her back within reach of the mortal realm; albeit never of someone like me. Perhaps her unattainability was part of the charm. Look, but don't touch.
Great writing. And I still think that your foray was not entirely unsuccessful - ignore the score, read the comments!
 
I looked at one a few days ago. The first section was an introduction of the cast of characters. All had cup sizes. I never bothered to scroll down further.

Seems like cup size was only part of the problem.
A shitty info dump is a shitty info dump with or without cup size.
 
Great writing. And I still think that your foray was not entirely unsuccessful - ignore the score, read the comments!
Thanks re the writing. It’s pure unreliable (or at least overly obsessed) narrator obviously.

Won’t be repeating the LW experiment any time soon.
 
If an author drops cup size in the first couple of paragraphs, I'll probably nope out of it.

But my tastes aren't the universe. There are people who enjoy reading and writing that kind of thing, and it's fine if they have advice on how to do so. I think the advice that "the more details you can throw in the better" would be much better if qualified with a "for some readers", but How-To is full of people giving "everybody must do this" advice that would be better framed as "this works for me". If it seems like bad writing advice to you, vote accordingly.

(I'd say "or comment", but this particular piece has comments disabled.)

From my first published story here (the narrator is lying groaning on a bush path with a twisted ankle):

The sound got louder, and around the corner of the path came a youngish, slim woman, about my age, wearing a daypack, shorts and shirt, and (of course) sensible hiking boots with long socks. Her head was partly hidden by a floppy hat and sunglasses, but I could see that she was a brunette with tanned skin and a long ponytail. Not that this particularly mattered to me at the time -- her hair could have been green and she could have been an 80 year old man for all I cared right then, but I know some readers will want to know. I draw the line at estimating her bra size at this point in the story though, because frankly that's a bit creepy and any guy who claims to be able to do that at first glance is not somebody you want to be around.

Much later in the story:

We kissed again as I unfastened her bra (black lace, three rear hooks, and do we really care about the size?), and then laid it on a chair.

It went down well with the readers, many of whom commented how much the bra size thing annoyed them.
 
When I wrote erotica as a clueless young virgin, breasts were always described in relation to fruit, penises were always ripping through jeans and everybody had the time and energy for a torrential downpour of orgasms.

Ahh, to be stupid again...
 
If an author drops cup size in the first couple of paragraphs, I'll probably nope out of it.
Agree.
I looked at one a few days ago. The first section was an introduction of the cast of characters. All had cup sizes. I never bothered to scroll down further.
Agree.
Seems like cup size was only part of the problem.
A shitty info dump is a shitty info dump with or without cup size.
Agree.

I guess I'm an agreeable chap.
 
Precisely. This ‘no bra sizes’ prohibition that gets bandied about here is much like the rest of Lit writing ‘lore’ an occasionally useful guide which should be totally disregarded if something else serves your story better. For example, it’s not exactly abnormal for a new boyfriend to ask his new girlfriend about her measurements, particularly if he has a gift for her in mind.
The key word here is "ask", and if he does and she tells him, it's fine for him to talk about it in the story because he has a valid reason for knowing. The stories that turn me off are when the male MC states that the girl he just saw has 44DD breasts. He has no reason to know that. All he can know is large or maybe larger than he's ever seen before. The other thing that bugs me is apparently most men have no clue about what bra sizes really mean. The "44" has nothing to do with the size of her breasts. It's the measurement of her chest just under her breasts. If she's truly a 44DD, she probably has a lot of trouble finding clothes.
 
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