Submerged in Softness: Caught Boob Snorkeling

I know I've talked about my weird boob stimming behavior before, but I don't think I've ever explained it fully. Mostly because it's deeply strange, and didn't think l'd ever need to explain it in words. But thanks to an incident last night, it's now probably relevant to y'all's interests.

So... boob snorkeling. Alright. We're doing this.

Some of you have even asked about it since the one time briefly mentioned it in a post called "Fears and Worries. Silly Jiggly Joys."

But some of you are about to learn something today that you cannot unlearn. So let's DIVE IN. >.<

For those of you who don’t know, I have developed a habit—kinda...maybe a full-blown sensory addiction—to what I can only describe as boob snorkeling (Sam named it in the comments of that previous post). It started as an accident. My chest has grown so absurdly large, dense, and fat that I’ve lost most control over its positioning when I’m at my desk.

One evening, I was leaning forward, nuuude, letting gravity do its thing. My breasts spreading out in every direction, when I started to get tired, and let my face plop between the girls. Completely sealed and smushed in on my own cleavage.

My arms had gathered around, propping the tiddz together, making them more pillowy, but also ...My breath was trapped. There was no airflow.

And then, through the thick, sweaty fatty chamber of my own boobsom, I heard it.

Bwup.

A single, delicate air bubble worked its way through the ocean of booby and popped out underneath against the table.

I didn’t move.😬

I exhaled again longer.

Bwup. Bwup. Bwup.

A steady rhythm...

You ever see a cartoon cauldron just "glorp" over and over, like a potion bubbling in a way that shouldn’t sound alive but kinda does?

Then, as I shifted, a new sound joined the mix. Glorp. A rich, thick noise—like a boat engine cutting into mud. Like I was slow-cooking a bizarre, sentient soup that whispered secrets from the void.

"Your boobs are too big" it seemed to say

"what the hell am I doing" i thought to myself... super weird

And when I really settled in? When my arms held them together right, and air REALLY couldn't escape easily.

BRAP.

A single, booming, shockingly loud sound that lifted my heavy, naked breasts almost totally off the table, so powerful that it sounded less like breath and more like a walrus sitting on a whoopie cushion.

My boyfriend and I have had fullblown discussions about the onomatopoeia of boob snorkeling. He finds the whole thing kinda weird but endearing. I find it disturbing that I have been cursed (blessed?) with a body capable of this level of acoustic complexity. But the worst part?

It feels really, really good.

There’s something almost ASMR-like about it—the way the sound vibrates through my whole torso, the warmth and dissociation of being half-submerged in my own soft bosom, AND the satisfaction of the air finding its way out. It’s weirdly calming. Like popping bubble wrap or scratching an itch in just the right spot. I didn’t mean to start doing this on purpose, but I definitely kept doing it on purpose.

It makes me feel like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, except the sand is tit...

idk.

Its super weird and embarrassing, mainly because its only possible through how insanely overdeveloped my glands have grown in the last year. Noises like this just aren't possible for "normal" breasts, and worse... I've started to do this little stim on a regular basis.

Which is why I should have known something like this would happen eventually.

...

It was late. My boyfriend’s sister was sleeping over.

I was at my desk, deep in stim mode, face-down, fully committed to the girls.

You ever see a cartoon cauldron just lapping and burbling over and over, like a potion bubbling in a way that shouldn't sound alive but weirdly does?

It’s in a way that shouldn’t make sense. The jiggle, the weird soft slapping sounds against my face and table underneath, the sensory relief of pressing down and letting the air escape—it's just... good.

It's soothing. It's comforting. The tactile equivalent of wrapping yourself in a weighted blanket-if the blanket was boobs that also made odd aquatic noises....

I was so deep in it—so completely, stupidly lost in my own sensory paradise—that I didn’t hear the footsteps in the hallway.

I didn’t hear the pause outside my door.

What I did hear was:

“…Uh, are you okay?”

I froze.

Everything in my brain shut down.

My entire existence was now reduced to the following three facts:

• She heard the boob noises.

• She has NO idea what caused them.

• I have approximately 0.02 seconds to come up with an excuse.

I panicked.

And in my moment of absolute, unparalleled cowardice, I blurted out:

“I DROPPED SOMETHING.”

Silence.

A long, deeply suspicious silence.

“…Okay?”

I could feel her hesitation.

I could feel her brain running diagnostics, trying to match the sound to the excuse.

And I knew.

She wasn’t buying it.

Eventually, I heard her footsteps retreating.

But it was too late.

I had been heard.

I sat there, face burning, and immediately texted my boyfriend:

"YOUR SISTER HEARD ME STIMMING FROM THE HALLWAY"

he answered,

"She probably just thinks you were farting"

I texted him back

"for 20 minutes?!"

he just texted back "LOL"

I wanted to die of embarrassment.

The morning after was worse.

I had to see her again.

She avoided eye contact like I had performed an eldritch ritual in my sleep and she wasn’t sure if it had worked yet.

I am still recovering from the embarrassment of the noises my body is capable of, the fact that I couldn't control myself ONE night while she was over, and the fact that we will definitely never talk about it again so I have no idea what she thinks LOL, but i GUARENTEE its not that I have a sensory compulsion to bury my head in my overdeveloped mammary and blow air bubbles through their sweaty fat volume...

Godamn I am neuro-divergent

Anyway, till my next weird embarrassing boob blog :)

-Plushy