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I am again so grateful to this site for the freedom to express unusual or confusing experiences around some intimate topics that I at last feel able to share my own story. I hope it might help others gain understanding in similar circumstances.

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My name is Alison and I am 44 years of age from Brighton. I'm a Human Resources manager with a big chemical company and I've been happily married for 22 years to Stephen, a Science Teacher. We have three children: two sons aged 21 and 20 and a daughter aged 18. Her name is Jane. It won't surprise frequenters of this site that my story chiefly concerns Jane and me.

My husband and sons are all avid football fans, in the habit of colonising the front room whenever important matches are on involving league and national teams. At times like that, Jane and I will often go out or else retreat to other parts of the house just to get away from all the football and the endless male chat.

At the start of one recent international game, we used the excuse of Stephen's niece's impending wedding to withdraw to my bedroom with a laptop to look at dresses and things that we might consider wearing to the event. I sat on my big King-sized bed with the computer on my lap and Jane heaved up beside me, the football noise from the front room a good way off. It was all very casual and desultory as we surfed the dress and designer frock internet pages chatting about what we might each wear and commenting mostly negatively on the latest trends and fashions. It was a summer wedding and the dresses were bright and airy and we actually liked some of the colourful ones available for both teenage girls and middle-aged mums. Inevitably, our surfing of clothes sites took us to some underwear pages and looking at the models we chatted and joked about the undies that would go with the dresses we'd been viewing and the shapes and poses of some of the models.

Perhaps this is a good point to say something about the appearance of each of us. I always think of myself as a typical modern mum, I suppose. I try to keep a reasonable appearance but make compromises keeping pace with the speed of family life and the demands of work. I'm a 5'4 brunette with brown eyes; about 11stones (I know-a bit overweight), dress size 14 and with a reasonable figure of 36d-30-38. I suppose I'm what would be called 'curvy' (though I've seen much curvier), with a full bust and a bottom bigger and rounder than I'd like it to be. I also have a bit of a mummy-tummy after 3 children. I've liked my chest since my teens and been aware that in these breast-obsessed times I've always got second looks and the occasional man whose eyes wander over my top in a conversation. Beneath, I have large dark brown nipples and broad areolae made big by nursing at length three healthy children and a down-below as natural as it was at adolescence.

Some people tell me Jane is my double. I'm not so sure, but certainly could see the resemblance as she became more of a proper young woman. Jane is a bit shorter than me but with my hair and eyes. At 18, I could see she would have some of my challenges around weight later on. She developed early and by 18 was sitting on the cusp of 34d, with a dress size of 12 and a full round rear which cutely filled out dresses and jeans. I'd actually given her brother Michael a fierce row for embarrassing her by joking about her 'knockers', yet another childish euphemism for a girl's breasts. Jane was blossoming nicely into the classic British brunette and I knew would have no problems attracting boys, even though nothing serious seemed to have emerged as yet.

Inevitably our girl-talk exiled in the room together and surfing the M