for my breasts - and I realized the impact they have had on my life. She made me realize that being busty had encouraged my sexual side to come out at times when for her as a petite girl she had more of an option to think things out.
It all started when my breasts started to appear early, a good six months before anyone else in my class of 200 even could think about boobs. I'll admit it was a weird experience for me. I didn't have any friends in a similar situation, I didn't have an older sibling, and I wasn't close with Mom like I am now. So I decided to hide my ever-growing chest. Maybe, I hoped, I wouldn't have big boobs like she did. I was able to dance around the issue by wearing sweaters and other baggy clothes, but Mom finally caught on and by the spring I was in my first training bra. I felt so incredibly embarrassed and for a little while I stupidly blamed my Mom somehow. By the end of the year the word was out in school: I was the first girl in the grade with boobs. It definitely effected me because I stuck out like a sore thumb—never a good thing in middle school. The other, more popular girls resented it, and the boys didn't know how to react to it. I started to keep more and more to myself as my chest grew, and by the end of middle school I was one frustrated and fed up girl.
That all would change in high school and I knew it. I walked in the first day as a freshman girl wearing a 36D cup bra and a tight white t-shirt. That definitely stuck out, but I quickly learned it made me stick out differently than in middle school. My chest was a good thing now. It got me attention and it made me finally feel appreciative about my breasts. Kids in the older grades noticed me and I quickly fell into an older crowd. I just loved the attention from the juniors and seniors, but with it came the pressures of the older high school kids, namely drinking and sexual stuff. I had personally ruled out having sex just to be popular, but I figured less than that was just having fun.
As the other girls in my grade were going out on first dates, I was in the basement of a party with a drunken senior's hand on my breast. As other girls were enjoying Christmas break by having their first kiss, I was nervously being pressured into jerking a guy off—I just had to, I was told, because my tits had turned him on so much and he needed a release. As other girls were being felt up for the first time, I was pressured more and more often into giving blow jobs to a particular guy I liked. I had told him I wouldn't swallow (it really scared me then, but looking back I'm not sure why). When he complained a lot and implied I was getting to be no fun, I ended up telling him that I still wouldn't swallow, but he could cum on my naked breasts. He eagerly accepted and I felt happy that once again my big boobs had saved the day.
What was weird about all of that was figuring out what I meant to people. I knew I really enjoyed the power and pleasure of being sexual. Each time I was there on my sore knees, my eyes closed tightly, reaching for a tissue to wipe some guy's cum off my cheek, neck, and breasts, I felt that I was the real winner there. I was getting attention and appreciation for being the person that I was, I thought. |
