It was the year I got my first C-cup bra. I had been itching and uncomfortable in the chest for months, and sometimes the straps left painful red welts.
When we went shopping for a new bra the saleslady immediately saw that I had been squeezing into a B-cup for too long and I was overdue to move up to a bigger cup size.
"Goodness, youre as big as me now," my mother said.
It was a lot more comfortable. I knew when I got to school I was going to be the only girl in my 9th grade class with a C-cup, and the fact that my blouse was suddenly sticking out another inch would be noticed. I was a little embarrassed, but also proud.
Im embarrassed to admit it, but most of the time I secretly enjoyed it when boys made a big deal about my chest and girls looked at it enviously. It started in the 7th grade, and it has never let up. Im still in school -- I teach now -- and the boys still devote a generous portion of their classtime to the study of my mammary glands.
I was a 15 year old non-virgin in those days. I had had sex with 4 different boys, and it hadnt been particularly great with any of them, although I had tried maybe a dozen times with the most recent.
I had come once during foreplay in the front seat of a boys car while he rubbed me through my panties, but that was the only time I had ever come with a boy, and in fact I had only come a few times while masturbating myself.
The new 34C bra was sensible white cotton underwear. Later, when I was visiting my best friend Cindy and told her about my new size, she got really interested and suggested I get a pushup bra and see if I had cleavage.
As her Mom was a 34C like me, and was out shopping, we snuck into her bedroom and borrowed one of her pushup bras and I tried it on. When I looked in the mirror I was impressed with the results. There was a n... Læs hele novellen
