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My Hills Came Alive!

This was originally published on the now defunct SexWrecks, a site parented by MrSkin.

My breasts popped out when I was in fifth grade. I was about ten years old and, literally, I woke up one morning with boobs. In my mind, it wasn’t a slow progression. It was whoop, there they are!

And then I was embarrassed about being the only pretty girl in class with boobs. The other fifth graders weren’t ugly, they just didn’t groom well. I was a “Crayon Girl”. I used Crayon Girl makeup. I remember the jingle for the commercial but can’t find any information on it. But that’s what I did: I wore makeup and had boobs.

Therefore I was slut instantly. There was some correlation between sex and boobs. As if having sex or fooling around with boys made them grow faster. It was a terrible assumption and caused me to run home crying with my crayon makeup smeared all over my face.

Of all my friends, I was the first to get a bra and actually need it. Other girls beat me to the purchase, but they had nothing to put in them. I was a B cup in fifth grade and a C cup by sixth grade. Actually, for a few years my right breast was a B cup and my left breast was a C cup. I squeezed them both into a B cup. My friend Christy pointed out the disparity one day when I was wearing a red turtleneck. After that I wore oversized button-down oxfords that Anthony Michael Hall made famous in Sixteen Candles.

On the first day of seventh grade, I wore what, I guess (now), was a sexy outfit. It was a V-necked yellow top, a jungle-patterned mini skirt, nylons, and yellow pumps. It was the ’80s, so I refuse to make any apologies. Every boy in the school was mesmerized by my body. They flocked to me, dropped pencils during class, and whistled. That night I got ten phone calls. The only one I cared about was the one from Johnny, the hottest guy in school.

In addition to asking me to wear that outfit every day for the rest of the year (every guy who called asked me that), Johnny asked if he could come over. I had just broken up the super couple of the century, Johnny and Shelly! Johnny soon dropped by for pool and pinball in my parents’ stellar basement rec-room. He and I somehow got to making out.

I didn’t know what to do. I thought we were supposed to lie on the couch, him on top like in the movies where the bad kids made out. I asked him, “Should we start out standing and fall on the couch or sit and then lean down on it?” Johnny just laughed and pulled me to him and opened his mouth.

We did it standing up by the front door. He slobbered all over me. I specifically remember spit running down my chin. His tongue went all around my mouth and even in front of my teeth. It was so gross. Then he went for it–the left breast. I pushed his hand away.

Johnny: Hey come on, let me touch it.

Me: No! You haven’t even asked me out yet.

Johnny: If you let me touch it we’ll go steady then, OK.

Me: But I want to go steady first then let you touch it.

Johnny: Ok, let’s go steady.

Me: Next time I’ll let you touch it but right now I’m afraid my parents will catch us.

Johnny: Sure

Me: Hey, did I kiss good?

Johnny: Yeah, you were alright for your first time.

Then he left and I wiped the slobber off my chin and neck.

The next day I got an evil look from Shelly and a whole bunch of nasty notes from both boys and girls. I got one particular note from Bobby, who I guess had a crush on me, telling me he hated me and wished I was dead. Even more employed the ultimate pretentious adolescent vocabulary word: “conceited”.

A few correspondents even warned that they would rape me if I didn’t stop being so “conceited”.

And, alas, Johnny told me he couldn’t date such a conceited girl and he went back to Shelly.

I cried for a year, wore loose-fitting clothes, and hung around the other unpopular girls who were also sluts because of the size of their breasts. Incidentally one of the girls was not a virgin because she was molested by her stepfather. She had large breasts like me and was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. So for me, being unpopular was the only thing that I suffered for having large breasts.

In eighth grade everything simmered down and people were nice to me. Most likely because Shelly and company got boobies of their own. I got a few apologies and went through the year hanging out with both popular and unpopular people. I even got a hockey-playing boyfriend, Mike, who gave me a necklace for Valentines Day. Mike never tried to feel me up and he didn’t slobber all over me.

One thing that did happen in eighth grade was Tubby. I call him Tubby because he was this little fat fifth grader who always had a Twinkie in his mouth. He and his little posse ran around and called me “Socks”.

“Socks! Socks!” Tubby would call out. “You stuff your bra with socks!” Then he would run away. One day after school while I was unlocking my bike, Tubby and his little friend ran up to me and started teasing me. I ran up to Tubby, grabbed his hair, punched him in the face and stomach, and scratched up his face and arms so bad that he bled all over me. He ran away crying.

I stood tall and proud and waited for the teachers to come out. They didn’t so I went home.

Then next day Tubby and his dad were in the office. His dad wanted to have a word with the boy who beat up his son. (I have a boy’s name.) When I walked in, Tubby’s dad, who was very attractive, blushed and looked at me and listened to what the teachers had to say, and I cried, Tubby cried, and Tubby’s dad forgave me and apologized–to my breasts, which he could not stop looking at. Tubby and I both got detention and I, or I should say my breasts were excused from it by Mr. Alberts.

Fast forward to college.

I used my boobs to get into clubs before I turned twenty-one. They were my fake ID.

I used my boobs to get drugs. All I had to do was show them and I got a free pot, coke, acid, heroin, vicodin, xanax, ecstasy.

My boobs got me drinks.

My boobs got me men.

My boobs got me jobs.

Basically all that horror in junior high made me so angry about my breasts that I abused them later on. My boobs were my tools to having a better life. I hated my breasts and gave them away freely.

I never really understood that it was me and not my boobs that I was abusing. That I actually believed what they said to me in junior high, high school, and college: “The best thing about you is your breasts.” I wasn’t pretty enough, thin enough, or smart enough, but I had great breasts–the best breasts, super tits!

Now my tits are just there. I like it when they get licked and nibbled. I hate it when they hurt before my period. I like the way they look. I hate the way they make my back hurt. The bras I have to buy cost more than most of my shoes–and I do spend big money on shoes. But all in all they do just fine.

7 Hot Responses to “My Hills Came Alive!”

  1. 1
    Rambette Says:

    Very well-written essay on your young life. I guess some of us really have terrible childhoods (mine included). Thank you for your honest writing!

  2. 2
    Chris Says:

    Well, little bit surprised what you are willing to share with us as we do not know each other well. As Rambette already said, some of us had a terrible childhood, me too. Jug ears and all the other “nice” stuff. Just forget those morons, they are not worth remembering! 😉

    I wish you all the best for the future. Stay as naturally as you are. I apologize for my bad english! Best regards Chris p.s.: What is a Twinkie? 😯

  3. 3
    Steven Says:

    Great story–it’s true about the word ‘conceited’. That really took me back. Wish I had known you back then. It was tough growing up in the 80’s. Sounds like you’re relatively at peace with your endowments these days- a very good thing. For whatever it’s worth, let me be the zillionth person to tell you that you really are gorgeous. As a self-hating breast enthusiast, I can confess the following: Your chest did make a striking first impression but I feel I owe them a debt of gratitude in that they brought my attention to such a smart and beautiful woman. Thank you, boobs!
    All the Best,

  4. 4
    Zach Says:

    Your wit is easily as impressive as your tits… which is saying something.

  5. 5
    D Says:

    Wow. Thanks for sharing that. Reminds us that you’re a human being…

  6. 6
    karl dick Says:

    you poor baby wish i had grown up with you so that i could comfort you and tell you that everything would be ok

  7. 7
    Alex Says:

    I’m a brazilian man and love your scenes.
    Really love you S2
    So chubby pretty, my mind feel about you everydays.

    Married me ???

    You have my email adress

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