I remember the exact moment I realized my breasts were sprouting into something beyond little pepperonis. I was showering at my Aunt & Uncle’s house so the tub was much bigger than ours at home and this made me really take my time. La-dee-dah, shampoo this, la-dee-dah, soap up this. It was at that moment, as I was rubbing a bar of soap up and down my belly that I first felt the unsettling protrusion which was to be my right boob.
I knew from the first moment of discovery; these were going to be a problem. To start with, I began sprouting the beasts in FOURTH GRADE. The idea of my own sexuality and the attention a “stacked” 9 year old would get scared me, and rightfully so. Ok, it only started in 4th grade. I didn’t reach my full Double D stature until I hit Jr. High. (hand to god) And, I’m not a big girl. In fact, I’m quite average sized and maybe could have even been called petite at a younger age. Needless to say, I look odd and like I might topple over at any point.
By 9th grade I was used to them and almost forgot to be self-conscience about my Dolly Parton figure. Jim Watkins had just bestowed upon me my first kiss and he knew I really liked him so I anticipated more smooching in the future. I got my wish and then some. I’m sure we did something that evening besides park at the beach and make out. Maybe a movie, or dinner, or both? But all I can remember of that night was us in his parked car facing some crashing waves we could only hear.
The privacy of the car, not to mention the primo make out setting, helped ease me comfortably into the 2nd kiss of my life, which I did quite enjoy. We’d totally make out and then catch our breath with a little neck nibbling. All in all, a lovely night. He then drove me home and officially initiated me into the world of dating with three little words; “I’ll call you”.
Jim did NOT call me. And I did not understand. We had good chemistry and talked easily and most importantly, he SAID HE’D CALL.
We didn’t go to the same high school so I didn’t have the luxury of bumping into him in Algebra to say “Oh hey, good morning” when what I’d really have meant would have been “What the FUCK”? Well, if he didn’t want to call me, I CERTainly wasn’t going to call him. I had too much self respect. (I quickly grew out of that). I didn’t know what I’d done or maybe hadn’t done? All I knew was, something changed and I was sure it was my fault. I tried to forget about Jim and actually found myself thinking of him less and less. In fact, it was months later that some friend of mine found out from a friend of his what mysterious occurrence took place that fateful night at the beach.
Apparently, when Jim tried to feel me up… WHAT?! I was there. He did NOT try to even introduce himself to my breasts let alone get acquainted. No no no, must have been a different girl he was talking about. My friend assured me, this story involved Jim and MY boobs. So, I guess when he grazed a breast and I pulled back and he was afraid I was going to slap him in the face. (His words) Let’s step back and look at this story with some perspective. Stepped back? Looks retarded don’t it? I mean, what kind of pussy barely tries to feel a girl up (one who is crazy about him) and then mistakes what I can only imagine was me coming up for air during a mad make out session, as some knee jerk reaction to him trying to get to 2nd base. I quickly felt better that I hadn’t wasted more time with someone who clearly wouldn’t be able to communicate any none or actual things of importance. “Wait, you DIDN’T want to see that movie? But I changed what colleges I was going to apply to based on that!” Yes, that’s the point, it doesn’t make sense and neither did his “reasoning”. I should have held onto that feeling of realization that I had dodged that particular bullet. It would have served me well in the future with many, many other ill communicators.
