It was the middle of winter when I turned eighteen. It was odd, but during that winter I put on a late growth spurt, gaining at least another inch in height and filling out in various other places. Boy, did I fill out. I moved up several cup sizes in the boobs department. I'd always had breasts that could be kindly described as on the smallish side. Suddenly I had to adjust to breasts that were medium-large, leaning towards the large.
It was quite a confidence booster, even if no-one noticed. I mean, winter, and all that, going around buried in layers of clothing, trying to keep warm. Anyone who noticed an increase in the area of my chest probably sniggered and thought I had added some padding. Well, I had, but it was all natural.
When spring came, bringing some warmer weather with it, I was able to start wearing a few nicer outfits when I was out and about. Actually, I had to start buying the outfits. Most of my lighter clothes were now too small. I know, any excuse for a shopping spree, but it was true.
I was waiting for some really hot weather before venturing out to the local beach in a bikini. A new bikini, courtesy of my father. He saw me in my old one and almost had a heart attack. No daughter of his was going to the beach in that outfit I was told in no uncertain terms. I explained that I'd out-grown it and didn't have the cash for a new one, and just like that I had the cash in hand.
On one Sunday in the middle of spring it was what you would describe as warmish. Not hot enough to go out and try to get a tan, but definitely warm enough to go for a stroll along the beach in an outfit that might be described as a bit on the skimpy side.
What the outfit consisted of was some old clothes that had met a terrible fate at the hands of scissors wielded by a fashion expert - me. I'd taken an old sloppy t-shirt, sloppy for my pre-boobs time, that is, and cut away the bottom half. Maybe the bottom two thirds. Now when I put it on it almost covered my breasts, giving this tantalising glimpse of under-boob. Any boys I met would be looking at me and wondering if I had a bra on under that cut-off t-shirt, trying to drill holes through the material with their eyes. (The answer was no, I didn't. My breasts were high and firm and stayed where they were supposed to. Any sagging was a problem for the future.)
My shorts weren't much better. They were an old pair of jeans cut down to Daisy Dukes. Rather tight Daisy Dukes. I'd run into a problem when I was making those. It seems that my, ah, let's say my hips, had filled out a bit as well as my chest. I had to slice up the sides of my newly fashioned Daisy Dukes before I could actually get them on.
Now while the outfit might be described as a heart-attack for Daddy, I thought I looked cute. If there were any boys on the beach, their heads would turn so fast their necks would crack. This stroll along the beach was going to be fun.
My stroll along the beach started out as a bit of a disappointment. There was no-one there. Hell, if I was brave enough to come out when it was only warmish, you'd think some of the boys would be there on the off chance. Then my disappointing walk looked as though it might upgrade itself to a disaster.
There was a boy on the beach. Man, really, as he was several years older than me. It was Blasted Brian. That's how I always thought of him. His very presence can get me hot under the collar. He's always making snide comments and putting me down. A loathsome creature and a bad influence on ell the other men around the place. For some reason most girls seem drawn to his chauvinistic attitude, but not me.
I marched on down the beach, quickening my pace a little. With a bit of luck he'd just ignore me. It didn't take me long to realise that he wasn't going to. He'd already changed direction and was going to intercept me. It figured. If it wasn't for the bad luck I wouldn't have any luck at all.
"Cathy," he said cheerfully. "Well met. How are things going?"
"Hullo, Brian," I said coolly, hoping he'd get the hint that he wasn't wanted. "Things are fine."
"That's nice to hear. I see you're still wearing your padded bras."
Bastard. I was so not wearing a padded bra and it should have been obvious. I stopped and glared at him.
"I have no need to wear padding," I said repressively. "If you're just going to insult me, please go away."
"No padding?" he asked dubiously.
"No. What? Do you want to check?"
As soon as I said that I knew I shouldn't have. I could (and should) have bitten my tongue.
"That's an excellent idea," he said, and he sounded like a cat purring.
Before I could react he just lifted the front of my top up, pushing it to the top of my breasts. Just like that my breasts were on display.
"Stop that," I hissed at him, while I quickly brushed my top back down. "I have no desire to show off my breasts in public, thank you very much."
"You stop it," he said, lifting the top up again. "There's just you and me here so we're hardly in public."
This time when I went to brush my top down, he caught my wrist.
"I said, leave it," he said. "You have very nice breasts and I'll concede no padding. Where did you get those from? Falsies, by any chance?"
To my fury he started softly probing my breasts, checking for implants. The absolute gall of the man. It was enough to vex anyone.
"No, they are not falsies," I flared at him. "It's all me, so will you kindly stop poking them."
I really need to be more careful of what I say to Blasted Brian. He has a genius for seeing things his way. What I should have said was stop touching them. He stopped probing them with a finger and cupped them with his hands, gently bouncing them as though weighing them.
"You know, you really do have a lovely pair of breasts," he murmured, and, despite not liking him, I couldn't help but be flattered. It was balm to my wounded soul to hear him admit that my breasts were nice.
He took a step back and looked me over. I mean, he really looked at me.
"Nice," he said softly. "Very nice indeed. You've slimmed down over the last few months. Or perhaps," he added, eyes on my breasts, "I should say you've redistributed the weight in a way that does you credit."
He was right about the weight. Even though I was taller and, shall we say, more shapely, my total weight hadn't really changed. My puppy fat had gone, balancing out the increase in size in certain areas.
With him standing back a bit and giving me the once over it suddenly occurred to me that my boobs were still on display, which was not my intention when I made this top. Tantalize and tease, not flaunt, had been my aim. Hastily I reached up and tugged the top down into position.
Brian seemed to give this little growl and moved closer.
"I told you to leave it," he reprimanded me. "I like looking at them."
