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."
That comment did funny thing inside me. I felt indignation that he would presume to think that he had a right to look at my breasts, together with a flutter of excitement for exactly the same reason. This was the first time Brian had seemed to approve of anything about me. But still, there was a principle involved.
"Brian, it is not my intention to stand around on the beach with my breasts out just because you like looking at them," I told him acerbically. "In case you don't know it, it is not the sort of behaviour young women are expected to indulge in."
My comments may have been more effective if Brian hadn't been cupping my breasts again. This time he was also rolling my nipples around with his thumbs.
"Ah, Brian, will you please stop doing that?" I asked him, trying to keep it polite.
"Why?" he asked, his voice purring again, sending little shivers up my back. "You like it. Your breasts like it."
"That's beside the point," I said, and I could hear stress in my voice now. "You're not supposed to do this sort of thing in public. Or in private, if it's me you're doing it to."
"Picky, picky," he muttered, but at least he moved his hands off my breasts. I hadn't known when I was well off.
He slipped his arms around me and pulled me up against him. He was wearing a button up shirt which he hadn't bothered to button. When he pulled me to him my breasts were plastered against his chest. A very hairy chest, I might add. It was a very strange feeling, having my breasts rub against a man's chest like that.
To make things worse, he kissed me. He took me totally by surprise, me never imagining in a million years that Blasted Brian would kiss me like that. He covered my mouth and slipped his tongue between my lips before I knew he was even thinking of kissing me. That was another new one for me, feeling his tongue tracing along the insides of my lips and exploring my mouth.
His hands settled on my bottom, holding me close to him. This gave me two more problems. One, he actually had his hands on my bottom. I thought I was doing good to get my bum into those shorts, and somehow he got his hands in there as well. Number two, and far more disconcerting, I could feel his, um, his, ah, let's say his personal equipment pressing against me. And the way it was pressing against me I knew the sort of state it was in.
I felt like panicking for a moment, but I didn't. I got my hands up against his chest and pushed firmly, trying to get a bit of space between us. Fortunately, he let me, and I eased back a little. Unfortunately, he only gave me so much room and no more, and although I wasn't squashed against him, the tips of my breasts were still brushing against his chest. I was ever so much aware about how my breasts were just touching his chest. Every breath he took caused his hairy chest to tease my nipples, keeping them in a state of arousal.
At least, he'd taken his hands off my behind. I could feel them moving between our bodies, and I assumed that he was making himself a little more comfortable. If he had an erection it must be painful, crushed inside tight shorts. I imagined that he was just adjusting its position, but even thinking of what he was doing made me blush and feel funny.
Little innocent me had no idea what he was really doing. I was still trying to create a little more space between us when I felt his hands on my hips, sliding under the waistband of my Daisy Dukes again. I thought he was going to start fondling my bottom again, and I was half right.
He apparently wanted to fondle my bottom after he'd pushed my shorts and panties out of the way. When I thought he was adjusting his own clothing he had really been undoing my button and zip and I'd had too many distractions to notice. Now his hands pushed down and my shorts were only too ready to go along with his wishes.
His hands were now really on a bare bottom, as now my bottom was actually bare, and he was pulling me closer again. That's when I found out I'd made another wrong assumption. He hadn't just been adjusting his short to cater for his blasted erection. He'd been dropping them. Now when I found myself plastered against him I could feel his erection pressing against my tummy.
I hastily slipped a hand down, inserting it between his erection and me. Brian just paused in his general touching of me to give me some advice.
"Not like that," he said. "Like this."
