I have long been overlooked for everything I did not earn.
Teachers noticed my ability to focus early. By six, I was reading for hours at a time. By 10 I could read at a high school level: novels, memoirs, texts, and some basic academic papers.
In elementary school I could never understand why the other kids squirmed around in their seats. I did not understand why other kids skipped around from one subject to another during conversations. It made no sense to me why I was considered the weird one in class when I just wanted to read, learn things, talk about computers, work on projects for hours, and watch educational shows on public TV.
In seventh grade, I read a Time Magazine article about Marc Andreesson from the 90s*. That article was the genesis of my goal to become a tech company executive before 30. That same year, I "went into full bloom," as my mother said. I grew to 5-foot-4 and started to fill out quite a bit. I was first aloof, but then quickly learned what my mother meant when I was making out with a cute boy in 8th grade and let him get a feel of my boobs and butt. He bragged all over the school about it. The boys lined up for a shot with me, and the girls labeled me a slut. I started wearing loose-fitting pants, men's t-shirts, and hoodies. I re-focused on my goals and did my best to become invisible.
I spent all high school that way. I grew to about five-six, and my weight leveled off at about 165 pounds. One of my Anglophile friends described me as "callipygous," and my mother called me "hourglass." I wore loose-fitting clothes, wore no makeup, and stuck with the nerdy clique. I spent my time at Robotics Club, Academic Decathlon team, and working on the school annual. My love life consisted of going to three formal dances with nerd friends. I held hands with one of them; I kissed another--no tongue. I graduated on the valedictory list and picked the college offering the most scholarship money.
College was good for me. I met smarter people. I learned how to flirt, both for romance and for personal advantage. And while I wasn't the smartest person among my genius schoolmates, I often set the curve in class simply because of my superhuman focus.
College was my sexual awakening. I learned how to "accentuate the positive" with makeup and wardrobe. I learned the importance of good lingerie, even if nobody sees it. I started a regular workout regimen: if I wasn't going to be thin, then I was certainly going to be fit.
I was one of very few women in my program. In my junior year I overheard one classmate say I was the hottest girl in our program "by far." I decided then and there that it was time to lose my virginity.
Daoud was in my software engineering lab. We would consult each other when we had problems on our assignments and joint projects. He was handsome enough: about 5'10", a little thin, a bit of a baby face, thick brown curly hair. He was half white and half Iraqi which made him exotic with thick wavy dark hair, greenish eyes, and beautiful golden-brown skin.
Most people would probably call him distant, but that's because Daoud lived in his head, spending most of his time in the imaginary world where code transforms into machine. I found his passion for computers so damned hot.
I could tell he was interested in me: I regularly caught him peeking at my cleavage and ass. One time while we were walking up a staircase together, Daoud, crashed into the banister while watching my tits giggle. I decided he was the one.
It was Thursday. I dressed in my version of "seductive," wearing a black demi-cup lace bra and matching thong panty from Victoria's. Cheap? Yes. Hot? Also, yes.
I picked a snug light pink tee shirt with a sweetheart neckline. This had three effects: (1) you could see the outline of my black bra through it; (2) you could see the tops of the bra cups peeking over the neckline, and (3) it smashed my 36D tits together and upward a little. I also wore a pair of leggings that would just show the top of my thong if I bent in half.
I walked into the computer lab and picked a workstation adjacent to Daoud's. He glanced up, said "hi" then looked directly at my tits for a moment before returning his attention to his workstation. I had his attention.
As I worked for two hours, I took great pains to yawn and stretch and thrust my boobs out. I could hear Daoud's keyboard stop clicking each time.
I knocked my backpack over "accidentally." I cursed under my breath but loud enough. I knelt down and slowly retrieved all the contents while wagging my ass in Daoud's direction. I could feel him staring at my ass.
I sat back in my chair, rolled it over to his desk, and put my hands on the seat between my legs, pressing my tits together with my arms. I leaned toward him. "What are you working on?" I asked. I leaned toward him a little more. There was no way he could not see my bra: my nipples were nearly showing over the top of my bra. Daoud could not tear his eyes away.
"Oh! Uh-Sorry! W- what did you say?" he responded working hard to look at my eyes. He was so damn cute all flustered like that.
"I asked what you were working on. I wanted to see how you were getting around the memory address issue," I lied. I swiveled back and forth in my chair like a bored child, giving him a panoramic view of my cleavage. I could see him working so hard to look at my eyes, but he just couldn't help looking at my chest. He was mesmerized.
