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Possibly too much information

I didn't really want them at first. They made me feel lumpy and stared at. Then, after being teased at school for not having any, I wanted to have big ones that would make me attractive, desired, envied. I wanted enough boobery to fit in.

I was not a pretty child. It was as much a surprise to me as anyone else when Peter Fian revealed his crush on me to quite the wrong person. Tina was very pretty with black hair and black sparkling eyes. She liked Peter, and when he used me as his reason for not returning her interest, she was furious, not just because of the actual rejection but because his interest seemed so unreasonable in the great scheme of things. 'How can you?' She yelled. 'She doesn't even wear a bra!' I didn't help matters by facing the revelation of this drama with the words 'Who's Peter Fian?' He was a mousey guy in a mousey school. I didn't care. But I cared a lot about being flat chested and not fitting in.

My first bra was acquired for me by my mum. I had hit the grand size of 33 AA, and my mother was taking no risks. Years passed, I grew just like everybody else. Recently, it's fair to say that a combination of beer, pizza and sitting on my arse may have contributed towards giving me that little bit extra. My bras have been cutting into my chest and giving me that bulgy double chested silhouette that announces a trip to M&S. Measured, there is new news; I was 34C cup, growing to 34D cup when I recall Mum looking me up and down saying 'No more here,' gesturing vaguely between my arms, 'All this is on the verge of looking a little ...too much...' Today I am 38D cup.

It was at this point that the assistant offered to bring me choices of bra to try and buy. My god. There was one brand called 'Balloony,' which I found disturbingly frank. Then I squinted and saw the name was actually 'Balcony,' and it wasn't a brand, it was a type of bra, which isn't that much better if you think about it; Here, stack your amples on this booby shelf for passers-by! The sports bras take up your entire upper torso, it's like there is nothing from shoulder to waist which isn't about your bosom. The underwired bras are like strange lacey minefields with barbed wire fences, big high ones. I was overwhelmed by the epic nature of this shopping trip and retreated, taking my daunting knockers home.

I must sort this out before visiting my family in Spain. Last time we met, Aunt and Mum spent evenings staring at my chest with undisguised bewilderment, and that was before my latest growth spurt. It's like I'm the star in Return to Lilliput. Only Tina would call it an improvement.



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