Breasts, Part 2: First Times!

I’ve written about my first slow dance with a girl, and about my 3 first kisses, so as a follow up to my post about breasts I thought it might be fun to write about my first experiences with actual breasts attached to girls that I knew, as opposed to the breasts attached to the impossible women found in the stash of Playboy magazines I found under the house after my Dad moved out when I was just hitting puberty.

The first experience was when I was 15.  My sister was having a birthday sleepover and the house had filled up with a bunch of 13 girls who were of that maddening age where they were still goofy little kids but at the same time puberty had given them women’s bodies.  Their giggles and shrieks and chatter eventually ran me out of the house and I tracked down my next door neighbor to throw the football around.

Once the sun went down, we hung out on the front porch, me sitting down and him standing in front of my, tossing the football up and catching it.  As we chatted about whatever it is that 15 year old boys chat about I saw his eyes get wide and he dropped the ball, which hit the ground and stayed there, my friend’s attention elsewhere.

“What?” I asked.  He just smiled and pointed to the window next to the front porch that offered a view into the den/basement area.

I got up and looked.  It was dark outside but well lit in the den, so we had the perfect stealth view through the window.  The girls had blankets and pillows and sleeping bags laid out all over the floor, and they were playing some sort of bubble-gum pop music that had prompted Mom to close the door to the den and leave the girls to their own devices.  Several girls were dancing around, but two of my sister’s friends were actually singing along to the song, arm in arm… and totally nude from the waist up.

I felt conflicted watching that scene play out.  For one thing, we were spying on these girls and they obviously weren’t even thinking about the possibility of boys watching them.  For another, one of the girls I had known since were were elementary school kids.  It was a little weird seeing her like this, naked and obviously well on the way to womanhood.  Thankfully my sister wasn’t engaging in the impromptu strip tease or I’d have been scarred for life!

But my 15 year old self couldn’t tear my eyes away, riveted to those strange and curious pieces of female anatomy.  So amazing and ridiculously sexy when attached to someone real, someone I knew, someone just a dozen feet or so from where I stood.  Playboys are obviously nice and all, but this was something much much more!

Flash forward some years… see, I was a nerd and a bashful one at that, so to say I was a late bloomer is an understatement.  Anyway, one night I drove a friend over to the house where a girl he was seeing lived.   Her parents were away for the weekend and her best friend was staying with her, and so they asked if we could come over with some booze to party.  So well stocked with beer we headed on over with high hopes for hooking up.

After a couple hours of drinking games we were all well intoxicated, and my friend and his girl ducked off into her bedroom, door closed for privacy.  Her friend was lovely, but she was very tall, 6 feet or maybe an inch taller, and had been taller than everyone for years so she had that tall girl’s awkwardness to her that made her a little bit bashful.  With just the two of us alone all of a sudden I tried some small talk to make her feel more comfortable.  Even back then, I tend to present myself as a good shoulder to cry on, and she began to open up about her ex-boyfriend and how awful he treated her even though she’d been so in love with him.  As soon as she’d finally slept with him he’d brutally dumped her.  Which I thought was insane– if you had such a beautiful woman willing to sleep with you, why would you stop?

The tear flowed, and I tried my best to focus through the alcohol haze and comfort her.  Eventually she told me she was feeling dizzy and sick to her stomach and excused herself to the bathroom.  Shortly afterwards I could hear her throwing up, the toilet flushed… and then I heard the water running in the bathtub.  Which was curious… she didn’t say anything about a shower or bath.

A few minutes passed and the water cut off… but she didn’t come out of the bathtub.  I started to worry– was she drunk and depressed and about to do harm to herself?  I envisioned razor blades, bleeding out in the warm water…  The hazards of having an overactive imagination.

I walked over to the bathroom door and gently knocked.  “Yes?” she said, her voice thick and choked.  “Are you okay?” I asked.  “Yes… no…” I could hear her crying.  “Can I come in?” I asked, worried.  After a brief pause she said, “yes…”

I opened the door.  She was sitting on the floor wearing nothing but her panties.  Her long legs sprawled on either side of the toilet, and her back was against the wall.  Her clothes were in a heap by the bathtub.  She looked over to me and tried to give a brave smile, her eyes puffy and red.  “I… I puked on my shirt, got a little on my jeans… I thought maybe I’d wash them out in the bathtub… but… but… I can’t…”

She started crying.  I knelt down next to her, feeling a little weird and unsure what to say or do since she was nearly naked and not really concerned about her lack of clothing.  As soon as I was close she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight, her head buried in my chest and sobbing.  Her dark hair smelled of the floral shampoo she’d used, and my hands felt tingly and warm pressed against her back, skin to skin.

Understand that at this point in my life I’d done nothing with a girl outside of making out… and now I had one naked except for a tiny pair of panties pressed against me.  Lust and hormones battle alongside worry and concern inside my drunken brain.  Can I be blamed if the lust and hormones won a battle?

One of my hands slipped around and cupped a breast.  I felt her body stiffen a moment, and then push herself against my hand.  Her arms remained around me in a hug.  The breast was warm, soft and wonderful, and I could feel her nipple harden against my hand.  The excitement of the moment quickly turned the battle into a route… and soon my face moved down to see what my hands were enjoying.  Her hands went up and ran through my hair, and I could hear her sigh, the tears and crying stalled for now.  I kissed the breast, nuzzled against its fullness, ran my tongue along the nipple.  It was amazing, wonderful, and finally– FINALLY!

Not long though and worry and concern began to fight back in my brain.  Was I taking advantage of her?  Of course I was… and I started feeling bad.  Not wanting to be a jerk in the same league as her asshole ex-boyfriend I pulled away and looked her in the eyes.  “I’m sorry,” I stammered.  “That might have been out of line.”

“It’s okay…”

“You’re just so beautiful, um… I couldn’t help myself.”

She smiled and reached out, squeezing my arm.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded and I stood up.  She didn’t try to cover up, she just watched me as I reached over and unplugged the tub to let the water drain away.  “We’ll scrounge you up some clothes,” I said and left the bathroom to knock on the door where my friend and his girl were getting busy.  They were a little grumpy about it, but we got her some clothes and after she cleaned up a bit she came back out into the living room where I was waiting.

We talked for a little bit and she snuggled next to me.  After a while she declared, “I’m STARVING!” so I took her in search of food.  We chowed down and brought some back for our friends, who were done getting busy and were hungry too, and since it was really late by then me and my friend went on home.

If I’d been smart I’d have asked her out on a proper date shortly afterwards, but we more or less settled more into the role of “party friends” and it was hard for me to be assertive with women.  Her friend and mine broke up soon thereafter and I didn’t see her much.

It was interesting though– years later I bumped into her at a restaurant where I was eating lunch with a friend– a different friend, but one who’d actually slept with her at one of our mutual parties.  She came right up to me and hugged me, and asked me what I’d been up to, totally focused on me and pretty much ignored my friend.  While being the “nice guy” hadn’t gotten me laid, it has apparently lodged me into her bank of good memories, whereas the random hookup with my friend didn’t register.  And truly, isn’t it worth a lot to be fondly remembered?