Chapter 1

I still have vivid memories of my first trip to camp with the Scouts. A cabin full of girls, all within a couple of years in age, I was about nine at the time, dressing and undressing in front of each other. The first nights of camp, most of the girls including me, were a little shy. We would try to change our clothes without being seen by the others, and some even went into the bathroom. By the third night, my modesty gave way to speed and convenience. Instead of huddling in the corner next to my bunk, I just changed.

I noticed that some of the other girls had also loosened up a little and soon I was treated to the sight of naked bodies. I remember checking out each and every girl that would give me the chance. Almost all of the girls looked just about like I did when naked. Some were bigger than me, some smaller, but we all lacked boobs and sported hairless mons.

My first view of adult breasts, other than my mom's and they really don't count, was one of the counselors. She was a senior scout, about sixteen or seventeen I think, and was much more developed than the rest of us. I will never forget seeing her pull her tee shirt over her head and seeing her black bra. Mom wears bras, but at the time I could only recall seeing her in white ones. This one was black and much different than any that my mom had, or at least that I had seen on her.

Anyway, I couldn't keep my eyes from staring at her. I would try to look away, but as if they had a mind of their own, my eyes would dart back at the girl. When she reached behind her back, unfastened the bra, and let it slide down her arms, I gasped! I was sure she could hear me so I quickly turned away, but my eyes were instantly drawn back. She bent over at the waist to pick up her nightgown from her bag, and I could clearly see her boobs hanging from her chest, okay, maybe they weren't hanging, but they looked big to me.

In retrospect, they weren't all that big, but at my age, the sight of a girl's boobs was exciting and I thought they were huge. I remember thinking that I hoped that mine would be that big someday. With her nightgown sitting on her bed next to her, she undid her jeans and pulled them down. You have no idea how surprised I was to see that her panties were black like her bra.

I wish I could remember her name, but I can't. She stood a couple of bunks over from mine dressed only in a pair of black panties, and her socks. From my vantage point I couldn't see her front, but I could tell that the panties were nothing like mine, nor any I had ever seen except in magazines or the Sears catalog. They had thin bands of elastic that connected the front to the back; later I learned they were bikinis.

My first experience quickly came to an end when she put her nightgown over her head and let it fall, the hem stopping at her knees. She adjusted the cotton gown and then climbed into bed.

I turned my back to her, removed my shirt and jeans, put my pajamas on over my white cotton panties and tee shirt, and then I too climbed into bed. I had trouble falling asleep that night as I replayed the sight over and over in my mind. I remember I couldn't help but wonder if she had any hair down there, you know.

That night, while I lay in my bunk, I touched myself for the first time. I guess I didn't really know what I was doing, or what to expect, but the feeling was, well, it was wonderful. My fingers rubbed lightly on my mons, through my cotton panties and my nightshirt, as if someone else was controlling them. I don't think I had an orgasm, or anything like it, but it did feel good.

The rest of camp was uneventful compared to that night. Oh I saw the girls my own age a lot of times, but never the older girl. I tried to catch her again, but I was never successful.

Camp ended and I went home. Back to the everyday, normal, life of a girl my age. Dad went to work each morning and Mom worked around the house. My brother and I fought, like any other siblings, and drove Mom nuts.

For the next two years things went along pretty smoothly. Don't get me wrong; my interest in peeking at other people was still strong, maybe even a little stronger. Up until I was twelve I was mainly interested in other girls. Boys were a scourge and of no interest to me. I spent a lot of time trying to catch Mom in various states of undress, walking into her bedroom without knocking, or complaining that I just had to use her bathroom, because my brother was in ours, when she was in the shower.

On one such occasion, I went into the bathroom and while I was sitting on the pot, noticed a small white string dangling between my mother's legs. When I asked her about it, she wrapped a towel around her, tucked the corner between her ample breasts and proceeded to explain some of the facts of life. I was in a state of shock and disbelief when she was finished, after all, all I wanted was to know about the string.

That summer, I was blessed with my first period. It came on a warm sunny Florida day, while I was swimming at my girlfriend's house. She and I were splashing around in the warm pool when she drew attention to the pink water that was around my bottom. I had been feeling poorly that day, stomach-cramps and all, but I had no idea why... now I knew!

I climbed out of the pool, wrapped a towel around my waist, and ran home crying. When I got into the house and found Mom, she hugged me and said something about being a woman now. After she calmed me down and convinced me everything was normal. She led me into the bathroom, told me to shower, and said she would be right back.

When I got out of the shower, Mom was waiting for me. In one hand she held a pair of clean white cotton panties, in the other, something I had never seen before. Mom helped me dry off and showed me how to stick the thick pad in the gusset of my panties and adjust it. She told me about checking the pad, changing the pad, and the odor that I may experience.

For the next four days, I seldom left my bedroom and never left the house. The first two days of my first period, I checked the pad every hour or so, and changed it every other time. Mom asked me how I could have used an entire box of the pads in only two days and when I told her, she couldn't control her laughter. I asked her about tampons, the things with the strings, but she told me that I couldn't use them until I was older.

Needless to say, I made it through my "time of the month" unharmed and finally had enough nerve to return to Cindy's house. When I told her about what happened, she laughed and told me she had gotten hers a few months ago. We went swimming again that afternoon, but now I was a woman. I really didn't feel much different than I did before, but somehow things would never be the same.

My twelfth year was full of surprises. Not only did I have my first period, but my body began to transform from the chubby little girl I was, into something I wasn't sure I was ready for. My waist began to become a bit more slender and my hips were no longer parallel with my sides. The baby fat, as Mom called it, began to melt away and my body started to take shape, the shape of a girl. Because of my height, I though I looked gangly.

The thing that made me the most self-conscious was my breasts. It was like one day I was flat as a board and the next day I woke up with these growths on my chest. I can remember standing in my bedroom, the door tightly locked, and staring at my reflection in the mirror. I bounced on the balls of my feet and watched how my boobs giggled, or at least I thought they did.

The other startling discovery I made that year came when I touched my boobs. I was standing in front of the mirror, something that was becoming a habit, and covered them with my hands. I gently squeezed them, feeling their spongy texture, and then it happened. I rubbed the tiny nipples that topped my cone-shaped boobs and it felt like someone gave me a shock. Only the sparks weren't only in my breasts, there was a strange tingle was between my legs too! I immediately pulled my hands away and got dressed, fearing that there was something dreadfully wrong with me. From that point on, at least for a little while, I avoided any and all contact with the small pink bumps. My crotch was another story, I was still rubbing myself down there, and trying to relive the sensation I felt at camp.

Up until this point, things were okay for me. Then it happened! Now I don't know if all pre-teen girls are subjected to the embarrassment and humiliation I was that night, but what happened to me was burnt into my brain for a long time to come. We were at the dinner table eating just like we did every night. Mom had prepared meatloaf, potatoes, and corn. School was only a few weeks away and Mom was making a big deal of the fact that my brother and I would be starting middle school that year. Because of when our birthdays fell, my brother and I were is the same grade, despite our difference in age. My dad and brother listened to my mother talking about the classes. Neither of them stopped eating as Mom went on and on, but then it happened.

My brother Eddie is eleven months older than I am. He, like all brothers, was a pain and constantly teased me about one thing or another. My parents had Eddie when Mom was seventeen and Dad was nineteen. I loved the month of October, because for thirty days I was the same age as my brother.

"Harry," Mom said to my father. "I think Jennifer is going to need a bra this year."

I wanted to crawl under the table! How could she say such a thing with my dad and brother sitting at the table? Why couldn't she just have gone out, bought me one and given it to me in private?

My eyes filled with tears and I covered my beet-red face with my hands. I was so shocked that I couldn't have talked even if I had wanted to, but there was nothing to say. My mother had just embarrassed me beyond compare, or so I thought at the time.

My brother Eddie choked on his food and almost spit what was in his mouth across the table.

"What does Jen need a bra for?" Eddie said laughing. "She ain't got no tits."

My head snapped up and I was about to scream at my brother when my mother had the audacity to correct his English.

"She doesn't have any tits," she said.

When my death stare shifted from my brother to Mom, she realized what she had said and tried to make things better.

"Oh honey," Mom said, her face flush, "I didn't mean you don't have any breasts, I was only trying to correct your brother's English. Your breasts are just fine."

My dad was doing everything he could to keep from laughing. He covered his mouth with his napkin, I'm sure to hide his smile, and looked away.

Crying, I pushed my chair away from the table, jumped up, and yelled, "Stop talking about my tits! Just leave me alone!"

I ran from the kitchen, went to my room, and locked my door. I threw myself onto my bed and cried out loud. When I heard a knock at my door, I yelled at who ever it was to go away. Mom tried to get me to open my door, but I didn't. For the rest of the night I remained in my bedroom, feeling sorry for myself.

Bright and early the next morning Mom was back at my door, knocking and calling my name.

"Please open the door, Jenny," she said, in that voice only a mother can have.

Knowing I couldn't avoid her forever, I got up from my bed, unlocked the door, and let her in. I was still dressed in the shorts and the sleeveless shirt I was wearing the night before, having cried myself to sleep. When I sat on the edge of my bed, Mom sat next to me, put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.

"Are you okay now, Jenny?" She asked.

Tears began to fill my eyes again and I nodded. "How could you do that to me? Why did you have to talk about my underwear in front of Dad and Eddie? Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me?"

"I know, sweetie, I'm so sorry. I guess I wasn't thinking about what I was saying."

Mom stroked my long, dark-blonde hair, dragging her fingers through it. The ponytail I normally kept my hair in was gone, the scrunchy lost somewhere in my bed.

"You know," she said, "getting boobs is just part of growing up. All girls get them at some point; you're just developing a little faster than other girls your age. It seemed to have happened so fast for you I didn't really realize it. If I had, I would have done something sooner."

We sat on my bed talking for over an hour. She told me about when she got her first bra and how embarrassed she was when my grandmother took her to the store. I was getting over my melancholy mood when she told me a story that turned my tears to those of laughter rather than sadness.

She told me about having to buy a jock strap and cup for my older brother last year so he could play soccer. Not only did she tell me about the trip to the sporting goods store, she told me what the thing was for. Then she gave me another one of those talks, you know, kind of the birds and bees type of talk. She tried to explain the male anatomy and even talked about its function. To tell the truth, it was much more information than I really wanted, at the time anyway.

After our talk, Mom told me to get cleaned up, put on some nice clothes and we would go shopping. I showered, dressed in a skirt and blouse and went out to the kitchen. After eating a bowl of cereal and drinking a glass of juice, we were off to the mall.

Mom took me to one of the nicer stores at the mall, not the discount stores we usually shopped at. My parents weren't cheap by any stretch; Dad had a great job as a yacht designer and made a real good living. My parents were just thrifty. They couldn't see spending a lot of money on clothing that my brother and I were just going to outgrow.

After the day of shopping at the stores we went in, I knew that I would never be satisfied with Kmart again. Mom led me to the lingerie department and we searched the racks for my new underwear. When I found a training bra and showed it to her, she shook her head no.

"What's wrong with this?" I asked holding the garment. "Cindy wears one just like it."

Mom took it from me, looked it over and returned it to the rack. The training bra was nothing more than a two and a half inch strip of bright white material with shoulder straps. She pulled me by the arm over to a rack of real bras and began to sort through them.

I also began to look at the bras, noting that they had formed cups, adjustable shoulder straps and hooks. Some of the hooks were in the back, others between the cups. I continued to look over the selection until Mom, her hand holding several bras, told me to follow her.

We went into a dressing area and Mom pointed to a booth. Handing me one of the bras, she told me to go put it on and come back out so she could see it. I glanced around the dressing room, noticing that it was nothing like the ones at the discount stores. It had a row of booths, each with a curtain and chairs in the common area. At one end, a series of mirrors was provided so you could see yourself from every angle.

Chapter 2 »