I am Busty Teen, writing about my First Time: Part 1

For all those who might link ALL stories on this site/ blog to me, there are stories that 'belong' to friends -- women unfortunate enough to have suffered the ultimate betrayal at the hands of men they trusted most -- these stories have been written in first person NOT because they are my stories but because writing in first person carries more impact. And perhaps gets the message across.

Men like Big Breasts. I didn't learn that from any book or from any forthcoming adults. I figured there had to be a reason why the aunties in movies wore really low tops. Or why the playing cards I found hidden in Papa's old trunk had pictures of aunties without their blouses, tops or even bras. Or why article upon article in Papa's (hidden again) stash of Debonair magazines were about various aunties and their various breast sizes. That was also the time I had forced Mummy to buy me my first sports' bra. All the girls in school wore them and I wanted one too. Mummy was angry that I was getting wrong ideas. Whatever! The other girls' Big Breasts looked nice in sports bras and I wanted mine to look nice as well. Though that was not the only reason...

My Big Breasts were a big problem. First, they made cricket very difficult. They bounced so much when I bowled. So bowling was becoming difficult because my Big Breasts would jiggle so much that they interfered with my proper arm swing and consequently, my line and length suffered. And then of course the bloody sports teacher was making things difficult for me and insisted that I was distracting the boys. Was it my fault that the boys left their cricket practice and came to watch us girls play? The bloody Old Hag said I should either, "do something about my dress" or stop playing. What dress? I was wearing the school uniform!? I even tried telling Old Hag about my New Sports Bra and how it would control the jiggles... but she just wouldn't get the point and said I was being over-smart about "showing off my goods". What goods?!

So I quit crickets and joined badminton since that came under another teacher and not the Old Hag. It was instant love. I loved badminton and was brilliant: I killed them first with my serve and if they got past that, my shots got them. There was Douglas Jardine's bodyline and there were my body shots. And I was fast on my feet. Not quite "fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee",. but I was soon the school's and then the Civilised City's 15-year-old Pigtailed Pro. The Civilised City? That meant us, the Settlers From Rest of India as against the locals of the area.

The best part yet? The boys still didn't practice and Old Hag was so angry. :) I didn't bother much about the boys as I could beat most of them at either studies, or badminton or both. And I had a crush on Head Boy, who was very studious, very non-sporty and a Very Good Boy. So I was not bothered much about the boys. What I didn't know though was that it wasn't just the boys who were watching me play.

The young 'uncles' -- 21-year upwards Men Who Worked With Papa -- were also watching keenly, whenever us kids would practice on the courts near Home. And they didn't call me Pigtailed Pro either. They called me Samantha Fox.

To be continued...