1. The Hardship of a Large Chest


    Date: 5/11/2015, Categories: Fiction, Non-Erotic, School, Teen, Written by women, Young, Author: Lucia Rubidium, Rating: 21.1, Source: sexstories.com

    My choir teacher claps, alerting our attention. “Your dresses have finally arrived. When I call your name, please come take yours and try it on in the storage room.” Yay! Judging by the wall’s framed photos of past choir classes, the dresses are so lovely. I already feel stylish and queenly thinking about mine. “Abigail.” Hooray for having a name early in the alphabet. I step off the risers, snatch the dress handed to me, and leap into the storage room. The jewel-green fabric is so silky. After some awed moments of stroking it, I pull it on over my clothes. Is it supposed to be this loose? I feel like an elephant in this baggy dress. Oh well, I figure. Every thin girl’s dress must feel like this. ~~ These odd thoughts still fill my brain when I’m standing in line for hot lunch, but a voice interrupts them. “Hey, are those boobs real?” A kid smirks, eyes locked on my chest. Is he talking to me? “Um, what?” What a pathetic thought. Of course he’s talking to me. Another kid steps closer. “Yeah, how’d you get your rack so big?” My burning face scrunches up. I want to cry. “Ew! You’re so nasty!” Why would they ask this? They drift away, thank god, leaving me to cry into my hands. I don’t really want today’s beef stew special anymore. “Come over here, Abby.” It’s my friend Kaitlyn! She motions me toward our table. “Thanks so much,” I sniff, taking a seat. “Some guys were acting weird to me in line.” “Aw, that sucks,” she says, followed by echoes of “yeah” from the rest of our ...
    friends. I smile and dry my eyes. They’re so nice. They don’t even care that I’m strange, because they love taking pride in their own strangeness. That makes me feel safe. I’m not alone. But a thought stops me. I am alone. Nobody’s going to walk up to Dylan, who’s sitting across from me, and ask how his face got so zitty. No one wants to know if Meghan got a breast reduction once they see her paper-flat chest. That dreadful asker’s face keeps flashing in my mind. His eyes are so startlingly blue. But how would he react if someone asked whether they’re real or just contacts? Why do I--and only I --need to explain my body? ~~ The lunch bell rings. Time for class again. We flood out of the courtyard like a massive stampede of buffalo. “Hey baby.” “‘Sup, honey?” “Here’s my number, babe.” “Hey, wanna have some fun?” This is the worst part of the day. I try pretending not to hear. It’s not as if they’re expecting a positive response. There’s no way I can slither out of this sea of kids. That’s probably why they’re choosing this moment. Why am I offended? Why do such comments make my stomach feel icky? They’re compliments. I think I’ve figured out why. You see, guys try to figure out how to get a girl to like them. They go for weeks offering to pick up her pencil, always opening the door for her, flashing random smiles during class. But no boy pulls that stuff on me. What makes them think I’m different? What makes them think I’m up for absolutely anyone? Am I carrying a sign blazed ...
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