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Authors: Joyce Maynard
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and afraid if I did she’d know.
Most of the girls were modest about getting naked at that stage. A few even changed in the toilet cubicles, rather than let anyone see them without their underwear on. Or they’d come out of the shower with their towel around their chest, and shimmy into their underpants with the towel still on. Then turn around and hook their bra with their back to you, so the most you’d see was a flash of their nipples as they slipped their breasts into the cups. Not much to see in most cases, this being seventh grade.
My own breasts were so small I didn’t really need a bra, and didn’t want one, but Val said if I didn’t have one on it would look funny, and there might be these two dark dots showing under my shirt if I wore something light-colored.
“I’ll wear an undershirt,” I said, but she said no, that’s not what girls do.
This particular day, I had my bra and panties on already. I had made sure to get out of the shower quick, to be ahead of Jenny, so I’d have more time to position myself. I had this plan to be fiddling with my locker combination at the moment that she dropped the towel, and to drop the lock at the exact same moment, so I’d have an excuse to get down on the floor and then look up, which would be the moment I’d catch a glimpse of her.
Jenny had amazingly large breasts for a seventh grader. The boys had all commented widely on this. She must have been accustomed to having her breasts be a topic of interest at our school, but not in the girls’ locker room, generally.
As it turned out, we were the only ones in our part of the room that day, because all the other girls had stayed in the gymnasium a few extra minutes to get the lowdown on cheerleading tryouts and see a demonstration of the cartwheel and the jumps they’d be asked to execute. The cheering coach herself had shown up, to offer pointers for those who wanted a little one-on-one work, which turned out to be everyone but two.
I had no interest in being a cheerleader, not that they ever would have picked me. Somewhat to my surprise, given her body, neither did Jenny.
Now she was coming over to our spot with her towel on. Now she was wiggling into her panties under the towel, on schedule. Now I was fiddling with the locker, dropping the lock, just as the towel fell on the floor beside me.
I looked up.
Jenny Samuels loomed over me, naked from the waist up, those two enormous breasts of hers sticking out so far I couldn’t even see her face at first. Surprisingly, she was making no effort to put on her brassiere. The two bare pink breasts of Jenny Samuels that I’d longed to catch sight of all that fall were right there—even bigger and fuller than I had imagined.
She was just sitting on the bench that way, with her round pink nipples and her white freckled skin and her pink flower panties with lace around the edges cutting into her full pink thighs, and her breasts were hanging down even more dramatically than they might have if she were upright, because she was bent over now, with her hands over her eyes. She was crying.
I was almost too stunned to speak but I managed. “What’s the matter?” I said. And then, because of my guilt, “What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything,” she said. “It’s all those boys that are always hanging around watching me. A bunch of them were waiting on the bleachers for the cheering tryout. I could tell they were figuring they’d get to see me jumping. That’s the kind of thing they do. I get so sick of it.”
It took me a second to get what she meant.
“These,” she said, touching the gigantic, perfect breasts I had dreamed about touching. And more. “They like to watch them jiggle.”
I put my arm around her. Not the way I’d pictured, when I imagined the two of us in a field someplace together, naked, mud wrestling. Or scrubbing each other in the shower and, afterward, putting our tongues in each other’s mouths, and Jenny bending over me
Most of the girls were modest about getting naked at that stage. A few even changed in the toilet cubicles, rather than let anyone see them without their underwear on. Or they’d come out of the shower with their towel around their chest, and shimmy into their underpants with the towel still on. Then turn around and hook their bra with their back to you, so the most you’d see was a flash of their nipples as they slipped their breasts into the cups. Not much to see in most cases, this being seventh grade.
My own breasts were so small I didn’t really need a bra, and didn’t want one, but Val said if I didn’t have one on it would look funny, and there might be these two dark dots showing under my shirt if I wore something light-colored.
“I’ll wear an undershirt,” I said, but she said no, that’s not what girls do.
This particular day, I had my bra and panties on already. I had made sure to get out of the shower quick, to be ahead of Jenny, so I’d have more time to position myself. I had this plan to be fiddling with my locker combination at the moment that she dropped the towel, and to drop the lock at the exact same moment, so I’d have an excuse to get down on the floor and then look up, which would be the moment I’d catch a glimpse of her.
Jenny had amazingly large breasts for a seventh grader. The boys had all commented widely on this. She must have been accustomed to having her breasts be a topic of interest at our school, but not in the girls’ locker room, generally.
As it turned out, we were the only ones in our part of the room that day, because all the other girls had stayed in the gymnasium a few extra minutes to get the lowdown on cheerleading tryouts and see a demonstration of the cartwheel and the jumps they’d be asked to execute. The cheering coach herself had shown up, to offer pointers for those who wanted a little one-on-one work, which turned out to be everyone but two.
I had no interest in being a cheerleader, not that they ever would have picked me. Somewhat to my surprise, given her body, neither did Jenny.
Now she was coming over to our spot with her towel on. Now she was wiggling into her panties under the towel, on schedule. Now I was fiddling with the locker, dropping the lock, just as the towel fell on the floor beside me.
I looked up.
Jenny Samuels loomed over me, naked from the waist up, those two enormous breasts of hers sticking out so far I couldn’t even see her face at first. Surprisingly, she was making no effort to put on her brassiere. The two bare pink breasts of Jenny Samuels that I’d longed to catch sight of all that fall were right there—even bigger and fuller than I had imagined.
She was just sitting on the bench that way, with her round pink nipples and her white freckled skin and her pink flower panties with lace around the edges cutting into her full pink thighs, and her breasts were hanging down even more dramatically than they might have if she were upright, because she was bent over now, with her hands over her eyes. She was crying.
I was almost too stunned to speak but I managed. “What’s the matter?” I said. And then, because of my guilt, “What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything,” she said. “It’s all those boys that are always hanging around watching me. A bunch of them were waiting on the bleachers for the cheering tryout. I could tell they were figuring they’d get to see me jumping. That’s the kind of thing they do. I get so sick of it.”
It took me a second to get what she meant.
“These,” she said, touching the gigantic, perfect breasts I had dreamed about touching. And more. “They like to watch them jiggle.”
I put my arm around her. Not the way I’d pictured, when I imagined the two of us in a field someplace together, naked, mud wrestling. Or scrubbing each other in the shower and, afterward, putting our tongues in each other’s mouths, and Jenny bending over me
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