Jessie frowned at his friend. “You still were? I thought all men knew better these days.”
I snorted out a laugh. If only that were true. “That’s just a small example. Men see my chest—even if it’s hidden under many layers—and think that it’s something that affects them. That they have a right to see or comment on. It’s been happening my whole life. Or, well, since I was about ten.”
“Ten?” Brock echoed above my head. “That early?”
“I developed early. Suddenly, clothes for kids my age didn’t fit me. No clothes did. So I’d wear the same thing my friends did—sometimes literally. Like we all had to wear the same shirts and shorts for gym class. On them, they were just normal clothes. But on me, because even the biggest shirts were too tight across my chest, the clothes were deemed slutty. Can you imagine that? A girl who didn’t even know the first damn thing about sex being called slutty?”
“Someone called you that when you were ten?” Brock demanded. The muscles on his legs tensed, and I patted his calf.
“That—and worse.” Mentally, I cringed, remembering how bad it had gotten at times. “Again and again, what my friends wore was considered normal childhood clothes. But when I wore the same kinds of things, I was being slutty and inappropriate.”
“That’s awful,” Jessie said.
“It was. Sex wasn’t even on my radar, but people around me seemed determined to put it there.”
“Men did, you mean,” Kincade said.
“Not always. Once my teacher made me put on a sweater because the room was cold and my nipples were showing through my shirt and my bra. Most other girls in my class didn’t even have training bras yet, and the teacher ignored them. It felt like she was punishing me for having breasts. But yeah, most comments came from males. It got really bad when I entered high school.”
“But hadn’t the other girls, you know, developed by then?” Jessie blushed when he said it.
“Yeah, but by that time, I was this size.” I glanced down at my breasts as they bobbed in the water to show what I meant. “None of the other girls were.”
Brock stood up suddenly, startling me. He was still straddling me, but then he lifted his leg over me and sat down next to me. His arm went around my shoulders.
The other guys had stopped rubbing my feet, so I tucked them to the side as I leaned against Brock, taking comfort in his strong, warm body.
I took a deep breath. “I was different, so therefore an easy target. And some of the other kids—boys especially—decided that since I had big breasts, I must be promiscuous. They called me a slut. And commented endlessly on my figure—both positively and negatively. Either way, it was unwanted as hell. It made me self-conscious and miserable. A lot of kids were insecure about their experience level. You know how it was—kids worried that others had gotten to second or third base and that they hadn’t and were being left behind. I was no different, except it seemed worse. Not only did I not have any experience the way some other girls did, but I was also regularly accused of having too much experience. Ironic—a virgin being accused of being a slut. It wasn’t a fun time.”
“It doesn’t sound like it,” Jessie said. “I’m sorry you went through it.”
“She’s still going through it,” Brock said. “Haven’t you been listening?”
I put my hand on Brock’s thigh. “It’s not his fault. It’s hard to grasp when it’s not what you’ve experienced. But it is true that it still goes on. My breasts are part of me, and they should be no one else’s business, yet everyone thinks they are. As if my breasts are their concern.” I took a deep breath. “But at least I’m an adult now. I can handle it better than when I was in high school. That was awful.” I shuddered, thinking of it.
“Wasn’t there anyone who could help you deal with it?” Kincade asked.
“No. My parents never even talked to us about sex. They wouldn’t have understood.”
“What about your sister?” Brock asked.
That made me hesitate. “She—well, you remember how it was in high school. No one had a real easy time of it.”
“So she didn’t support you?” Brock asked.
“No.” My voice was quiet, and I felt disloyal for even saying it. But truthfully, she hadn’t. “The prevailing opinion was that I was a slut and that I was doing it for attention. Doing what, I never quite ascertained what exactly I did wrong—but the fact that no clothes fit me right didn’t help.”
“She should have helped you,” Kincade said quietly.
“Please don’t judge her. If she had stood up for me, she would’ve quickly become a target, too. That’s how it was back then. And please don’t tell her that I told you any of this.”