"Are you up for a truth?" Ben asked. He obviously had something specific on his mind that he wanted to ask before we went any farther.
I nodded. I was happy to talk to him about almost anything, and the moments we had shared up to that point made made me feel so close to him -- almost like he was my boyfriend or something.
"How do you really feel about the size of your, uh, breasts?"
I should have known this was coming. But, strangely, I wasn't at all embarrassed to talk to him about them.
"Honestly, if it wasn't for the ridicule from the girls -- and the lack of attention from the boys -- I'd be happy with them. They don't jiggle all that much when I run, their weight doesn't hurt my back, and I can get away without wearing a bra if I want." I sighed involuntarily. "But the positives aren't enough to overshadow the crap I receive."
Though I tried to squeeze my eyes shut in time, I was too late to prevent a single tear from trickling down my cheek.
Before I knew what was happening, Ben kissed away the tear. "Unfortunately, I know the feeling," he said as if he actually did. "I'm glad I don't have a Polish sausage hanging between my legs and bouncing when I run, the laughs I've heard in the gym shower crush me! Thank God they haven't told any of the girls!"
I leaned over and kissed his cheek -- the first time I had ever kissed a guy -- and he turned his head. Our lips met, and my whole body tingled. I reached my left hand to embrace him, but I accidentally brushed against his hardening four inches. "Oh, sorry!" I said, blushing and pulling away. The grin on his beautiful face, however, told me he was more than a little okay with it.
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