Based on true experiences. Names have been modified to protect privacy.
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I had always been told I was attractive. Even though as a younger teenager, I had been slightly overweight and awkward, I had always been told I had a pretty face. At the time this story takes place, I was a college student in Boston, beginning my junior year. Through running and a healthy diet, I had overcome the adolescent woes surrounding my figure. I was about 20, and in my prime. With tanned skin, an ethnically ambiguous face, long naturally wavy dark hair, and petite toned yet curvy 5'4 frame, I was particularly attractive to a certain subset of over older men who had an appetite for young exotic-looking women who fulfilled their dominant tendencies and desire for conquest. I was dating an older guy, James, a sophisticated professional in his thirties, suave, my first lover, and an incorrigible flirt. Though I was conscious of my appeal, I still hadn't yet completely gotten over my insecurities about my body, and so I let it slide if I caught him looking too long at another girl or joking about threesomes, because I imagined that my body alone could never really satisfy a man.
Around this time, I moved in with a friend, Kylie. She was my age, a quiet, studious girl I had met in one of my English classes. Though most of the time, her body wasn't clearly discernible in outdated jeans and baggy t-shirts, Kylie had a fantastic figure, something I had always had an eye for. Like I said, I wasn't particularly secure in my own body and had become a master of comparison. I knew instantly how to evaluate my own attractiveness in comparison to my friends and particular how I measured up, literally, to their figures. Kylie had one of the best figures of my group of friends, particularly that Fall when we returned to school - she'd lost a bit of weight, and now living together, I saw her in shorts and tank tops, so it was obvious what it was shaped like.
She was about my height, 5'4, slim and toned from active swimming, with curly red hair down to her chin, and blue eyes in a cute face. She wasn't particularly pretty, but her body more than made up for it. I remember seeing her on my first day back when we were moving into the apartment, dressed in short khaki shorts and a grey tank top. You see, Kylie was extremely busty. I wasn't small myself, a 34D cup, which I had thought was more than enough, but I couldn't get over the sheer volume of her breasts. They were the kind that were way bigger than anything I had even imagined, the type of boobs you saw on porn stars. There was no doubt, however, that they were natural; she was young, so they were still firm, but the teardrop shape and soft under curve as they hung slightly suggested that they were completely natural. They stretched out her tank top almost indecently, and bounced heavily in her bra when she made the slightest movement. I remember noticing how heavy they looked atop her flat stomach and thin waist, and how unexpected on a girl with rather slim thighs. She'd lost weight, so they looked obscene stretching out slightly beyond her slender upper arms, jutting out below her narrow innocent face. It was obviously she was a few cups bigger than a DD, though I wouldn't learn until later that semester than she was a 32H cup.
I should mention here that I have always been fascinated by other busty girls. I first realized that breasts can get really big, even on otherwise thin bodies, around the time I was 15 and my older cousin was changing in front of me for a party. I remember being absolutely transfixed by the weight of her huge boobs on her tiny body. It seemed surreal, yet intensely arousing. This is also a good time to mention that although I consider myself straight and have only wanted relationships with men, from this time onwards, women's breasts and pornography highlighting voluminous busts have been the quickest and most satisfying way to arouse me. It may be a fetish of sorts, but I find very topheavy women incredibly hot and I have to control my gaze so that it's not excessively obvious that I am staring at them.
But back to Kylie. I remember feeling both awed by her incredible tits and intensely jealous. While I had a very attractive body at the time, smooth, tanned, and toned from an active lifestyle, with nice proportional curves, I had always aspired to the "slim and stacked" model that was simply not attainable. I remembered thinking that I would insist on meeting James at his place or going out, and not inviting him back because I did not want him to see Kylie. It sounds incredibly petty, but I was young, James was my first lover, and I knew that he had a ravenous sexual appetite. I also sensed that Kylie, who was, incredibly, still a virgin, despite her shyness, craved attention and was quite competitive with me.
We were both honors students, competed for grades, and developed a fashion rivalry that semester. I had always been into fashion, taking care of my appearance and wearing little dresses and skirts to class, and I noticed her envious gaze sometimes when I stepped out of my room. That semester, our very first living together, she shed the jeans and t-shirts for tight tops and miniskirts, low-cut dresses, and even halter tops for some parties. She usually denied being competitive with other women, but one night when we had been drinking together, she admitted to feeling jealous of some of her closest friends, including me, and wanting to outshine them in academics, looks, and relationships. I never forgot her confession, and for that reason, when she mentioned wanting to meet my boyfriend, I changed the topic or gave a vague answer.
