James was my soul mate from birth. We were born in the same hospital, minutes apart, and shared the same newborn quarters, side-by-side. That at least is what my mother has told me. The romantic in me thinks that in those first few days together, we bonded in some mysterious, unknown way. Our parents were best friends, so it was natural that as we grew, we would share time together. My mother to this day tells me that I was a fussy, demanding baby but when I was in James' company, I was different. In some way I found contentment in his company, as he did in mine. The two of us had bonded at birth. And we grew together, joined in some way, with no thought as to our differentiated sex. And he became my best friend as I became his. Our parents told us that when separated, we were both fussy, but when together, we would relax completely, apparently only at peace when with one another.
And isn't that that the most wonderful beginning to one's life -- to have found one's soul mate from Day One? And we were never so happy as children as when we were in each other's company. We would play together, laugh together, and just be totally content being together. I know for a fact that my parents were perplexed and frustrated, as were James's parents, by this unbidden connection. Still, I can't remember a single moment when he was not in my life and when I was not bonded to him. In the end, both of our parents just caved to the simple fact that James and I had bonded, and that they separated us at their own peril. I remember in our early school years, that the other boys and girls would tease us unmercifully -- calling us names and telling us how we were boyfriend and girlfriend. They were so cruel. If not for James, I don't think I could have withstood it all. And other boys teased me. They did so, I learned in time, because I was pretty -- not that I could appreciate that. I didn't care that they liked me. I only wanted my James.
Even as school-aged kids, we talked and shared with an intimacy our elders might have envied. He knew that I was popular, as he was not. But that didn't matter to me, as I was only dimly aware of my attractiveness. James was, well, James. He was everything to me and I had enough social coin to protect him, and to shield him from those who sought to come between us. I didn't care that he was socially awkward or shy. He was mine. James had always been mine. I was fiercely protective of him and of my relationship with him, even as a school-aged girl. And even then, I was aware of my personal strength. I have often thought that we are formed early. James was made a sweet, sensitive man from birth. I was otherwise. And yet, we were totally bonded. I could not imagine life without him, nor could he without me. Even as school children, I knew that he relied on my strength as I relied on his sensitivity.
And of course we grew and developed over the years, yet whatever changes took place in our bodies, our love for one another remained constant. I told James of the changes in my body; my first period and the swelling of my breasts. He teased me about them as they ripened early and fully. I was terribly self-conscious of my oversized endowment. And I was even more uncomfortable with my first period. My mother and I had talked about these changes, but only James seemed to care about me and what was happening to my body. I wanted it all to go away. He might have teased me a bit but I knew that he cared. I told him in detail about the changes in my body -- the filling of my breasts and the hair growing around my secret place. I asked him about what he was experiencing. He told me about the hair around his sex and how his voice was. I was unsettled but very glad that he was my best friend as we shared the intimate details of the transformation of our bodies.
And we continued to do so through those difficult, transforming years. I mean, we held back nothing. What would life have been like if I could not talk to my best friend? I ignored all of the other men who came on to me. They disgusted me, frankly. I was not stupid. I knew what they wanted. They wanted to penetrate me. Ugh! I had seen a few pictures of penises and I didn't want one inside of me. I had once asked James to show me his penis, but he blushed and said no, so I just never asked again. I did enjoy it when he kissed me sometimes. It felt good, though somehow lacking.
Sometimes, in my quiet moments, I thought about being with a man. You know, I mean, about letting a man have me. And I touched myself. And it did feel good. I thought about my field hockey coach being with me. I felt disgusted when I did, lying in my bed and touching my private parts. How could I feel that way about a middle-aged man who had been nothing but nice to me? And how could I feel that way about another man when I loved James? I was so unsettled! But Mr. Leighton was so charming and attractive, and had gone out of his way to talk to me after each game. I couldn't help but think about him and what it would feel like for him to be between my legs.
I came to my senses quickly enough each time I went to this dark place. I needed release from this torment. And so I sought out my best friend, James. I told him of my distress and of my desires. Forget the niceties, I needed him in the way a man and a woman want each other. I called him, seeking what I had always sought in him -- a comforting, reliable presence. Buy, oh god, I wanted more from him. James had always been there for me, so I had no doubt he would be there for me now. But it was not to be. James was shy in that way, though sweet and caring about me on a deeper level, so I was content with occasional kisses and holding each other when we had the chance. I was never so content as when I was with him and I knew he felt the same way. We would spend all of our free time together, just hanging out and talking.
I remember that he asked me out to our high school prom and feeling giddy with delight at the thought of an evening with him. I loved him so much and wanted to make the night special. I wanted to look beautiful for James and, I suppose, I wanted to show the other boys in school that I was not some weird, different girl for being so devoted to him. He was sweet and the other boys made life so difficult for him. I hated them. I was very protective of James and didn't care a whit that I was popular and he was not. More than once I had snapped at a boy for being mean to him. I knew in some way that I had the social and personal power to get away with almost anything. Over time, everyone of any social significance in my school learned to respect my love for him. And I learned that my intelligence and physical beauty gave me social power. And while I enjoyed that, I always used my social cache as I could to shield and protect James from anyone who sought to do him harm.
I honestly didn't have a single date in high school. It wasn't that boys didn't like me. They did. I mean, I had realized over time that I was pretty. Well, I knew I was more than pretty. My body had filled out more than I could have ever expected. Though I never was entirely comfortable with the changes in my body, I was in a quiet, personal way pleased with the transformation. I thought at one point that my breasts would never stop growing and more than once I stood in the mirror, looking at myself, and thought I looked like a fat cow! Even James would tease me about my swelling endowment and once I just cried, wishing I would stop growing as a woman. He was so sweet when I did so, holding me and comforting me in my distress. And, in time, my breasts did stop growing, thankfully. That didn't stop the boys at school from staring at them though. I had enough going for me socially to handle their stares and occasional taunts. And, as ever, I kept my precious James close to me, not caring a bit that others found my love for him to be strange. I don't know if he would have survived high school without my support. He was so delicate. And our love was deep and genuine. I think some of the people who made life difficult for us were envious of our love and connection for one another.
The night of the prom, I felt incredibly special and lovely. My mother and I had worked so long to make sure that I felt lovely and confident. I no longer felt self conscious about the fullness of my body. My breasts strained against the tightness of the dress I had chosen. There was no way to hide my shape and frankly, I didn't want to any more. James was so gallant at the prom and he was quite handsome in his tux. I was proud to be his partner! We danced and danced and all eyes were on us. James was protective of me and for that I was glad. I was only too aware of the eyes of the other boys on me and though I was secretly glad to feel their attraction, I was repulsed that they whispered about me. I knew what they wanted and determined never, ever to yield to their lust -- or that of any man. I only wanted my James.
High school gave way to college. The passage of time is inexorable. James got a full-ride to MIT and I was very proud that he did so, especially as his parents were in no position to provide the education that he merited. I was so slouch myself and was admitted to Washington and Lee with substantial scholarship money as well. I had applied to Harvard, hoping I suppose to be geographically closer to James over the next four years, but I had set the bar too high. The separation of those years was difficult for us but we managed. We had summer and our holidays together and somehow found the funds to be together over a few long weekends. I remember well the first time we slept in the same bed. James had a small apartment his junior and senior year. I had flown in for a three-day weekend. We had such a good time on our first day together, just walking around Cambridge, having coffee, and holding hands. We talked non-stop as we always did. I was keyed up though a bit anxious about spending the night at his place. I had made up my mind to allow James to have sex with me if he wanted to. That thought was never out of my mind all day Saturday.
We hung out at his place Saturday evening, just snacking and watching TV. We snuggled a bit in his oversize chair and the warmth of his body felt nice. I decided to shower, as I wanted to freshen up. James must have wondered what I was doing as I took my time primping. I toweled down and as I did so I glanced sideways at my naked body in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. I had always been shy about my body but now I wanted to see what I was about to offer to James. I was fascinated as I truly looked at my body for the first time in my life, assessing what I saw in an almost detached manner. My breasts were quite pronounced. It's no wonder boys had always noticed them. They were hard not to notice but they were high and firm and glistening with beads of water. I for once thought them attractive. My nipples were a dark brown and just the right size. I lightly touched them. They were always erect and I had to always be careful with my choice of a bra, lest my 'headlights' show through.
