Betho71 @Betho71
The first time I ever remember touching my breasts was when I was a little girl. My grandmother would often touch my chest and say it was soft like a baby's skin. She'd also talk to me about how they were a gift from God and that I should be proud of them.
I used to love wearing dresses and skirts in school because they showed off my body. My teacher, Mrs. Rodriguez, would always scold me for not wearing clothes that covered myself up. But I loved feeling the wind on my skin and showing everyone how beautiful I was.
When I got older, I started to realize just how big my breasts were compared to other girls my age. Boys at school would stare at them whenever they could get away with it, but I never really paid much attention to their ogling. My body was mine alone, and I knew I was beautiful no matter what others thought.
