Budding adolescence in the middle kingdom.
I was about twelve or thirteen; she was more. We were in the same class in Middle School but she was older, about a year older I think. Her grades had not been good enough so she had slipped back. She would see-saw between her old and new classmates, or more exactly, between her old classmates and me.
I was big for my age, so perhaps she felt more comfortable with me than the rest of my classmates. I was not big here, just tall. She was big like that though, and it made her look different. Not just different, special.
Her home was on the way to mine so at lunch we would often walk together, as far as her place. After lunch I'd call in for her and we would chat a lot as we walked back to school. I can't remember what we talked about, mainly the other kids I guess, and the last film we had seen. We became good friends, very good friends. Our parents all worked, so after school I'd often stop in at her place to chat and read. We thought alike, shared the same girlie interests, but we looked so different.
It was winter in northern China and the heat was on so we would strip off our coats as soon as we got inside. That is when the difference became really apparent. She was my height but already she had the body of a woman while I was still a skinny monkey.
I was fascinated; little bit jealous, but mainly curious. Her body was lovely to look at and I adored curling up against her to share a magazine. When my hands would accidentally touch her breasts I felt a wonderful feminine softness. Sometimes, I'd pretend to brush lint from her woolen pull-over, ever so lightly, just to enjoy the sensation of my hand moving over those curves. She showed me her first bra, to be kept for special occasions, and paraded around the room with it on over her pull-over. Then I took a turn and we almost giggled ourselves to death when she poked the cups in against my chest like a pair of volcanoes.
My fascination became an obsession. God, I so wanted to touch her breasts but I was hesitant to ask her directly. However, I did little to hide my interest and perhaps my curiosity was as apparent to her as her pride in her maturity was to me.
I can't remember if I asked her or whether she offered. Maybe it was a bit of each. But, I can vividly recall the intense feeling of expectation as she raised her pull-over and tugged the knitted blouse from under her waist-band and then the sublime sensation as my cool trembling fingers moved tentatively in under her blouse. I don't think I actually touched her breasts that first time, because a sound outside the door brought my exploration to a premature halt, but I sensed the pleasure had been mutual and knew we would do it again.
The next day we hurried home from school and guiltily raced up the stairs. Then we were inside and she was tugging out her blouse and my chilled hands were suddenly against her warm tummy bringing a gasp from us both. I trembled with expectation, yearning to touch her breasts but at the same time, apprehensive. My inquisitive left hand moved cautiously upward until the curve between my thumb and fore-finger met resistance. My quivering right hand followed, found the same resistance, and I marvelled at the perfect symmetry. Her heart pounded against my right hand, echoing my own. From exertion or excitement, I knew not. Wordlessly I looked up, seeking approval. She smiled gently and closed her eyes with a sigh, sanctioning my actions.
My long fingers fanned out over the smooth surface of those perfect globes and my palms were nuzzled by two erect nipples, like the warm noses of a pair of hungry puppies. Thrilled by their unexpected firmness, I squeesed her nipples between my thumb and fore-finger bringing a gasp of pleasant surprise from my compliant friend. She eased down onto the bed, perhaps as weak in the knees as I was, and I followed her down, tremulous but never relinquishing my grip.
We lay together, my head on her tummy, my hands tenderly exploring her breasts. Their size, their shape, their softness, their firmness, their smoothness, even the little bumps in a ring around the nipples. I had no desire to see them, touching was enough - almost too much. I could barely cope with the overwhelming tactile sensations which flooded from my hands to the very core of my being.
The nipples fascinated me. Much larger than mine and really hard, like mine get sometimes when I'm really cold. I rolled them softly between my fingers, occasionally giving them a little squeeze. Little sighs of pleasure encouraged me to continue and when I began to squeeze rhythmically the sighs became gasps. Her hands covered mine, pressing, encouraging. I squeezed harder and, although a little afraid I would hurt, still harder and the gasps became little moans. Suddenly she rolled towards me, a leg over mine, clutched me to her, shuddered strangely and lay still.
'Are you OK?'
'Mmmm' she affirmed.
I couldn't move and didn't want to but after a while the pins-and-needles were too much. I gently eased her away.
'Sorry, but its hurting', I explained.
She smiled, understanding. 'I love you touching me. You are so gentle. Boys are rough.'
'Have you?' I asked, with a covetous glance, quite surprised by this apparent admission of illicit behaviour.
'Goodness no, I just mean they would be rough, you know, if you let them I mean.'
'Oh. Yes, I know what you mean. They are rough' I confirmed knowingly, but knew she had let them touch her too, and felt jealous.