Sixteen the Hard Way-20.1- In Her Room (Patreon)

I made it to my room and sort of threw myself at the bed, pretty much like I’d been doing for fifteen years. Big mistake. My bra gave up holding things in on the first bounce and my new accessories assaulted me. I almost turned into a joke punchline with two black eyes before I got my hands up and wrangled—things.

“Damnit,” I whispered. My wrangling wasn’t that good, the heifers were loose under my shirt, and my bra was sitting on top of them, more or less around my neck. I wondered if I had broken the damn thing. It took me a minute or two to sort things out. The front closure of the bra had basically come undone. I struggled a bit to re-close the row of hook-type fasteners. Boy’s clothes had no such finagling required.

But things did not seem to be quite what they had been. For a moment I worried that I had had another growth spurt, but no, I had just forgotten to allow my pillows to fill the corners of their cages under my armpits.

I sighed when I was finally able to lie back and take the silent breather I had been trying for. But I made the mistake of sniffing and caught a whiff of something. I smelled of my hands, they had the odor of sweat on them. A quick feel inside my bra and yeah, I was a bit damp there, and yeah, it did smell like sweat.

Did massive titties like mine sweat normally? I mean, just like any time they felt like it? No wonder girls got all intense about bathing and using deodorant, if that were so. Better if it were true and not some fresh evidence of whatever it was that was wrong with me.

I tried to wipe the smell off on my coverlet, not an ideal solution. I surely needed a bath before I could do the fashum show Linda and Dad were expecting. All the tromping around the mall in the September humidity near the beach, even inside with A/C, maybe the excess sweating was just—normal.

I felt my lip tremble, and then tears were leaking out of my eyes and rolling toward my ears. “No fair,” I whispered.