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It's not what you think, or maybe it is. My name is Sheila Muller and I was a late bloomer. How late? My mother wouldn't let me date in high school.

I'd tell you she was mean, but you can decide for yourself. "Look in the mirror, Sheila, you don't even need a bra. No boy's going to be interested. You don't have anything they're interested in."

She meant boobs. I didn't have any; none. My older, married sister, Grace, had them: big ones, really big ones.

I didn't have hair anywhere except on my head either. Grace didn't have any between her legs, but that was different. She confided in me that she shaved in all off because "Sam adores it like that."

I wasn't naïve. I knew what she meant. I couldn't imagine a boy wanting to put his tongue in there. Apparently, her husband, Sam did. Grace always had a smile on her face.

It finally happened between senior year in high school and freshman year of college. My boobs grew and then they grew some more and then even more. I took Grace's advice and shaved down there. "Sheila, keep it smooth, you never know when you'll get lucky," Grace advised.

Freshman year in college I had dates, but usually there was no second date. I'd let a boy feel me up, but that was all. One of the girls in the dorm brought in a bunch of her brother's adult magazines called Titties. We all looked through them. I don't mean to brag, but mine were nicer.

I wasn't the only one to say that. "Sheila's are bigger and more beautiful than any of these models." Other girls agree. "Yeah, Sheila, you should be a titty model."

No, I didn't want to be a titty model. How embarrassing. It was bad enough that after the required gym class we had to take a shower. The shower room was communal. There was no privacy. None. Not only that but I was the only girl, at least in my class, who had a bare pussy.

When my breasts stopped growing, I was the somewhat reluctant owner of very firm 38DDs, which I thought looked ridiculous. I'm 5'2" tall.

I only let boys feel me up and nothing else because I wasn't ready. Like with my slow physical development; mentally I wasn't ready for sex. I wasn't saving myself for marriage or anything like that.

My roommate, Paula, on the other hand, had a date every weekend. Sometimes, she spent the night somewhere. Sometimes, "Sheila, this is Rob, do you think you could go to the library or some place for an hour or two? Rob and I need some privacy." Other times, I'd wake up in the middle of the night and Paula and Rob or whomever were going at it in her bed across the room. It wasn't that she was noisy; it was that the room was so small. Okay, she was noisy AND the room was so small.

Sophomore year it was more of the same; rarely a second date. My roommate that year was Terri. She dated all the time, including in the middle of the week. One day in early October, we were chatting. "Sheila, have you ever thought about thanking a guy for a nice evening?"

"What do you mean?" I wasn't going to tell her that just last weekend, I'd let my date take off my bra. He was in awe of my titties and told me so. I liked that.

Terri wasn't as circumspect about her love life. "Sheila, when a guy takes me on a date; a movie, pizza and a movie, whatever. If I had a nice time, he gets a thank you blowjob."

My mouth could not have been open any wider. I could have fit what Terri was talking about in mouth easily. "Why do you think my social calendar is always full? Not just that, but Professor Lisler gave me an A in Economics last semester, he got a thank you blowjob. For an old guy, he's got a lot in his pants."

I was stunned. I wasn't going to do that. I'd never done that. Never

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