When I was little, I wanted to have boobs up to the sky. My mom and older sisters were big breasted women and all I had was mosquito bites. At age 11-12, some of my friends started developing. They were getting teased pretty badly by the boys. I decided that my mosquito bites were okay. They were getting all sorts of unwanted attention from the unruly boys.

At age 13, my own boobs started growing. I wanted them to stop. My brother would say nice doorknobs. I was mortified. I hid them under 2 layers of tank tops under my blouse. The doorknobs turned into oranges and I still hunched my shoulders forward and hid my breasts under layering. Junior High gym class was the worst. We had to change in front of other girls. I did not want anyone to see my boobies. I changed in the dressing room and got teased for that. My oranges were turning into grapefruit. My mom did not say a word. It would have been nice if she directed me to the shopping mall. Finally, at age 15, I decided on my own that I really needed a bra. It was also getting harder to do sports with all that flopping around. I asked Mom to take me shopping and she said "It's about time!"

The Department Store!
I was excited that I was getting my first bra. Unfortunately, my mother brought my brother with us to go shopping. He stated loudly in the store "We are here to buy a bra." I could have just died of mortification. I begged my mother to take my brother to another part of the store and fortunately she did. As I snooped around looking at all the bras, a salesperson came over and offered to fit me. I was expecting to be fitted; however, the idea of a stranger measuring my boobs made me cringe. No one touched my boobs least of all a stranger. I was prepared and was a trooper. I went into the changing room. For some reason, she had the curtain somewhat open. I was so happy when she said that I could leave one layer of the tank top on. She really did not touch my breast. She just measured around them. She said that I did not need a training bra. I was between a B and C cup with a 36 band size. She was a very nice lady and helped me select several pretty bras. My mom wore big white ugly plus size soft cup bras and I did not want those. I selected very pretty lacy bras in cup sizes B and C. I no longer needed the fitting lady. I could try all these bras on myself with no one present.

From Child to Womanhood!
As I looked in the mirror while I tried on these bras, I saw my breasts looking higher, more rounded, and very sexy. I was actually proud of them. I posed in the mirror. I twirled. I gazed at myself. I realized that I was no longer a young teenager. I was a woman. I had breasts. I was going to be a proud owner of bras. I was ready to take on the world and establish myself as a mature, confident woman.

Maturity!
In those few minutes of trying on the bras, I emotionally became a different person. I knew I could handle any comments that came my way because I accepted my breasts. I could even handle changing in front of the lockers at school. I was once again happy about boobs. I no longer wanted boobs up to the sky. I was just happy to have them. My mother came back 45 minutes later. She bought me 3 very lacy and pretty bras. My brother was still obnoxious but I did not care. I was a woman and I owned bras.